The Winds of Autumn

by Jim R. Woolard

  Meek, disgusted with Stick Injun’s constant wariness of a woman whose wrists were bound, shoved him aside, yanking abruptly on Sarah’s leash. Sister went sprawling and the traitor’s unwarranted cruelty brought Blake’s quick temper to a full boil. The double click of his Lancaster cocking was repeated by Wentsell’s long rifle, and we suddenly stared death in the eye again, a habit ill chosen and poor for one’s health.

  Neither Meek nor Three Feathers ever knew their lives, and undoubtedly ours as well, were prolonged by the falling Sarah. She yelped in protest loud enough that the commotion twisted Three Feathers about. Whatever Meek saw on the big Shawnee’s face clouded his own with alarm. Faster than thought, he bent at the waist, loosened the rope squeezing Sarah’s throat and raised the leather strand over her golden hair. There was no questioning Meek’s total fear of the Redstick leader. The detestable turncoat, drawing perhaps his final breath, slumped into the cowering posture of a child caught stealing, coarse features locked in a fawning smile ugly with rotted teeth and blackened gums.

  The sight of Meek cringing before Three Feathers soothed Blake’s ire. He eased the Lancaster’s hammer to half-cock. Then Wentsell un-cocked his piece, and I’d cause to believe we’d not die before noon.

  “He’ll kill the bastard,” Blake predicted.

  “Naw. Spill any white blood an’ the war party’ll maybe lose their wits an’ kill them women, an’ he don’t want that, not yet anyways,” Lem reasoned.

  Three Feathers proved Lem correct. His head bobbed, indicating orders were being given, and Stick Injun tossed Meek the grab end of Hannah Ferrenden’s tether. The Shawnee’s wisdom wasn’t lost on Wentsell. “Meek blunders again, he’ll march for a week holdin’ his vitals.”

  Imagining Hannah Ferrenden’s new keeper in deservedly painful straits wasn’t difficult and we shared a good, quiet laugh together, then resumed our careful watch of the Redstick camp, me taking the first turn, the others sleeping the morning through behind me after Blake confirmed with my glass an unharmed Sarah was on her feet again, none the worse for her fall.

  The steady breeze of early morning lingered into the day, herding puffs of fleecy cloud from the south-southwest, its coolness fresh and welcome under an autumn sun hot enough to chase morning mist from river bottom and treetop and speckle my brow with sweat. Meek guarded the female prisoners while Stick Injun fetched wood for a separate fire. Three Feathers, in the meantime, journeyed the length of the plain, sharing battle tales and laughter with followers still basking in the glory of their triumph over the hated white eyes.

  The Redsticks cooked stolen salt pork on slanted sticks anchored at flames edge with packed earth and stones. They washed the pork down with rum, tiredness rather than drunkenness curtailing their drinking. Many were already asleep when Three Feathers retraced his steps.

  His return found a fire burning with little smoke, Hannah Ferrenden and Meek seated at rope’s length eyeing each other like stalking panthers, and Sarah, hands unbound, spearing chunks of meat on branches trimmed and sharpened by Stick Injun. Sister gazed at Three Feathers and spoke directly to him. Judge of my surprise when he answered and she responded in other than a few words. It was troublesome, him speaking the King’s tongue, for the more I learned about him, the more formidable an enemy he became, one against whom we seemed overmatched, Wentsell or no Wentsell.

  Sarah and Three Feathers agreed on something—at least they nodded—after which Sister began collecting fat drippings in a horn cup handed her by Stick Injun. It was Three Feathers who rummaged inside a knapsack and hauled forth a skillet with folding handle and cloth bag of cornmeal. As if she were at our cabin hearth, Sarah mixed meal, meat drippings and water on a bark slab, shaped doughy balls with her good hand and was soon frying johnnycake for the bunch of them.

  Hannah Ferrenden missed out on nothing. She tugged on Meek’s rope and loomed at Sarah’s elbow with the first serving, eating her fill of roasted pork and johnnycake along with the others. Sitting in the heat of the fire, she finally removed her peaked hat, and I got my first full-face look-see at the judge’s daughter. She wasn’t truly beautiful like Loraleen Oldham, but her ink-black hair, flawless skin and lithe body were powerfully attractive. She bit into the meat with white teeth as rare as Lem’s African elephants on the Allegheny frontier. The delicate way she ate with her fingers and chewed with her mouth closed showed she’d graced many a fine table in her upbringing, which made her towcloth shirt and men’s breeches even more difficult to fathom.

  “Hard not ta stare at her, ain’t it?’’ Wentsell asked, his question the only noise as he slipped alongside me.

  For once, I didn’t blush and stammer. Of course, it helped that I answered without moving my spyglass. “Never seen anythin’ like her,” I admitted.

  “Not many others have either, an’ she’s aware that’s how it be with us menfolk. Bear that in mind if’n yuh have any dealin’s with her.”

  I peeked at him from under my hat brim. ‘’We’re after Sarah. Blake says the judge’s daughter’s your hog ta wrestle.”

  Wentsell frowned and his gaze shifted to the Shawnee camp. For a fleeting instant, I was afraid I’d overstepped myself. Then he chuckled and patted my back as Paw had. “Just remember my warnin’. The unexpected happens ta everyone what comes near that gal. I’ve only shared words with her twice, but nonetheless, here I am riskin’ my hair for her.” His head shook in exasperation. “An’ not even her paw would hold her capture agin me, the more I ponder on it. But then”—he looked straight at me—“wisdom’s ofttimes the last guest in the door, ain’t she?”

  “But you’ve never barred the door on that ol’ gal, have yuh, Tice me bucko,” Lem said from behind us. He crept to Wentsell’s far flank. Another rustling and Blake had returned, too anxious for any lengthy sleeping.

  ‘’What’s whittlin’ your stick?” Wentsell asked Lem. “Well, I been doin’ some figurin’ of my own, an’ I reckon you’ve had further notions what those red devils down yonder plan for them women, why they’re both still drawin’ wind. Might be yuh could pass such notions along ta us. We’d taken kindly ta it, was yuh ta do so,” Lem remarked, the brow of his good eye arching high.

  Wentsell rolled on his backside, pulled his clay pipe from his shot pouch and sucked on the cold stem. He talked with his eyes closed. “Never was any wool twixt your ears, Lem, an’ I’ve no honest reason for holdin’ a tight mouth with yuh an’ these two brothers. We’re all standin’ in the same pan together.”

  He puffed on the unlit pipe. “Hannah Ferrenden ain’t halter-broke an’ she’s too damn much bother ta fuss with for all these many miles … lessen yuh believe yuh can ransom her with her paw. Meek was spied lurkin’ round the judge’s boatyard at Redstone, an’ he’d guess rightly the judge, well down the road in years, would open his gold chest wide an’ empty it bare ta buy this daughter’s freedom. An ugly picture of greed, but a scheme that fits Meek tighter’n a wet hat. Anythin’ goes afoul, he can cut an’ run, nothin’ lost.”

  Lem pursed his lips and adjusted his patch. “Allowin’ that explains why the judge’s offspring ain’t seen the stake an’ the hatchet, that leaves our gal Sarah. What ’bout her? Why keep her alive?”

  “She’s a different step on the stairs. Meanin’ no insult, but yuh lads ain’t sailin’ the same ship with Judge Ferrenden when it comes ta passin’ out gold coin. So it could be kin of Three Feathers or some other heathen lacks a wife. Or some Redstick young’un lost his maw.” Wentsell’s eyes sprung open and his head turned toward Blake. “Could be he wants her for his ownself.”

  Brother did Lem and me proud. His teeth didn’t fly together and no stain of anger mottled his jawline. He was beginning to curb his temper where Sister was concerned. He calmly asked, “Is Three Feathers of white blood liken Lem’s heard?”

  “I saw him an’ Sarah speak,’’ I offered. “He understands the King’s tongue.”

  Wentsell nodded slowly. “That he do. ’Bout the other, the truth’
s mighty slippery at best. Not ta disappoint yuh brothers, but if’n there’s such blood in him, it’s too muddied ta be of any help ta us. Never yuh doubt, sure as Gabriel blew his horn, he’ s more Shawnee than he’ll ever be one of us. We forget that, we’ll regret it from the grave.”

  “All right, supposin’ you’re right ’bout the women, what’s next for ’em?” Blake wanted to know.

  Wentsell studied the sky. ‘’They’re headed in opposite directions, an’ soon, I believe. This wind’ll breed a change of weather … likely early on tomorrow. More rain’ll have the Scioto on the rise again in a hurry, so Three Feathers’ll want them horses forded an’ safe on the west bank. That’s where he’s headed—west—ta fetch that stolen powder ta his ilk layin’ in wait for Harmar’s troops. An’ he ain’t gonna be late for the big fight. It don’t count with him they marched all night ta get here; he’ll shuck them buggers out shortly an’ ford upstream ’fore the day’s out. Thataway, his horses’ll be fresh for long travel tomorrow, storm or no storm.”

  He paused and glanced at Blake and me. “I’m bettin’ he’ll take your sister with him.”

  Nothing gloomier could have befallen my ears. All along, without ever putting it into words, I had fervently hoped —prayed, to be honest that somehow we’d catch Sarah poorly guarded for a brief spell, affording us the opportunity to snatch her clear and make a dash for the Ohio, trusting Wentsell to elude the pursuit certain to follow. Now it was likely Sarah would travel indefinitely with the bulk of the enemy under the tireless, ceaseless eye of Three Feathers himself.

  Fortunately, Wentsell considered Sarah’s plight far from hopeless. “Bad as that sounds, I ain’t ready ta call in the hounds. Long as Hannah’s travelin’ with your sister, Stick Injun’ll hang closer’n a brood hen with new chicks. Get Sarah apart from him an’ Meek, an’ mayhap there’s a chance for us yet.”

  He sucked the cold pipe stem again. “Lessen I’m sniffin’ the wrong den tree, the Injun runt an’ our traitor’ll break off easterly for Redstone an’ work at ransomin’ Hannah afore her daddy breathes his last. It was everywhere ’bout his ague. Some remarked in the taverns he’d not last another leaf-fallin’. That’s why Hannah came in his stead.”

  “Why not send just Meek with her?” Blake wondered.

  Wentsell grinned. ‘Three Feathers don’t trust Meek plumb in front of him, let alone nearabout a hundred miles out of his sight. Stick Injun, maybe a few more besides, they’re his guarantee Meek keeps his word.”

  There was suddenly much movement on the riverbank. I quickly raised my glass. “Them buggers are stringin’ out their horses like yuh thought they would, Mister Wentsell.”

  With a thump of my shoulder, Wentsell pouched his pipe and rolled onto his belly to gain a view of the proceedings below. We all took to watching the Injuns break camp, except for Blake. His gaze never wavered from General Putnam’s ranger. “The women end up in different hands headed opposite directions, I’m trailin’ after Sarah,” he stated with the bite of a striking axe.

  Wentsell had by now grown accustomed to Blake’s unswerving dedication to Sarah’s rescue and how it tainted his thinking every waking moment. “Lad, we won’t leave the country without a try for your Sarah. Yuh don’t mind, though, I’d as soon not lose my scalp in the doin’ of it.”

  “Fair by me,” Lem, always the peacemaker, shot in. “Only the halfwit spills his own whiskey.”

  We were laughing with him when the ol’ sergeant seized my elbow. “Put the glass on Sarah. Be my eye failin’ me or what?”

  My hands shook with excitement. Where Hannah Ferrenden walked leashed at the throat and bound at the wrists, Sister heeled Three Feathers’ horse free of restraint. Equally uplifting, vittles and rest had restored her usual spunk. Her chin was level and she snapped off her steps.

  “That’s a notch on our side of the board,” Wentsell judged. “They mightn’t tie her at night neither. If’n so, she mayhap can help us come to the stealin’ of her.”

  lt was a small thing, perhaps no real advantage at all. But the more desperate a man’s situation, the more prone he is to enlarge on the tiniest easing of the odds against him. A fresh surge of hope cracked Blake’s voice. “What’s next for us, Tice?”

  “Next for me, not you’ens. The less we traipse around afore nightfall, the better. I’ll track ’em alone. Once I determine where they’ll hold the women till mornin’, I’ll be back.” His gaze swept southward, downriver. “I ain’t seen the two they left at the Ohio. We ain’t careful, we’ll bump into ’em yet. Someone best keep a steady watch on Hurricane Tom’s Town till after dark.”

  “Lem an’ Blaine’ll handle that chore. I’d rather make the scout with yuh,” Blake suggested.

  Wentsell’s gaze never wavered from the Scioto. He deliberated long enough before responding to set my teeth on edge. “All right, yuh can step tight in my tracks … but yuh do anythin’ other’n what my shadow does, I’ll slit your throat an’ leave yuh for the varmints ta chew on. That rattles your chain wrong, wait here liken I said.”

  I lowered my glass and studied Blake over Wentsell’s head. He neither flinched nor hesitated. “Fine by me, let’s be about it.”

  Wentsell slid rearward. “Bring our share of the vittles, Mister Blake Tyler,” he ordered. He halted and gripped Lem’s knee. “We don’t report afore nightfall tomorrow, make a run east and south for the Ohio an’ never look past your ear. Ain’t nothin’ gained was the four of us ta die for naught. Yuh understand?”

  “I’ll see at least one brother home ta young Adam. Yuh have my word,” Lem promised.

  Wentsell didn’t know Adam from the devil and didn’t tarry to ask. Without further utterance from anyone, he and Blake were gone down the rear spine of the bluff in pursuit of the Shawnee.

  I suppose I should’ve fretted and worried every hour about Blake scouting with Wentsell in such dire and dangerous circumstances. But much as I loved my brother, my eyes proved heavier than my heart. In five minutes I was snoring with abandon.

  Chapter 13

  Midnight till Dawn, September 15

  I awoke a doomed man.

  In the dribble of light seeping through the clouds passing before

  the moon, the face suspended above mine was solid black, as were the shadowed feathers sticking from the top of the same skull.

  I’d been caught asleep by the Shawnee rear guard. There was no time for pulling knife or hatchet from my belt. No time for lifting a protecting arm or knee. No time whatsoever for defending myself.

  I waited for the cold stab of the knife that would slice my entrails in two and stain the waist of my frock with my life’s blood. Instead, I felt damp breath on my forehead as a hand clamped my mouth and Wentsell said, “Didn’t mean ta scare yuh. Noise carries too far ta sing out.”

  The success of Wentsell’s disguise was unnerving. The mud coating his face and the feathers jutting from his pigtail made him appear an Injun in the feeble light, Injun enough he’d have you dead before you sensed an enemy was near. I was too shaken for anything other than a nod of the head. Wentsell’s hand lifted and his face drifted away. I lay panting, knowing I’d not open my eyes for some days without heart faltering and body stiffening in anticipation and dread. It crossed my mind that farming, not the hunting of Shawnee raiders, was my true calling.

  I guessed it was nigh onto midnight, what with the moon west of the Scioto. The breeze gusted from the south and I snugged the collar of my frock tighter against its chill bite. Foul weather was festering out there beyond the distant horizon.

  Wentsell flitted past my feet. Lem leaned and quietly said, “After me, son,” and down the rear slope of the bluff we went.

  We hunkered down where falling ground encountered the forested bottomland, and Wentsell related our situation in his straightforward fashion. “The Injuns are across the river. Both women are with ’em.”

  “My brother?” I asked anxiously.

  “Crouched in a thicket on the far bank waitin’
for me. We swam over an’ had us a button-countin’ gander at them red devils an’ I was right. Your Sarah’s headed west, Meek an’ Stick Injun east with the Ferrenden gal. We’re gonna split apart too.”

  “Why?” Lem asked. “Ain’t four rifles better’n two?”

  “Most times, but not this tussle. Seein’ how things are fallin’ from the sack, it’d be best for Blake and met a try for Sarah by our own-selves. He can cover me while I steal her after the Shawnee doze off the next night or two. They’re too bunched on the string for anythin’ tonight.”

  “An’ we twiddle our thumbs till the deed’s done?”

  Though masked by darkness, Lem’s single eye surely threatened to pop free at Wentsell’s response. “Naw, yuh two are goin’ after the judge’s daughter,” Wentsell said.

  Lem puffed like a fighting rooster. “What for? Her paw can ransom her the other end of the trail.”

  Wentsell let a drab of silence hang amongst us. “That could be, but Abner surely bragged ta the folks at Limestone she was with ’em. Anythin’ bad befalls.that gal, what’re we gonna tell them? We gonna lie?”

  An undeniable truth sparked Wentsell’s question. No Kentuckian worth his salt would share his camp with borderers who flagged their tails and abandoned a white woman to abuse at the hands of Injuns. The Redstick lover and the traitor, God forbid, came before the coward. And Lem knew it more than I. His head bobbed and his chest emptied. “Forgive tired bones misleadin’ my tongue. I can’t disagree we don’t give that gal her just due, we tip the jug by our lonesome till we’re stiff an’ cold an’ boxed for buryin’. What’s your notion?”

  The strengthening wind worried tree branches, and Went sell cupped fingers at his mouth. “Meek an’ Stick Injun’ll set off at daybreak. We saw canoes, an’ Meek bein’ a river rat who ain’t fond of horses or walkin’, he’ll take ta the water. North of here lies Salt Creek. Two days on the creek an’ one day of portage he’s at the Hocking with an easy float south ta the Ohio, well beyond anyone knowin’ of the attack on the judge’s boats.”