Shatto (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  Abel didn't look so sure, so Rob continued. "Families are taking the trails west all the time. Most of them have kids and old folks along. Beth and Ted have good training and good equipment. They have money enough and a reasonable chance of coming into a lot more. Chip is there and able to help all the way. If they are going, how could they be better off?'

  It took more talk to decide to do nothing. Only the Widow Oakes seemed content with the decision. Rob suspected that they all felt a need to give the young people advice and to offer help, and to just feel a part of it.

  Rob found himself feeling a little older. Sometimes it seemed the world was jumping out from under him. Just when everything got orderly, with things going right, something always happened to churn everybody up again.

  The slave question was a good example. That problem was turning things bad all over. He wondered if the Southern States would really go to fighting if the abolitionists didn't leave them alone. Maybe he should feel glad that his boys had gone west and would be out of it.

  Late in the day Rob and Abel walked by the stream, still talking and thinking about their families. Abel said, "Rob, we're getting past our best years. Something about all this makes me feel the half-century that's gone by."

  "I feel it too, Abel."

  "It makes me wonder where all the time went? It seems only a little while ago that we were racing your Appaloosa and my horse out here to the forks. Now, we've got gray in our hair and our joints crack if we move sudden."

  "It's been good though, Abel."

  Troop walked awhile before continuing, his eyes following the stream, but his mind on Rob's words and times past. When he spoke his voice was brighter. "Yep Rob, it has been good, and it isn't over yet.

  "Which brings something to mind that I've wondered about all these years, and in view of us suddenly becoming family. . ." Rob's chuckle interupted, ". . . I'm going to ask straight out.

  "Rob how much gold are those three likely to find out there, and for that matter, how much did you lug back here yourself?'

  They stood in silence, looking at the water, while Rob enjoyed letting his mind run back to the time. "Abel, old Bogard's horses were loaded so heavy their backs bowed. Chances are good that if they locate the spot they can recover most of it as a lot was in ropes and strings, sort of like lead pencils. I figure they can find more than I brought back, and I had enough to carry us through even if we never made another dollar."

  Rob could see that Abel felt better. It made his daughter's prospects a whole lot brighter.

  +++++

  Letters came seldom and some of them arrived out of order. There were early apologies and announcements of marriage. They were moving steadily and sticking to the plan. They hoped to be settled somewhere before snowfall.

  The late fall letter was from Chip. It was carried by a trapper down the Missouri and Mississippi and had traveled by boat from New Orleans to Philadelphia. The Shattos got it in March.

  It said:

  Dear Ma and Pap,

  We are well and the news is good. We found the rocks. Only a trace or two of old Bogard was left. We gathered what else was scattered. That took awhile as it had sunk into the ground nearly a foot, and Pap had really thrown it around. We found the load heavy for one horse! We are heading south along the mountains. (They are even grander than you said, Pap.) We'll winter in the Spanish country and decide what to do next. Ted and Beth still talk of raising steers, but out here they'd have to eat them themselves. I'm for poking around the mountains some. We'll see how it comes out. I'm giving this to a friend. He will get it to St. Louis and point it east from there. We miss you and wish we could tell you all that we have seen and done.

  Till later, love,

  Chip.

  On the headwaters of the Republican River, October, 1856.

  Other letters followed. Most came to the Troops from Beth. They had settled in a small village near the Rio Grande, north and west of Taos. (Rob knew the country and was able to add much to the letters.) Chip had gone to look at the western lands.

  They bought ground that sounded unusual and interesting, and Grandchildren began arriving. Rob thought Ted and Beth planned to fill the whole territory with Shattos.

  Chip came and went. They lost him for a whole year, but he turned up, looking the same, with tales of seeing the Pacific.

  Ted raised some horses, but he was sticking their old arrowhead brand on every cow he could find. There were descriptions of houses and land, of growing children and fast friends. There was no hint of eventual return or impending visit. The Ted Shattos had gone west to stay.

  In 1860, Chip rode north to trap and winter in the high mountains. He did not return in the spring and the war among the states made letters very few and irregular.

  The months became another year and Chip seemed gone for good. Amy and Rob awaited each letter feverishly, but although Ted and Beth with their increasing brood thrived, no hint of Chip was received. Rob feared the worst. Amy could not truly know the wildness of mountain country, but Rob knew, and he could sense the misstep, the strongly driven arrow, or the deadly fever that could down even the most hardy. He silently mourned his first son, expecting that he had fallen before his time.

  +++++

  Rob passed his sixtieth year and strong needs ran slower. He and Amy visited around more, and although he still rode hard and long, Amy often took a buggy to town and she no longer helped with the horses.

  They were content to read, ride easily together, and enjoy Troop grandchildren arriving with astonishing regularity.

  They traveled often to Philadelphia to examine business interests engineered by Cummens heirs. Upon Amy's father's death, the business ventures had been less efficient, and Rob expected that another generation would find the name Cummens only ancient business history. It would matter little to the Shattos.

  Demand for their horses exceeded their supply. Rob refused to lower standards or increase their herd. When a horse was ready, he sold it to someone he felt was right.

  In 1862, Rob Shatto received an urgent summons to Washington. He let the anxious young aide cool his heels for a day while he picked the right horse and then set a pace that left the junior Captain and his showy mount far behind and increasingly enlightened as to what made tough horsemen and good horses.

  Rob stayed four days and took the train home. General George McClellan, commander of the northern armies, again rode a Shatto horse, wearing the arrowhead brand. Rob knew the general didn't need a horse that good, but George went back some years. So Rob thought he owed him one.

  +++++

  Chapter 33: June 1863

  Three riders breasted the trail where it leveled before the southern rise of Kittatinny Mountain. They rode saddle slumped, as weary as their horses, but sharply alert to the surrounding forest.

  A single rider led by fifty yards. His shortened rifle rested barrel up on his thigh, ready for instant action. Despite the loneliness of the woods, the trailing duo remained a little apart. Seasoned warriors, they knew the folly of offering a massed target. Their short carbines pointed aggressively, one to the right and the other to the left.

  Battered slouch hats shaded faces weathered by long campaigns. Their uniforms, ripped by a hundred cavalry actions, were vaguely gray with bits of homespun patched in here and there.

  If their gaunt features spoke of hard riding on sparse rations, their oiled and ready weapons marked them as seasoned fighters ready and expecting to fight again.

  The scout pulled up at a level spot before the trail steepened toward the still hidden mountain pass. His eyes searched the timber, but the woods remained undisturbed. His companions came even and sat their saddles equally alert. The scout spoke to the soldier wearing a Corporal's two chevrons.

  "Seems quiet enough, Sam. How's for a break a'fore the mountain?" He kneed his leaned horse with rough affection. "Could be this old nag cain't last the climb anyhow."

  The third soldier added his own feelings. "Sam, I've been
settin' this saddle so long my hind end feels growed to it. Hell's fire, we ain't goin' past the summit nohow. I'm fer easin' off a spell my ownself."

  The Corporal hesitated, equally tired but somehow uncertain that all was as it should be. He studied the road, seeing the marks of heavy passage up the hill. People fleeing from the fighting was normal enough. Question was, how far had they gone and just what lay waiting over this steep mountain. His orders were to find out. With the whole Army of Northern Virginia moving on Harrisburg, the General didn't need surprises slipping in on his flank.

  He listened to the woods and it sounded right. Raised in the Tennessee hill country, he trusted his senses. He sniffed and looked about, seeing nothing, but feeling an obscure unease somewhere inside. Too many campaigns, too little rest, he thought and tiredly gave the word to dismount. Each grunted a little as cramped muscles stretched, and the ground felt good to their booted feet.

  The horses came first as always. With one eye and both ears tuned to the forest, they slung their rifles and loosened the girths.

  The Corporal thought to put one man out as sentinel as soon as the horses were eased. Billy was already sitting on a rock pulling at one boot, so he would make Elton Ruby do the guarding. Ruby was the better soldier anyway. He hitched at the Griswold and Gunnison revolver hung at his belt and sought his own place to sit.

  Hackles rose along the Corporal's neck and goose bumps jumped along his spine. There was something! He could feel it close and terrible dangerous. He tried to casually place a hand on his pistol butt and move to the shelter of his horse.

  A voice cold as Clinch Mountain wind stopped him in place. The words weren't special, but years of war had taught him what was serious and what wasn't. He froze and saw both his men do likewise.

  "Don't nobody move!" Sam couldn't see who said it, but Billy's eyes were staring off to one side real earnest-like.

  "Now, I want you three to all sit down against that same rock, real careful without any sudden motions. Start now, and I'd be obliged if you kept real calm and slow moving."

  Sam and Elton Ruby moved careful as they joined Billy at his rock. They saw the speaker then, and Sam was jolted by how close he was. He would enjoy thinking on how the man had used the air so the horses wouldn't wind him and how he had figured them to pause at this particular spot. With the big holes of that two-barreled rifle pointing at him, he wasn't too sure he would live to get the chance to do that much thinking.

  The man appeared to be alone. So it wasn't all undone just yet. He would make his move before they turned over their weapons. Unarmed, there would be no chance. He didn't figure on spending his years in some Yankee prison and reckoned Billy and Elton felt the same. He felt sweat starting all over him. Those rifle barrels were rock steady, and he knew who would get the first one. All of a sudden his Corporal chevrons felt awful big and bright on his sleeve. He tried to relax and wait for an opportunity, but he began to suspect that it would never come.

  The gun holder was a big man. Sam judged him an old hunter—both from his weathered skin shirt and the way he handled his rifle. Thick hair, the black sheen mottled by gray, hung to his neck, and that style spoke to Sam of old mountaineers in his own dark hollows. The hunter sat on a moss-covered log and Sam saw the peg-leg braced beside the left moccasin with genuine astonishment. The war had left countless men minus a limb, but those crippled veterans did not appear with Indian-like silence in distant forests. Old and crippled the hunter might appear, but he had outfoxed the three of them, and that rifle wasn't fooling. Sam reckoned they were in more than a little trouble.

  +++++

  Word of the Confederate advance had traveled ahead of the Armies. Guardsmen had assembled to defend the Harrisburg approaches. The broad Susquehanna offered protection and some felt that Lee's worn Army could be held there until the stumbling federal giant could summon its own confused legions to pin the Confederates against the river.

  Defenders had mustered in Perry County. Their plans were more simple. By defending the few mountain passes, they hoped to spare their valleys plundering by outriders and foragers. Little mentioned, but clearly recognized was the possibility that finding himself pinned against the river, "Marse Robert" might again choose to slip into steep mountain country and work his way back to the safety of Virginia.

  There was little the county men could do against that massive threat. Lee's seventy thousand hardened veterans would devour their meager resistance with little notice. But, they might protect themselves from the ravages of scouting parties or swift cavalry strikes that swept an area clean of all usable horseflesh and livestock.

  At each pass, the local men began throwing up breastworks and digging rifle pits. They dropped trees across the roads and stationed sentries on the forward slopes to warn of enemy approach. Riders were posted in Carlisle and west to Chambersburg to give alarm, and lookouts patrolled between the gaps to warn of any attempt to work past the roadblocks.

  Still, the defenses were feeble. The defenders were farmers and tradesmen, some were skilled hunters, but their ranks were thin. The best were gone to the federal regiments and the crude rifle pits were manned by boys, old men, and the infirm. They readied themselves on their blue mountain and through the organizing and digging gained confidence that they might hold their line. Across the valleys of Cumberland County, dust clouds spoke of maneuvering cavalry and rising smoke showed some burning. Distant musketry occasionally reached them and light cannon fire made all uneasy.

  Rob Shatto prepared with the others. He had protected his own by leaving Amy in charge and spreading the horses through the hills. If the Confederates broke through, she was to hide herself and all the help in the hemlocks on Castle Knob where it overlooked Clark's Run. Rob figured it unlikely that anyone would poke around there. He longed for his two sons, but was thankful that they had gone west and were not trapped within the bloody tragedy of civil war.

  Captain Abel Troop helped muster the local men, and Rob had joined the group assigned to fortify and guard Croghan's old pass. Most called it Sterret's Gap now, but by whatever name, that gap offered Lee's Confederates their most likely access to the endless hills.

  Rob had to admit that it felt good to crawl into moccasins and hunting shirt again. The clothes still fit well. He guessed he didn't have the same bulk through chest and shoulders, but the constant riding kept his waist trim and hard. The old pistol belt dropped into the same hole and the weight of old Rob's two-barrel gun felt real natural at the small of his back.

  He had helped some with the digging, but there weren't any that had his woods sense, so he spent most of his time scouting out ahead.

  When word came that there was Confederate cavalry in Carlisle, Rob reckoned he was going to meet some on the mountain. While it would be real comforting to have big, old Kittatinny Mountain guarding their army's left flank, any commander worth his salt would wonder about the few passes he could see. Scouts would be riding to look them over.

  It wasn't hard to wait, well out near the Carlisle Springs, until the small, three-man, scouting party appeared. About everyone climbing Kittatinny rested their horses at the same spot, just before the road got real steep. Rob rode ahead, left his horse well off the trail, and settled himself out of sight. If the scouts rode by they would run onto the pickets further on. When they came back down, he would have to pick them out of their saddles. He hoped his boys got at least one of the scouts as he couldn't very well get three with a two-barreled rifle.

  On the other hand, if things worked out, and the scouts chose to take a smoke at the natural stopping place, there might be a chance to keep anyone from getting hurt. He felt no need to shoot people and hoped he could make it work that way.

  +++++

  Rob held the Shuler rifle dead square on the Corporal called Sam and waited for them to settle down. He had let himself be clearly seen hoping they would get to thinking about him and not get desperate before they had calming time.

  They were young men, hard
, lean, and Rob expected, tougher than jerked buffalo. One of the Privates looked sort of familiar, but the longer Rob lived the more he ran into people that looked like others he had known.

  He figured it was time to speak again.

  "Now boys, there ain't no use in any of us gettin' hurt. I'm not lookin' to shoot anybody and I ain't in the prisoner takin' business. That clear to you'uns?"

  He grinned at how easily he dropped into the old way of talking. All the reading and studying hadn't marked him too deep after all, he guessed.

  The Corporal nodded for the three of them and said, "I hear you Mister, but it's you pointin' that rifle and givin' orders. Considerin' that there's three of us and only one of you, that's acting more'n a mite risky."

  Rob nodded and Sam saw the quick flash of his smile. "You're right Corporal, so the quicker we get to talkin' the less likely we're apt to turn to shootin'. There's words need to be said and some understandings to be reached a'fore you boys go ridin' off."

  Sam's nerves relaxed another notch. Their chances appeared a lot better than they had a few moments earlier. He said, "Yore askin' for a parley, that it, hunter?"

  "Reckon that's it, Corporal. You-all can sit ag'in that rock and I'll stay by this log. Nobody gets excited, and after we finish talkin' you-all ride out whichever way you've a mind."

  "Sounds right reasonable, hunter. We come for lookin' not for fightin' anyhow."

  He spoke to his two men, loud enough for Rob to hear. "Elton, Billy, you boys move your hands real slow way away from your pistols and I'll do the same. We're goin' to talk now. Don't do nothin' sudden or unexpected.

  He turned back to Rob. "Alright, the white flag's flying. We'll light our pipes an' hear what you've got to say."

  Sam pulled out his old cob pipe feeling the others do likewise. He struck fire with his starter and got the pipe drawing. He passed his tobacco to Elton, who was always out, and waited for the hunter's next move.