by Lauran Paine
He got the rifle and continued to retreat. The bear did not charge again. It came after the man with a ponderous snarling stride that neither increased nor slackened.
Davy used trees, deadfalls, every distraction at hand to avoid the bear while he reloaded. When he was ready, he took a stand, watched the bear coming straight at him, and shot it the third time. This time the ball pierced the heart.
He was more than ten miles from home with night approaching. If he left the bear until the following day, wolves and other varmints would get it.
He went home, got his brother-in-law to return with him, and, following blazes he’d made with his tomahawk, led four pack animals through the night to the site of the dead bear.
By firelight they butchered the bear, loaded the animals with meat and the hide, and struck out for home. It was a cold, dark night, and they did not reach the Crockett clearing until about dawn.
The hide of the huge bear as well as other hides Davy had cured made quite a load. He took them to a town named Alexander and sold them.
With the credit he purchased supplies—flour, sugar, coffee, salt, lead slugs to make musket balls, powder, some toys for the children—and returned home.
As time passed, Crockett’s seclusion was interrupted several time by tales of atrocities perpetrated by roving bands of renegades. Some bands were mixed Indians and whites. There was no law. Guns, knives, and tomahawks preserved what peace there was, but because raids by renegade bands were unpredictable, even men working the land did so with weapons at hand.
Davy was hunting several miles from home when he caught the scent of a cooking fire. He was deep in forested country where there were no settlers for miles and no roads, only game trails.
He moved cautiously toward the scent of cooking where smoke arose in a small clearing. From within the forest’s fringe he saw six men in buckskin around the fire. They were eating meat from a deer they had killed. He did not recognize any of them.
They had hobbled horses grazing the clearing. They also had something else—two bedraggled women whose faces showed purple swellings. The younger of the women had a bloody bandage on her lower left arm.
Davy hid in underbrush. He was satisfied he could kill one, perhaps two of the renegades before they located him by gunpowder smoke, but that left four.
He watched the horses. There was no way to reach them, turn them loose, and set the renegades afoot. He had a ruse that was commonly used on the frontier—the scream of a mountain lion called a panther—but while that might draw off several of the renegades, it would not make all of them leave the camp and the women.
He was too far from the cabin of his brother-in-law or other settlers to go back and return. Renegades did not linger; they ate, slept, and continually moved.
What he needed was a distraction of sufficient interest to make all the renegades leave the camp. If there was such a diversion, he could not think of it.
One of the renegades left the fire, walked in Davy’s direction, then veered to the right, and disappeared in a spit of trees that projected a few yards into the clearing.
He was a bearded bear of a man who walked with a slight limp. Davy, who feared nothing that walked, crawled, or climbed, left his place of concealment heading in a roundabout way for the spit of trees. He moved very carefully.
He was close to the trees where the large bearded man had disappeared when the man left the forest, walking back toward the camp. He was carrying a jug. When the others saw what he had, they called out in profane anticipation. The bearded man reached the camp and laughed as he wrenched the corncob from the mouth of the jug.
One renegade across the fire called out, “Henry, you had it hid, damn you!”
The bearded man replied gruffly. “It warn’t hid. I just left it in them trees till we’d et.”
A redheaded man said, “Where’d you get it? I didn’t see you carryin’ it.”
“I found it in the wood shed of that settler we burned out yestiddy.” The bearded man held the jug aloft. “He won’t have no need for it … not where he’s goin’.”
Davy found the place where the bearded man had put the jug. He found something else, a broken necklace with a cameo in its center. He picked it up, scoured close around for whatever might be in sight, and found a pistol with a broken handle. It had been used to club someone; there was dried blood and some hair embedded in the shattered wood. But the other thing he found was significant—in a roll of filthy blankets was a pouch of shag tobacco that also held a clay pipe. This was where the big bearded man had left his gatherings. This was where he would bed down.
Davy returned to the forest’s fringe, listened to the men get louder as the jug was passed around, and decided finally what he would do.
It was a long wait. The renegades piled wood onto the fire, spoke loudly, became more boisterous and careless even after the jug had been flung aside, empty.
Dusk arrived. They kept the fire burning high enough to throw light in all directions and Davy watched, listened, and waited. Not until the men drifted away one by one to their bed ground did he move closer to the place where the bearded man would sleep.
The redheaded man and the renegade with the limp sat hunkered at the fire after the others had departed. Davy could not hear what they said, but he could guess from the way the women clung close to each other, their faces made phantomlike by firelight.
The redheaded man got angry and raised his voice. “I tol’ you, Henry, I take the young one, an’ no damned argument!”
There was no argument. The bearded man simply arose, looked across the fire, and jerked his head for the older woman to follow. She clutched the younger woman and whimpered. The redheaded man laughed derisively. “She allows you’re too ugly, Henry.”
The big bearded man started around the fire. The women held one another and cringed. Henry grabbed the older woman by the hair. When the younger woman would not release her, Henry stepped close and swung a massive fist. The younger woman collapsed. Henry then half dragged, half kicked, and punched the older woman toward the spit of trees.
Behind him the redheaded man walked around the fire, stood looking at the unconscious younger woman who had blood running from a torn mouth, and called after the bearded man, “You ruint this one. I’ll take the old one.”
Henry turned with a snarl. “That’s the one you wanted, that’s the one you get.” He then dragged and punched the older woman to his bed ground.
Davy did not move until the bearded man reached his spit of trees. He did as he’d done in the bear fight. He left his rifle leaning against a tree, soundlessly made a wide half circle until he was behind the bearded man, who was roughly yanking his blankets flat on the ground. The bearded man looked at the older woman and said, “What’d you say your name was?”
“Rebecca Holt.”
“Rebecca, you seen what happened to your friend. You do as I say or you’ll get the same only worse.”
The woman had both legs raised and encircled with her arms. She said, “What do you want? My husband’s got some horses. We got some gold money hid.”
Henry stood over the woman, expressionless and massive. “If we’d wanted them horses, we’d have took them. Gold? You’re lyin’ for a fact. Now get your clothes off an’ get into them blankets, an’, if you get to cryin’, I’ll cut your ears off, an’ your husband won’t want you after that. Shed them clothes!”
The woman whimpered as she began unbuttoning her dress. Davy did not make a sound as he crept closer. He kept the man’s back to him so that, if the woman saw movement, she would not gasp or speak.
Henry was not a patient man. He leaned, caught hold of cloth, and wrenched so hard the woman was twisted onto one side. She opened her mouth to scream. Henry didn’t hit her. He simply caught her by the hair and clamped a huge hand over her mouth.
Davy was close when the bearded man rem
oved his hand, slapped the woman so hard her head snapped sideways.
Davy took ten long steps and plunged the knife deep. The big man tried to turn, his face contorted. Davy hit him as hard as he could. The big man fell backward atop the woman. She pushed clear. There was blood on her dress, arms, and hands. She sat staring at it.
Davy rolled the man over, withdrew the knife, got the woman on her feet, and led her away. She moved mechanically as silent as stone. When he got back where the rifle leaned, he pushed her gently to the ground. She looked straight at him from eyes that did not seem to focus. He spoke to her in a low voice.
“Stay quiet. Set here an’ don’t make no noise.”
When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. “I don’t know … I didn’t see you. Are you one of ’em?”
“No ma’am, my name’s Crockett. I was huntin’ an’ smelt their cooking fire. Stay quiet. You’re well hid.” Davy did not want to leave the woman. He feared she might come out of her deep shock and cry out.
He reached to touch her hand. She cringed and yanked the hand away. Davy leaned back, looking at her. He was still looking at her when she spoke. “Crockett? Are you Davy Crockett? My husband shot against you one time for a brace of turkeys. He said you was the best shooter he ever seen.”
Davy relaxed slightly. “Did you hear what I said?”
“About bein’ quiet an’ not movin’?”
“Yes.”
“An’ you’ll come back … because I don’t know where I am.”
“I’ll come back. You just get hold of yourself and be still.”
He took the rifle and watched for movement. There was none. The fire was down to red coals. He was straining for sound when he heard a whimper from across the clearing. He started around in that direction, using the trees to shield him from detection. Because the under turf was thick and spongy he made no sound.
It was a long hike and a slow one. There were other renegades bedded down. In the clearing the horses followed his progress with heads raised, little ears pointing. Man scent was easy to detect on a still night.
Across the clearing he had no difficulty locating the area where the whimpering sound had come from. A man was cursing. Davy heard him strike yielding flesh and tracked that sound to a little creek with soft earth and grass along its bank.
There were creek willows on both sides of the watercourse. Beyond them the forest was thick and dark.
He stepped behind a large tree to listen. Although his eyes were accustomed to darkness, he could not make out any detail for more than about twenty feet, but movement was visible in an area where nothing moved. The redheaded man was sitting back on his heels. On the ground before him was the younger woman. When she cried, he hit her.
Davy crept around the place where the man was kneeling. He stopped when the man said, “I’m goin’ to kill you for kickin’ me, you bitch.”
A twig broke under Davy’s foot.
The redheaded man whirled, then sprang upright. He started to sidle toward a log where his powder horn, shot pouch, and rifle had been put aside.
Davy moved in the same direction, keeping near trees and not making a sound. The redheaded man reached the log first. He reached for a belt. Davy saw the pistol in his fist as the renegade straightened up. Davy waited until the man was peering in the direction where the twig had snapped before raising his rifle. The redheaded man caught movement from the side and whirled as he crouched. Davy had to aim again. The redheaded man fired his handgun. The sound shattered the silence. The ball struck a tree three feet to the left of Crockett.
The renegade dropped behind the log. Davy could not see him. He watched for the renegade to reach for his rifle. When that happened, Davy fired. The old punky log splintered, the leaning rifle fell on Davy’s side of the log, and both powder horn and shot pouch fell on the renegade’s side of the log. He would at least be able to reload the pistol.
Davy gave him no time for that. He came across the old log in one bound. The redheaded man struggled to get to his feet. Davy slashed with the knife, heard the renegade suck air as he sprang aside, then Davy went straight at the man.
Of one thing he was certain. Gunshots in the night would awaken the other renegades. Whether they would seek the cause or be prudent and wary, he did not know. What he did know was that the redheaded man was strong, quick, and wiry.
Davy moved carefully, stalking him. He tried to maneuver the renegade so that his back would be to the log, but the redheaded man was too experienced to let that happen.
He did allow himself to be driven to the log where he grabbed his rifle. Davy sprang at the man. There was no time to use the rifle so the redheaded man swung it like a club.
Davy got under the gun, came up inside it, and lunged as the redheaded man was trying hard to recover from the sideways momentum of his wild swing. Davy was in front of him with the knife rising. The renegade made a sound deep in his throat, dropped the rifle, and went backward over the log. Only his feet showed. Davy’s big knife was half buried in the renegade’s chest.
Davy went to the woman, who had wrapped herself in a blanket, got her to her feet, told her she had to move fast, and led off back the way he had come.
When he reached the older woman, she stood up and locked her arms around the younger woman. They cried.
Davy took his rifle with him, went out where the horses were, left the hobbles lying in the grass, and fired his rifle to stampede the animals.
They fled southward into the forest. He could still hear them when he got back to the women, told them there was no time to lose, and led off in a half trot that they did not have the strength to emulate so he had to let them rest several times before he got back in familiar territory.
If they were being pursued, Davy neither heard nor saw any sign of it. It was unlikely; nothing was more important to renegades than mounts. Even if the surviving men found their two dead companions, it would not mean as much as finding their horses.
The last time the women rested there was a creek where they could wash blood off and do what they could to make themselves presentable, which was not very much.
It was the younger woman who began to lag and wander, to cringe when Davy came close. He told the older woman to stay with her friend while he scouted.
The only thing he saw when dawn arrived was smoke rising from the chimney of his cabin. He went back, found the women sitting on the ground, got them to their feet, and from here on he set his pace to theirs. The need for haste was past.
When he entered the clearing, some of the children saw him and ran to tell Bess. She came out front, wiping both hands on her apron as she watched the bone-tired women following her husband.
She had once told John Wesley, who was standing nearby, that when his father went hunting only God knew what he would return with.
Chapter Six
A Small Boy
on a Big Horse
The women had been stolen from a small settlement forty miles southwest. Davy sent word where the women were and that they were safe.
Six days later five armed men arrived out front of the cabin. Two of them were the husbands of the stolen women.
The reunion was tearful. The settlers wanted to know where Davy had found the women. They also wanted to know about the renegades. Davy told them he would guide them back to the clearing, but whether the surviving renegades had recovered their horses or not, too much time had passed. Even renegades on foot would no longer be in the country.
He had been home eight days when a gaunt, taciturn man riding a horse with two feathers braided into its mane behind one ear rode up, climbed down, tied his animal, and met Bess in the doorway. She had recently fed the chickens and was about ready to start a meal.
When she met the older man in buckskin and saw the feathers on the horse, she had a foreboding, but because Davy was out with John Wesley,
checking their traps, she invited the older man inside. When Davy did not return in time for supper, she fed him, and, when the children asked questions, the stranger gave minimal answers.
He ate until Bess thought he must have worms. He also drank three cups of coffee. With dusk approaching, he went out front, fired up a little pipe, and sat on a bench, watching his horse eat.
Bess told the children not to bother the man, and, in fact, because of his preoccupied and taciturn manner, the children peered around the corner of the house at him but otherwise kept their distance.
Davy and John Wesley returned with two big tom turkeys they had shot and a string of traps from which the animals had been removed and skinned.
As Davy came across the clearing, the stranger knocked dottle from his pipe and arose from the bench. Before entering the house, he had leaned his rifle against the wall outside. He waited until Davy was close, then said, “Howdy. Is that your boy?”
Davy handed the rifles to John Wesley, dropped the hides and traps, and greeted the older man. “He’s that. Jesse, you’re a distance from home.”
“Got no home,” Jesse Jones said. “Maraudin’ Choctaws burnt me out.”
“Have you et?”
“Your woman cooks up a fine meal. I liked to eat you out of house and grits. Davy, they’re runnin’ wild. Burnt out some cabins, killed folks, run off livestock, and fought a pitched battle at a settlement.”
Davy sat on a bench. “Choctaws?”
“Yes. From somewhere in that easterly strip. I think the army went to make ’em move, an’ they took up the hatchet. They even raided some Creek an’ Cherokee settlements. They was like wild men, painted an’ armed with British guns left over from Jackson’s war.” Jesse Jones sat down, gazing out where it was barely possible to discern his horse. “I warn’t home. Was out huntin’. Just as well, I expect. I heard the noise, seen the smoke startin’, and hurried back. Looked like maybe twenty, thirty. They’d taken my army horse and was leavin’ when I come out of the trees. One hung back to kill some chickens. I crept up an’ busted his head. That’s his horse out yonder.”