The next morning, as Hannah and Mrs. McAllister prepared to ride to the Culpepper horse farm, Zeb sat on Kapucha in the street in front of their house, and Lonnie was mounted on Christmas, ready to follow. Captain Morrison had told them that he was sure Elizabeth and Noah had left for New Orleans, but it was always wise to be prepared.
Lonnie Champ had taken to copying Zeb’s grampa in every way he could.
He carried the coiled bullwhip hitched to the saddle exactly as Zeb’s grampa did. He often snapped the whip at leaves on trees or anything else that provided a target. Zeb smiled to himself. He probably wants to be known as “Cracker Champ.” But he’s gonna have quite a surprise if he tries that near any horse other than Christmas. Most horses will shy at that noise.
They turned into the Culpepper driveway. Hannah’s mother dismounted and climbed the stairs. She and Mrs. Lodge sat on the porch, sewing and watching. Katie was waiting for Hannah. “C’mon,” she said, running toward the barn. “We have six horses to exercise this morning.”
Cracker Ryan was already in the corral with Mary and Beth Lodge. Mary was mounted on one of the smaller of the saddle horses, trotting around. She gave the horse a little kick and he moved from a trot to a canter. Cracker Ryan held up his hand. “Not yet, Mary,” he said with a smile. “I’ll tell you when you can do that. Let me get Beth going first.”
Zeb’s grampa helped put Beth up on a pony. By the time they had made the complete circle, she had her hands off the pommel. She gestured and called to Mary with a timid, “Look at me.”
Zeb slipped off Kapucha, tethered him to the rail, and entered the corral. Cracker Ryan handed him the reins. Whenever they worked with young children learning to ride, his grampa would get them started and then, when they showed less fear, Zeb would take over.
Mr. Culpepper rode up to the corral and pulled his horse next to Lonnie’s. “Cracker,” he said, “would you like to ride fences with me this morning? One of those fool colts got out of the second pasture….” Suddenly he turned in his saddle, shading his eyes with his hand.
Zeb climbed the rail and looked toward the carriageway as five men galloped their horses into the stable yard and pulled up in front of the barn. A cloud of dust stretching from the road to the barn made it impossible to see who they were. He could just make out Walter, the stable hand, who stood in front of the barn door with a pitchfork in his hands.
“Oh, no. Something’s wrong!” Mr. Culpepper shouted. He and Lonnie Champ galloped over to where Walter was standing. Zeb lifted Beth off the pony. His grampa called Mary to him and helped her dismount. “You girls run up to the porch.”
Mary protested, “But Mr. Ryan, you said—”
“First thing about learning to ride is following orders. Now get up on that porch. We’ll get back to ridin’ later.”
Cracker Ryan grabbed his whip, and then he and Zeb ran across the paddock to stand on either side of Walter.
Zeb could see that each of the men who had just ridden into the yard was carrying a pistol in his hand.
He glanced up at the back porch. Hannah’s mother and Mrs. Lodge were hurrying the two little girls into the house.
Mr. Culpepper stared at Dancey Moore.
Moore grinned at him. “You know why I’m here,” he said. “Yer hidin’ a racehorse that belongs to me. I want that horse now.” He looked toward the barn. “And I may just take one more for all the trouble you’ve caused me. We’ll look ’em over and decide if you have any worth takin’.”
Lonnie Champ began to move Christmas toward Dancey Moore. Moore cocked the pistol and pointed it at him. “Didn’t recognize you at first, Champ. I wondered what had happened to you. So this is where you’ve gone, and after all I’ve done for you.”
Lonnie kept moving toward him. Moore shook his head. “Don’t make me use this,” he said.
He turned in his saddle and lifted his chin at Zeb and his grampa. “I’m glad to see you two here. That means that my other horse is hidden here as well.”
He shook his head. “A couple of worn-out horse breeders, a Negro freeman with only a pitchfork, a scrawny Kaintuck, and a has-been cock of the walk. You think yer gonna stop us from taking those horses? We’re armed, and we won’t hesitate to use these pistols if we hafta. Now get out of the way.”
He pointed to one of his men. “Get down and open that door.”
Just then Hannah cantered Suba through the tall grass up to the fence that separated the pasture from the barnyard. The big black mare pranced around a bit, but Hannah had her in control.
Mr. Moore’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the horse. “So you admit it,” he shouted. “You do have my racehorse! Bring it here!”
Hannah turned and cantered the horse in a large circle, showing off its beautiful stride. Dancey Moore moved his horse over to the fence. “Get off the horse, boy!” he shouted to her. “I’m takin’ that one home with me.”
Hannah cantered it around once more, as if she didn’t hear him.
Moore shouted. “When I give you an order, boy, you do what yer told! Now, get off that horse!”
Hannah shrugged. She pulled Suba in at the far side of the circle and slipped off, then walked slowly toward Mr. Moore, leading the big black horse. When she got about six feet from the fence, she held the reins out for him to take. Dancey Moore sighed with exasperation. “Don’t you know nothin’, boy?” he said. “You want me to come over there and get that horse myself? You’ll never work for me.” He dismounted and climbed over the fence. He snatched the reins from her and stroked the horse’s long neck.
The stirrups were set for Hannah’s legs. As he lowered the stirrup on the left side, he called across the horse to Hannah. “Boy? Lower the stirrup on that side.”
Hannah adjusted the stirrups, then the saddle pad.
“Gimme those reins,” he growled, grabbing them from her.
Suba, reacting to the sound of his angry voice, kept moving away from him. Moore yanked hard on the reins.
Hannah climbed the fence and stood between Zeb and his grampa. Zeb whispered to her. “What’s goin’ on, Hannah? Where’s Katie?”
“We just needed to hold ’em here a little while longer, Zeb. You’ll see.”
Moore mounted the horse, trotted Suba in a circle, and then sat deep in the saddle and began to canter the horse. Suba suddenly bucked and twisted. Moore was thrown to the ground. Suba bucked some more, then turned and galloped across the pasture, disappearing behind the hill.
Dancey Moore stood up, slammed his hat against his pants, and put it back on his head. He climbed through the fence and remounted the horse he’d ridden to the farm. He turned the horse and shouted at Culpepper. “I’m still gonna take that horse. I bought her and she’s mine! When I get through with her, she won’t behave like that.”
Dancey Moore sneered at Culpepper. “I’ve got five men, each with a loaded pistol.” He nodded to the men. They pulled the hammers back on the pistols. “I should say, each with a cocked, loaded pistol. And some of us have an extra pistol, just in case. There are five of you. One pistol ball for each. Now, Culpepper, go get that black racehorse and that saddle horse I bought. Go get ’em now!” he shouted. “Or we start shooting.”
He pointed his gun at the porch. “We saw those women and children up there. We’ll take care of them, too, if we hafta. Can’t have no witnesses.”
While Moore threatened Mr. Culpepper, Lonnie Champ eased the coiled whip into his hand. Zeb tensed. If he tries to use that whip against these men, we’re all dead.
At that moment, Captain Morrison and the sergeant galloped over the hill with four of the dragoons behind them. The captain held his saber high in front of him.
Dancey Moore’s men turned their horses, preparing to run. But two of the dragoons were galloping toward them down the Culpepper driveway. There was no escape.
Zeb ran and opened the pasture gate. The captain and his men trotted through and then slowed the horses to a walk. The six men split into two groups of thre
e, taking positions on either side of Dancey Moore and his men. Their faces were stern and unforgiving.
Each man pulled his dragoon pistol out of its holster, cocked it, and pointed it at Moore and his men.
The four men behind Dancey Moore put their hands in the air, still holding their pistols. Moore pulled his horse back a step.
The captain slammed the saber back into its scabbard. “Dancey Moore!” he said loudly. “First, you will uncock that pistol. Then, holding it by the barrel, you will hand it to one of my men.” He lifted his head and looked at the four men behind Moore. They still had their hands in the air. “You men may lower your hands. Hold your pistols by the barrel and hand them to my men. If you have more than one, tell them now or suffer the consequences.”
Three of the six dragoons walked their horses alongside Dancey Moore’s men and relieved them of their weapons. Two of the men pulled an extra pistol out of their belts.
As one of the dragoons took Dancey Moore’s pistol, Moore growled at the captain. “Where’d you come from? You got no jurisdiction here. Give me back my gun.”
The captain waited until his men had resumed their positions. “I’ll ask the questions,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
Dancey Moore started to talk as if he were trading horses. “Look, Captain,” he said, trying to sound reasonable and honest, “I can see why you might misunderstand what’s goin’ on here, with me and my men holdin’ pistols on these rascals. What you don’t know is that this boy and his grampa, old man Ryan,” he said, pointing at them, “stole two horses that belong to me. They’ve been hidin’ ’em here at Culpepper’s farm. We knew they weren’t goin’ to give ’em back without a fight, so we came prepared.”
“Which horses are you talking about?”
“One is a racehorse. I call her Blackie. I paid a thousand dollars for that horse, fair and square.”
Each man pulled his dragoon pistol out of its holster and cocked it.
“That horse’s name is Suba,” Captain Morrison corrected him. “It is registered to Dr. McAllister’s daughter, Hannah. You bought that horse from ex-sergeant Michael Scruggs. And you paid him five hundred dollars for it, not a thousand. You knew that he had stolen the horse.”
“You can’t prove that!”
“I can. The ex-sergeant and I have had a heart-to-heart talk. He owed the United States Army for the price of a horse he lost gambling and a saddle he left somewhere in the forest. We had a warrant for his arrest.”
Dancey Moore shrugged as if all that had nothing to do with him.
“When we caught up with him,” the captain continued, “he paid what he owed, and I agreed not to take him back to the fort to serve time. But when I saw how much money he had with him, I insisted that he tell me where he got it. He told me all about your arrangement with him.”
“Don’t make no difference! Ain’t my business where he got her. My word against his. It’s my horse, and I plan to get it back!”
“The constable doesn’t see it that way. You and Sergeant Scruggs swore out a false accusation for kidnapping. You made an agreement with the sergeant to steal the horse, and you paid him for it. We have witnesses to all of it.”
“There ain’t no witnesses. Yer just bluffing. And I bought the other horse fair and square, and I can prove it. Got papers for him.”
“The ‘other horse’?”
“I bought him from Tate McPhee, saddle, bridle, and all. I paid him top dollar. He told me that old man Ryan was dead, shot by outlaws. The old fool ain’t dead, and now he wants his horse back.” His voice became louder and more belligerent. “He and that boy stole both horses from me, and I want ’em back!”
“You seem to know a lot about the law.”
“I do when it comes to horses. Been dealin’ with ’em for almost twenty years.”
“You may want to see the magistrate about these two horses. Do it all legally instead of using pistols.”
Dancey Moore nodded as if that would be a better way to go about it.
“The magistrate,” the captain continued, “may remind you that the penalty for knowingly receiving stolen goods is often as severe as the theft of the goods. You do know what the penalty is for stealing a horse, don’t you?” Captain Morrison nodded at his men. “I’ve seen and heard enough. Dancey Moore….”
Dancey Moore’s horse started acting up. Moore had his hands free from the reins, but the horse kept sidling around. Zeb could see that he was pressing one leg and then the other against the horse’s flanks. Moore had moved his horse so that it was now between Zeb and his grampa. Moore grabbed the reins and made as if to back up, but he put his hand inside his shirt and pulled out a little pistol. He pointed it at Cracker Ryan’s head. “You ain’t gonna take me!” he shouted. “Anyone makes a move and this old man is dead!”
He leaned down and said to Zeb’s grampa, “Drop that silly whip, old man. Drop it now!”
Cracker Ryan dropped the whip to the ground.
“Don’t move,” Dancey Moore growled. “I want all of you to get away from here and let me and my men go. Otherwise the famous Cracker Ryan is dead!”
Crack! The little pistol flew out of Moore’s hand and fell to the ground. Moore screamed in pain, grasping his hand.
The soldiers quickly moved alongside Dancey Moore and pulled him off his horse. Zeb’s grampa was holding his hand over his ear. Lonnie began to coil his whip.
Zeb shouted at Lonnie, “That was a stupid chance you took. That pistol could’ve fired!”
Lonnie Champ slipped off Christmas. “He hadn’t cocked it yet, Zeb,” he said quietly. “When I saw ‘im begin ta pull the hammer down, I jes knew I had ta move.”
Lonnie walked over to Zeb’s grampa. “You all right, Mr. Ryan? Did I get yer ear?”
The old man smiled. “No, you didn’t. The snap was so loud and so close to my ear, it’s still ringing. But no harm done.” He looked up at Lonnie Champ. “Nice work.”
“Tie each man’s hands behind his back while still mounted,” Captain Morrison ordered. “Search Dancey Moore thoroughly. Check his boots, too. Then put him on his horse and tie his hands as well. Sergeant Douglas, take three men to escort these horse thieves into Fort Dearborn. We’ll hold them with a federal charge of trespassing on army property until we are able to notify the constable.”
“Army property!” shouted Dancey Moore.
“That’s right!” said Captain Morrison. “While we are camped here, this is army property. You are trespassing!”
The sergeant ordered Dancey Moore to mount and put his hands behind his back. “Wait!” Dancey Moore shouted. “That horse is a stallion. No way I can manage him without control of the reins. You all have guns on me. I ain’t gonna run.”
Captain Morrison nodded, and the men tied Dancey Moore’s hands in front of him. The horse was restless, fidgeting from all the noise and tension while they tied Moore’s hands. When the soldiers stepped back, Moore sat without touching the reins. The horse seemed calm and manageable.
Moore glared down at Hannah, “You!” he snarled. “Yeah, you, boy. I know what you done. You put burrs under the back of the saddle of that mare, didn’t you? Dancey Moore don’t forgive and forget.”
Suddenly the horse began to act up again. Dancey Moore had his tied hands up in front of his chest, as if he were praying. The horse started to spin, turning around and around.
Zeb could see Moore’s legs, urging the horse on. What is he up to? If he makes a run for it, they’ll surely shoot him. He must know that.
The horse stopped turning. Moore appeared to have him in control again. Oh, my God. No! He screamed, “Move, Hannah! Move!”
As the horse kicked, Lonnie Champ threw himself between Hannah and the stallion’s hind legs, shoving Hannah out of the way. The horse kicked Lonnie squarely in the chest. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
Captain Morrison shouted to the sergeant, “Move all the men to the highway and wait for me there. Take Dancey Moore
off that horse! He will walk to Fort Dearborn.”
Then he said, “Zeb, go get Dr. McAllister. Bring him back here right away.”
Hannah was kneeling on the ground next to Lonnie Champ. Her mother hurried down the porch steps and knelt on his other side. Hannah cried, “Oh, Lonnie, don’t die.”
Lonnie opened his eyes and looked up at her. “I’ve had a lot worse than this,” he gasped. “But I’m a bear,” he whispered. “I’m a alligator, I’m a panther. I’m a cottonmouth. Ain’t no man can whup me, fair fight or foul, and don’t you ferget it.” He coughed and winced. Then he put his hand on his chest, grimacing. His eyes closed once again. He sighed. The hand slid slowly to the ground. His face relaxed. Lonnie Champ was dead.
Hannah lifted his head and put it in her lap. She leaned over him and sobbed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Final Arrangements
December 2, 1811
Lonnie Champ was buried in the Culpepper cemetery. The McAllisters, Zeb and his grampa, Mr. Culpepper and Katie, the Lodge family, and the dragoon patrol in dress uniforms attended. Reverend Lodge conducted the simple ceremony.
“I don’t know,” he said, “what Lonnie Champ’s religious beliefs were. But I do know that he had a fierce loyalty and a good heart. He was a truly good man, and a brave one too.”
The soldiers stood at attention, with their rifles by their sides. At the sergeant’s nod, they raised their rifles and fired into the air. The funeral was over.
On December 7, Captain Morrison assembled all those who were going with the patrol and informed them that he now had his orders. They would be leaving in four days. “You must be ready to leave that morning before sunup,” he said, “or be left behind.”
He was starting to return to the army encampment when two horsemen rode up the long Culpepper driveway. Each man was leading a heavily laden packhorse. Captain Morrison turned his horse and waited for them. They nodded to each other. “Gentlemen,” Captain Morrison said. “Captain,” they said.
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