The mountain man laughed. “Twelve years old and shoot a man in the ass with an arrow. I reckon that would get his attention, all right. That might be enough to make him carry a grudge.” He chuckled.
Jamie grinned boyishly. “He didn’t see the humor in it, that’s for sure.”
“I reckon not.”
Kate walked up, smelling of soap and cleanliness, her blond hair dark with water. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
“We also have the Saxon Brothers after us,” Jamie said.
“And you think that’s funny?”
“Not really. But shooting one in the butt that night was.”
Kate laughed and turned around. She had cut short her bath when she felt eyes on her. But she could detect no one. Now she mentioned it to Jamie and the stranger. The mountain man was on his feet in an instant, rifle in hand.
“Get the horses behind them rocks over yonder,” he said, jerking his head. “Missy, you get all them spare guns and start loadin’ ’em up. Double-shot the pistols for close work.”
“Indians?” Jamie asked, working quickly.
“I don’t think so. I can’t give you no good reason why I think that, I just do.”
“I’m not familiar with any of the tribes in this area,” Jamie said.
“No one is no more. Whites keep pushin’ the tribes out of the east and shovin’ ’em west. Some tribes has joined with other tribes, some packed up and went west, and others just disappeared. I don’t know where the hell they went. Last year I seen a bunch of Yuchis and Shawnee out on the plains. Heading west to get shut of the white man. Can’t blame ’em none.”
Jamie cut his eyes. “I think I just spotted a blue shirt across the river. Not that that means a whole lot. Could be an Indian wearing it.”
“Could be but I’ll bet it ain’t. I think we’re about to get fell on by a bunch of white trash.”
“I doubt it’s Olmstead and Jackson. We’re at least a week ahead of them.”
“No more than that,” the stranger said. “Come the mornin,’ we start hidin’ our tracks.”
“Hallo the camp!” the shout came from across the river. “We’re friendly folks and wouldn’t harm nary a butterfly. Can we come over and share our meager food with y’all, kind gents and beautiful lady?”
“Goddamn ridge-runners,” the mountain man said. “Worthless, shiftless trash. From this distance, they wouldn’t have known your lady was a woman... unless they spied on her bathing. And that makes ’em lower than a snake’s belly far as I’m concerned.” He looked at Jamie. “If I wasn’t here, what would you do?”
“First I’d find out how many of them are over there. Then I’d tell them to keep on traveling and make sure they did. Then I’d break camp and move on for several miles.”
The mountain man smiled, and with that smile, Jamie knew he was maybe twenty, at the most. “You’ll do, Jamie MacCallister. You’ll do.” He raised his voice. “Keep on travelin’. We ain’t in the mood for no company.”
“That’s a terrible unchristian thing, friend,” the shout was returned. “We are all poor pilgrims wandering in a vast and hostile land, ain’t we?”
The mountain man’s language coarsened considerably and he told the as yet unseen man where he could go and the shortest way to get there... in a manner of speaking.
Kate covered her mouth to smother her giggle.
“I don’t think you’re a very friendly person,” the shout came from across the river.
“I don’t much give a damn what you think!” the mountain man hollered. “But I know you best keep on travelin’.”
“Whatever you say, friend. We’ll pray for you over our supper.”
“Say a prayer or go to hell. Just get gone from here,” the mountain man replied. He turned to Jamie. “They’re sure to have people all around us. Damnit, I thought I heard something in the woods about twenty or so minutes ago.”
“Who are they?”
“Movers. Shiftless rawhiders who squat in some homesteader’s abandoned cabin and live until it falls down around them. Then they move on. And they steal anything that ain’t pegged down good. They’re too lazy to work; think the world owes them something. And they’ve always got a hard-luck story to tell. I was crossin’ Missouri some months ago and run into a bunch of them. I never heard such whinin’ and complainin’ in all my life. Give me a headache. I hadn’t gone ten miles up the road ’fore I run into the sheriff and a posse chasin’ ’em. And their women is the worse. Whoors and trash and the like. Don’t never turn your back to them. Them women’ll have a dirk in you faster than you can spit.”
“What do we do?” Kate called from the rocks.
“Get ready to kill some white trash,” the mountain man said shortly.
“Just like that?” Jamie questioned.
“Just like that. Believe me, they’d kill you and leave you for the ants without never blinkin’ a eye.”
“I must have missed something those years living in the Shawnee town,” Jamie said.
“You missed puttin’ up with white trash. Next time you see a Shawnee, thank him for that.”
Even though Jamie knew they were surrounded by danger, he had to chuckle at that. “Why do you hate them so?”
“Oh, I don’t hate them, Jamie. I don’t hate very much. Takes a lot to make me hate somebody. I just don’t have no use for them. They’re takers. Anytime a person takes more from his community or his fellow man than he gives back, that feller is what I call a taker. A lot of bankers is takers. A lot of lawyers is takers. You don’t have to be trash to be a taker.”
“I never thought about that.”
“You never had to. Until you left that Shawnee town and come back to live with the whites. Injuns won’t put up with takers. They’ll run them off or kill them. Well, most Injuns, that is. They’s a couple of tribes up in the northwest that’s pretty damn shiftless, but as a rule your Injuns have a fairly strict code they live by.”
“Everything is loaded up full and I’ve patches and balls ready,” Kate said.
“That’s a good girl, Jamie,” the mountain man said. “Don’t never treat her bad.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. Say... what is your name? I can’t go on calling you ’hey.’ ”
The young mountain man laughed. “ ’Bout three years ago, folks started callin’ me Preacher. I’ll tell you why later. Right now, cock that rifle. ’Cause here they come!”
Eleven
Jamie did not hesitate once the first shot was fired from across the river. A second after the ball whizzed past his head, Jamie pulled his rifle to his shoulder and fired. Across the river, the shooter dropped his rifle, threw his arms into the air, and pitched face-forward onto the bank.
The young mountain man fired and the ball struck a man in the stomach, doubling him over, screaming. He dropped to his knees and wailed in pain.
Kate fired from the rocks and her shot struck a man in the hip, spinning him around. Like the others, he dropped his rifle and went down.
“Three shots, three down,” Preacher said. “Can’t ask for no better than that.”
“Damn your black hearts!” the same unseen voice called from across the river. “Now you’ve done it. We come into this land as poor homeless pilgrims and all we asked was for compassion. Now you heathens has kilt kin. You’ll pay. You’ll all pay for this unjust mistreatment.”
“Unjust mistreatment?” Jamie muttered, reloaded and ready. “They started it, not us.”
“That’s the way them sort of people think, Jamie,” Preacher said. “They blame others for their misfortune. They don’t never put the blame where it belongs — on themselves.”
“That’s stupid!”
“Yep. Sure is. But they’ll never change. It’ll be the same a hundred and fifty years from now. Probably worser as government seems to be gettin’ bigger.”
“What do you mean?”
“The government’ll be payin’ folks not to work. That’s what I heard someb
ody say in St. Louis a few weeks back.”
“That day will never come,” Jamie argued.
“Don’t bet on it,” the mountain man replied. “See ’em movin’ over yonder?”
“Yes. They are very clumsy . . . and stupid if they think we haven’t spotted them.”
Preacher sighted in and let a ball fly. From the other side came a fearful shriek and a man thrashed around in the brush and then fell out into the clear and rolled down the bank, coming to a stop at the water’s edge.
“I ’spect that’ll just about do it,” Preacher said, reloading quickly. “They lost a goodly number to us and by now they know we ain’t a bunch of pilgrims.” He held up a hand. “Listen.”
Jamie and Kate could hear the faint sounds of wagons bouncing and creaking away.
“Stay here with your woman,” the mountain man said. He picked up his rifle and was gone.
Kate left the rocks at a run and came to Jamie’s side. Her face was pale and her eyes were startlingly wide. “I shot a man, Jamie. I killed him!”
“No, you didn’t, Kate. He was hip-shot and crawled into the brush. I saw him. Don’t worry about it, Kate. We did what we had to do. I’m proud of you.”
The young couple stood silent for a few moments. “They’re gone,” Preacher called. “Come on across and help me gather up this gear and such. You’ll need it.”
Kate went across with Jamie and stopped by a dead man, staring down at him. “Why... this wretch has fleas!” she said, looking at the tiny parasites hopping about, not yet realizing that their host was dead.
“That probably ain’t all he’s got,” Preacher called out, his tone very dry. “Jamie, strip him of his shot and powder and pistols.”
“I don’t rob from the dead, Preacher.”
Preacher stepped out of the brush. “Learn something valuable now, Jamie.” He was carrying several rifles and pistols. “This ain’t no church picnic. Where you and Kate are goin’ there ain’t no white people, much less stores and the like. Whatever y’all gonna have, you got to tote it in with you and make it do. You got that through your head, now, boy?”
It still irritated Jamie for the young mountain man to call him boy, but he realized that Preacher, while only a few years older, was vastly more knowledgeable in such matters than he and Kate. “I understand,” he said softly.
“Fine,” Preacher said. “Kate, you get on back ’crost the stream and get some lye soap and hot water ready. We got to wash these britches and shirts and coats.”
“You’re going to strip the bodies?” she asked. “All three of them?”
“Five of them,” Preacher corrected. “They was two waitin’ for us over here. I used my good knife on them. Now go on acrost. It ain’t fitten for you to witness what me and Jamie got to do.”
“Are we going to bury them?” Jamie asked.
“Cave that bank yonder on them,” the mountain man said. “That’ll do for this bunch.”
Kate beat it back across the river and Jamie and Preacher fell to their grisly task.
“They left a wagon and a team,” Preacher said. “That might be what you and Kate had better use to get to where you’re going. They also left four saddle horses. Pretty good stock. That will help y’all get started when you reach your stoppin’ point. We’ll hide all signs of a fight and then I’ll take the spare horses and lay a false trail west. That will throw off them comin’ in behind you. By the time they realize they’re mistooken, y’all’s real trail will be gone. I’ll hook up with y’all in a few days.”
“You’re a real friend, Preacher,” Jamie said, his eyes serious.
“You’re a MacCallister. Your grandpa took me under his wing soon as I got to the high lonesome. If he hadn’t a-done that, I’d have died, probably. ’Sides, I like you and Kate. Now close your mouth and get to work, ’fore you start blubberin’ on me.”
* * *
The next morning, Preacher was gone before the dawning, leading the spare mounts and laying down a false trail. Jamie and Kate pulled out in the wagon. Both knew, in all probability, the wagon had been stolen, for it was filled with provisions and other gear. They didn’t even know for sure what all was in the wagon for they did not want to take the time to inspect the load. But they did have four fine mules that would prove invaluable when they began homesteading.
The going was much slower now, for there were no roads and Jamie had to scout ahead for the best route through the western Arkansas wilderness. Kate drove the wagon and it did not take her long to master the reins.
Jamie chose their campsites with care, always picking a spot that the two of them could easily defend. But they encountered no trouble during the days that Preacher was gone. And they were glad to see the young mountain man, days later, when he finally caught up with them, riding up from the south and joining them just as they were making camp for the evening.
He swung down from the saddle and saw to his horse while Jamie took the spare mounts over to the picket line. “Got news,” Preacher said. “But first I’ll have me a taste of that coffee. I run out day ’fore yesterday.” He squatted down and took the cup that Kate handed him. He blew to cool and then swallowed. “Good. I’m a coffee-drinkin’ man. Talked with some Injuns. Seems like Kate’s pa and them ridin’ with him have done give it up and headed back to Kaintuck. Now all y’all got to worry with is the Newby Brothers and the Saxon gang. But they’ll play hell findin’ your trail. I rode south for a time, then cut east and went over to the hot springs. Damndest sight I ever did see... almost.” He took a gulp of coffee. “Y’all ever heard of the Big Thicket country?”
Kate and Jamie shook their heads.
Preacher brushed a space clean on the ground and drew a rough map. “It’s right here. And I’m told it’s wild. I like wild things, so I’ll drift on down that way with you two. When you first see it, so I was told by them Caddos, you’ll think it ain’t nothin’ but a dark swamp. Tain’t so. They’s areas within it that’s good farm land. Rich and never seen a plow. I think that’s y’all’s best bet.” He looked at them. “What say you both?”
Jamie glanced at Kate and she smiled and nodded her head. “Let’s go look at it,” Jamie said.
* * *
With Preacher back to help, Jamie could now relieve Kate at the reins, spelling her when she got tired, or when Jamie thought she was tiring. But Kate was a lot tougher than Jamie realized, and although she was tired at day’s end, she enjoyed driving the team. Not that handling four big mules was any pleasure, mind you, she just liked the feeling of contributing to this journey. But she let Jamie think he was doing her a big favor.
And with the young mountain man along, Jamie was slowly being eased and teased out of his usual somber and serious mood. For with Preacher, life was a grand joke — unless it came to a shooting or a cutting and then he could get real serious.
They saw no one. They did spot distant smoke from time to time, but they did not wish to call attention to themselves so the smoke went uninvestigated.
They moved slowly through a series of rolling hills and came to a long valley. Preacher rode back to the wagon, where Jamie had been riding along, talking with Kate as she handled the reins.
“We’ll make another two/three miles and then bed down for the night. This time tomorrow, we’ll have cut straight south. Arkansas River’s to the north of us ’bout forty or fifty miles, I reckon.”
“How far down to this Big Thicket country?” Kate asked.
“Pretty good ways, missy. Hundreds of miles. I’d say. Weeks of travel. Tell the truth, I ain’t real sure where it is.”
“Let’s go,” Jamie said.
The days stretched endlessly behind them and loomed the same way ahead of them. During their stops for the night, Kate went through the contents of the big wagon and discovered a treasure trove of goods. Kegs of powder and sheets of lead. Flour and sugar and bolts of material. A case of rifles and pistols. Cooking pots and pans and other utensils. Needles and thread. Medical supplies and pot
ions and bandages. Hatchets and axes.
“Had to have belonged to a traveling salesman,” Jamie said. “I wonder if those movers killed him for this?”
“Probably,” the mountain man said. “But this’ll help y’all get set up and settled in. Oncest we get down south and I have me a look around, I’m gone back to the mountains. Y’all might not never see me again. I warn you now that when I go, I ain’t much on goodbyes. You’ll just get up one mornin’ and I’ll be gone. But I want the both of you to know this has been a right pleasurable time for me. Just wanted y’all to know that.”
They rolled on and saw no one. Jamie began to suspect that Preacher, always ranging out from the wagon, was deliberately taking them around any settlers’ cabins so they’d remain unseen. Several times both he and Kate had smelled the odor of food cooking. Preacher had dismissed it as their imagination. But Jamie knew it had not been only in his mind. He knew what salt meat and biscuits smelled like.
Jamie had once more allowed his blond hair to grow long, and sometimes Kate would braid it for him to keep it from tangling. He was well into his fifteenth year and had reached his height. He was three inches over six feet and muscular. Anyone who tried guessing his weight would usually be twenty-five pounds short. He had taken to riding with his short-barreled rifle over the saddle horn, like the mountain man did. None of them had any idea what month it was, and they weren’t real sure of the year. They believed it was 1823.
After months on the trail, Preacher rode back to the wagon one afternoon and pointed. “There she be, people. That’s the start of it. It’ll run, off and on, for several hundred miles, so I was told. Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. How far down you want to go, Jamie?”
“Two or three more days, at least.”
“All right. Then I’ll be back in about a week or so. I heard tell there was a tradin’ post down here around a place the Frenchies call Beau Mont and other folks is callin’ the Bluff. I don’t know whether it’s there or not. I’ll check it out. Don’t get lost. See you.”
Kate and Jamie traveled southward for several more days, until Jamie found a place where he could pull the wagon off into an area where it was very nearly invisible from ten feet away. He spent a day building a brush corral for the livestock and getting Kate used to the idea that he would be gone all day, for the next several days. She didn’t like it, but knew it had to be.
Eyes of Eagles Page 10