Hunter's Moon

by Jay Heavner

  John took the sick Indian to his home, and he stayed in the barn with the animals. Jenny was not sure she wanted him around and wondered where they would get extra food. There was little to spare in this growing family. John told her it would be until he got well and was able to travel. After two weeks on the mend, Injun Joe surprised them one day when he came out of the woods with a large doe on his back he killed. They were shocked when he spoke to them in fluent English. “I brought you venison, and it shall feed us for many days. We will make a coat from its skin.”

  “Where did you learn to speak English… and so good? Why didn’t you tell us you could speak our language?” asked John.

  The old Indian said, “When I was a young man, I fought a white man who was on our hunting grounds. He was a strong man, and we fought hard and long, but I was a little stronger. I got on top of him and had a knife to run in him. He tried to hold me off, but the knife got closer and closer to his neck. His frightened eyes looked into mine, and he said in my language, ‘Please, don’t kill me.’ I did not think it possible a white man could master our tongue, but here he was talking to me. I let him up, and we became friends. He taught me many things. Why did I not tell you I could speak your language? I had to learn if I could trust you,” and then he smiled.

  John was glad Injun Joe wanted to stay. He chose to bed down in the barn loft. Any place else was too confining, he said. Often in the cool of the evening, Injun Joe would tell stories of his life to the family. He came from a tribe far to the west where gray eyes and hair like his were common, but all were now dead from smallpox. Only he remained. He owed his life to the white man who knew that a person who got the irritating disease from a cow or rodent would never get the deadly smallpox. Injun Joe had touched a prairie dog with the pox, developed minor sores, but had been unaffected by the often fatal disease that decimated his tribe. Injun Joe had tried to convince the chiefs of the white man’s magic medicine, but they did not believe having been tricked so often by the white men, and so all but Injun Joe had died. He showed John how to scratch himself, get the nuisance pox and not the deadly smallpox. John did this to all of his family, and when the pox raged through the area, not one of them got the disease.

  The white man named Smyth taught Injun Joe to read English, and he loved the way books could take his mind everywhere. With this knowledge, Injun Joe found he no longer fit in the Indian world, nor in the white world either, so he traveled with Smyth. Smyth lived with his Indian wife in a neighboring village of Injun Joe’s tribe before he had encountered him. It was there he learned Injun Joe’s tongue. Smyth’s wife had died in childbirth, and the devastated man left the tribe. Shortly afterward, Injun Joe encountered the white man. Smyth had big dreams of seeing the world, and Injun Joe caught his traveling fever. The two men traveled west and saw sights no man could believe. The snow-covered mountains touched the skies and buffalo herds made the ground shake from their feet. A great river filled with fish that jumped into the local native’s baskets led to a vast and cold ocean. In another place, water spouted from the earth hundreds of feet into the air, and muddy ground boiled. John wondered at some of his stories, but he had never known Injun Joe to be less than honest around him. Injun Joe was on his way to see the eastern ocean when John had found him.

  They asked Injun Joe what his tribal name was. He politely smiled and told them no white man, but Smyth had been able to pronounce it. He showed the Phares children how to hunt and how to fight like an Indian. Jasmine, he said, even though she was still a young girl, had the heart of a warrior. She had always been a spunky child, and Injun Joe brought out that inner strength.

  And now he was dead, but because of him, the family was alive. John had left for town yesterday morn at dawn for supplies. The men were hiding and watching when John left. They struck the house as the family was waking. The two men quickly overpowered Jenny, tied her hands, and went through the cabin looking for anything of value. Satisfied they had found all worth taking, they set their eyes on Jenny, and their thoughts were pure evil. The biggest one grabbed her and tried to force himself on her, but she managed to slip away. The story she told John went something like this.

  Jenny pleaded with the men, “Please, don’t do this to me. Please don’t.”

  “There’s no one here to stop us, and you’re some fine lookin’ woman flesh. This should be fun,” the biggest one said.

  Jenny could see there was no talking them out of their evil. “Please,” she pleaded. “Not here in front of the children. If you must do this, at least take me to the barn so my children won’t see this.”

  The big one said, “You know. She’s right. That hay should make a good bed. Okay, wench, let’s go. I feel myself rising to the occasion,” and then he gave a cruel laugh.

  The small man laughed too and grabbed Jasmine, who squealed. “And I think I shall enjoy this young thing for the first time.”

  “We’ll have our fun and then kill ‘em all, no witnesses,” said the big man

  “No, don’t,” shouted Jenny, but it did no good as the two men dragged them to the barn.

  In the barn, the big man began to tear at Jenny’s dress.

  “EEEYYAAAHHH!!” Jenny heard as Injun Joe leaped from the loft in the barn. He landed hard on the big man’s back and sank his 16-inch long knife down the side of his neck next to the man’s collar bone, and it went in to the handle.

  Before Injun Joe could recover, the second man stuck his blade into his back.

  “EEEYYAAHHH!!” filled the barn again, and the second man screamed. Jasmine had grabbed a wooden pitch fork and run it in his back below the ribs. Four sharp wooden forks stuck out the front. He painfully turned his head and looked into her eyes. “EEEYYAAHHH!!” she shouted again and looked coldly at him. “No man, but my husband shall have my maidenhead, and no man, no man, shall ever bugger me.”

  When John returned, he found the three dead men. Jenny was crying hysterically, and Jasmine was trying to calm her. The rest of the children hid in the cabin. He calmed Jenny and sent the oldest boy for the town constable. They returned quickly, and Jasmine told the lawman what had happened. He said it looked like justice had been done and to dispose of the bodies anyway John saw fit. With the constable’s help, he put them in his wagon and took them up into the woods. There he dumped each man on an anthill as large as a new grave. The ants would make quick work of them. It was better than they deserved.

  ***

  It was now mid-morning, and the sun shined at a 45-degree angle. The family gathered around the large woodpile where Injun Joe’s body lay on top. His eyes were closed, but he faced the rising sun and the distant ocean he would never see. It was quiet as the older members of the family thought how Injun Joe had affected their lives. Little Billy tugged on his father’s breeches. “Daddy, aren’t you suppose to say something before we send him off to God?”

  “Yes, son. I guess you’re right.” He cleared his throat. “Dear Lord above. We’re here today to honor a good man. I don’t even know his real name, but You do. He saved my family, and I own him so much. Would you tell him, ‘Thanks’ please? There is no way I could ever repay him. I know he believed in a Great Spirit who created all. Today may his soul soar like an eagle up to you and land in the hollow of your hand. Amen.”

  Each of the family, even the smallest, echoed an “Amen.”

  John lit the fire, and a roaring inferno soon consumed the old Indian. The fire was hot, and the family backed away. They stood hugging together at a safe distance. Tears ran down their faces, even John’s. A great man was going home. John hoped he could be as honorable as this old Indian was in life and death. Greater love hath no man than he would lay down his life for another.

  Chapter 12

  Spring 1774

  It was late afternoon when John Phares saw the red-headed stranger come riding up to his farm. He wore a tri-cornered hat and was dressed warmly against the chill. The weather was not favorable for travel. The first warming breezes of spring we
re late arriving. It would be another month before the leaves would appear. The man rode closer, and John recognized him.

  “Why, Mr. Washington. It’s a pleasure to see you. What brings you to these parts?”

  Washington responded from high on his horse. “I’m well, thank God. I hope the sicknesses I’ve had are behind me.” He dismounted. “I’m in the area on business. Change is in the air, and there’s much to do. Would it be possible to lodge here for the night? I want to discuss some matters with you. Finding someone I can trust and be candid with is difficult these days.”

  “Mr. Washington, you know you’re always welcome here.”

  “Please, we’ve known each other for so long. I would much prefer it if you called me George. Let’s put the horse in the barn and then discuss some items of importance.” Two of John’s children followed them to the barn. They put the horse in a stall and gave the gelding some of last season’s hay. The children pick up brushes and gently groomed the horse.

  Washington said, “John, you and your family have shown me nothing but kindness ever since I have known you. Jenny has been a wife every man dreams of having and look at your children. My, how they’ve grown. I guess it won’t be long before you’ll be a grandpa.”

  “Well, George,” he hesitated, “it will take a while to get used to calling you George and not your last name with a title in front of it. My oldest is of marrying age, but she is a headstrong young woman. It’ll take a special man to win her heart, and she knows her papa loves her too much to marry her off to the first suitor that shows up. She’s different. She may be a girl, but she can outrun and hold her own against men her size and bigger. Any man who underestimates that filly will get a surprise real quick. I don’t know what the future has in store for her, but I believe her life will be different from most women here on the frontier.”

  “So true, each time I see her, she grows bigger and stronger. The good Lord above has blessed you with quite a family.”

  “Yes, He has. The youngin’s take care of the horse. The missus has supper cooking. Why don’t we head for the porch and talk about whatever is on your mind.”

  “That would be fine, but let’s save the serious items until after we’ve eaten. Some things are better discussed on a full stomach. I have some excellent tobacco with me that was raised on my plantation. Would you care for some?”

  John’s ears perked up. Good tidewater tobacco was prized highly on the frontier. “Excellent idea. First, we have a smoke, then a good meal, and later get down to business. I like your line of thinking. George, as we’re friends, I can say this, people say you’re not the quickest thinker, but you have the ability to take a problem apart and come to a precise plan of action. I hope you are not offended by my bluntness.”

  Washington cringed slightly and smiled. At one time, his temper would have his mouth spewing something he’d later regret, but he’d learned, for the most part, to keep it in check. “Yes, I have heard this said about me. We grow old so soon… and smart so late. What I have to discuss will need bluntness and candor, but must remain confidential.”

  The two men walked to the porch, and George sat on the crude bench. John checked with Jenny on the supper. The kids were helping, and it would be ready soon. The tobacco was every bit as smooth as John remembered the excellent, lowland product. They made small talk about the weather and how things were changing ever so fast. Soon they were called to a grand supper--salted pork, cornbread, some dried apples, and boiled skunk cabbage. John asked his guest to bless the meal. Washington did and also asked for the good Lord’s blessing upon this household. He received a big Amen from all sitting at the table John had made during a cold winter long ago. The meal was delicious, though it was devoured by the hungry people; Jenny was certain she was the only one to noticed how it tasted.

  Jenny and the kids cleaned up the table and dishes afterward, and the men retreated to the porch. “That was a mighty fine meal, John. It’s a wonder with cooking like that you aren’t a stout man.”

  John chuckled. “If my body really reflected how good my wife’s cooking has been, I would be as wide as I am tall. The ladies have ways of taking care of us menfolk.”

  Washington’s eyebrows raised, and he now also chuckled. “How right you are. How right you are,” he repeated. “As I said, I have some important news and business I must share with you. The times are a changing. There’s talk of rebellion against the British mainly in the New England area, but there are pockets everywhere in the colonies. The die has been cast, and I fear there is no turning back. Various people have quietly asked me to lead an army against the Motherland. I’d hoped it would not come to this, but the actions of the Crown are only making matters worse instead of better. I believe war is on the horizon, and it’s not something to rush into. Many will die, and there will be much destruction. Once it starts, no one can be sure of the outcome. I’ve been inspecting the western frontier for defense. If war comes, I fear the British will rally the Indians against us. They will see the British as the lesser of two evils.”

  “You’ve seen how it goes. The Crown ignored the threat from the French in the Ohio region years ago. When they pushed our forces out, the Indians saw them as the stronger and sided with them. Some wavered. You well know what happened after Braddock’s defeat. We lost all Indian support, and many settlers on the frontier died.”

  “Some of this present situation can be traced back to that bull-headed Englishman General Braddock. If he had only listened and not been so headstrong, things might have been different.”

  “What do you mean?” asked John.

  “Now, don’t get me wrong,” said George Washington. “I greatly appreciated what he did for me by allowing me to be his aide. I treasure his sash he gave me, but his actions have had great consequences. He was pompous and ham-handed. He dismissed the Colonial Forces and his Indians allies as unimportant and incompetent. Look where it got him, dead.” George paused for effect. “The Scotsman General Forbes had his own ideas on how things should be done, some of what I did not agree with, but he learned from Braddock’s mistakes and was able to overcome the French. Braddock’s defeat gave the Indians hope of pushing back our settler’s advances, and many of them died needlessly. Also, it made the King’s forces look poorly in the colonial’s eyes. They were no longer our saviors, but just another army that could be defeated. If Braddock had been effective, the Crown would see no need to impose the taxes and restrictions many here view as dictatorial. We are free men equal to them, not pawns to be pushed around.”

  The two men sat silently as the darkness came. Only the burning tobacco in the pipes penetrated the night, and the smoke kept the mosquitoes at bay. They could barely see each other. After a long pause, John Phares spoke. “So, where do we go from here?”

  Washington responded. “Thank you for listening to my rants and frustration. You were there. You knew.” He stopped and started again. “There’re two matters where you can possibly help me. War with the British is coming quickly, and we must prepare. The frontier is still vulnerable to attacks from the Indians of Ohio, further west and Canada. The British will stir them up against us just like the French did. Yesterday’s enemy may be today’s ally. I need forces for the war starting in New England now, but I also need men to stay behind on the frontier to guard our back door against invaders. I want you to stay and do what you can in the western mountains of Virginia and neighboring Pennsylvania.”

  John said, “Yes, I can understand the logic in that, and the second matter is?”

  Washington hesitated, “It’s something I’m not sure how to address. After Braddock’s defeat, his payroll is believed to have disappeared. Some say Dunbar had it with his forces at the rear, and it was never lost. Others say it was lost at the Battle of the Monongahela and is still lost, or the French have it and are not talking. Still, others say it was buried somewhere along the Youghiogheny River. I tend to believe that report. Over the years, British officials have approached me for informa
tion, but I had little to give. I was so ill as were many on that campaign. I spent more time riding prone in the sick-wagon than on my horse. When I could ride, I needed a pillow under me as my hinder parts were raw from wiping. Only the battle made me forget how rash and tender it was.”

  John gave a little laugh at that and said, “I think any person can sympathize with you. That condition is a plague on humanity on the frontier. In a way, you were lucky. Many died from that condition.”

  “How well I know,” said Washington. “It’s only funny when it’s long over, or someone else has it.”

  John laughed again. “I’ve been there and know first hand what you speak of.”

  Washington continued. “Even others believe it was buried in Virginia near Alexandria. The British must know something, or they would not still be looking for it. John, the colonial cause of freedom, is in dire need of money. You were on Braddock’s campaign. I’m not asking if you know where it is, but if you did and could see that some comes my way, it would be a great help. Many men on the coast have given large sums privately. Some will lose all they have in the coming war, and that could include me. My home is along the Potomac and within a cannon shot of a passing British warship. If you know anything about getting some of the lost gold payroll into trusted hands, I would be eternally grateful. And as you well know, I can be trusted with a secret.”