The Frontiersman

by William W. Johnstone

  With a casual shrug, Breckinridge said, “A bunch of Indians jumped me in the woods today, and one of their arrows nicked me.”

  Maureen’s eyes widened appropriately. She gasped. “You were attacked by Indians?”

  “Chickasaw renegades,” Breckinridge replied, still acting nonchalant about the incident. “I was over in the hills huntin’, and I’d just brought down a fine buck. I reckon they wanted to take it away from me, or else they just wanted to kill me ’cause I’m white. Those renegades have been causin’ trouble for quite a while now.”

  “That’s terrible! How many of them were there?”

  “Four, I think. Yeah, four.”

  “Were your brothers with you?”

  Breckinridge shook his head and said, “Nope, just me.”

  “There were four savages trying to kill you . . . and you survived?” Maureen seemed astounded by the idea. “How on earth did you get away?”

  “Well, I fought back, of course,” Breckinridge said.

  “You drove them away?”

  “Two of ’em ran off after they tangled with me.”

  “What about the other two?”

  “Why, I killed ’em, of course.” Caught up in his own heroic glories, Breckinridge went on, “Snapped the neck of one of’em clean in two and stove in the other one’s head with my rifle butt.”

  He didn’t notice until it was too late the horrified expression that had stolen over Maureen’s face as he answered her question. She said, “You . . . you murdered them, just like that?”

  “No, you couldn’t call it murder,” Breckinridge said hastily. “You see, they were tryin’ their dam—tryin’ their best to kill me, so I figured I had to defend myself. Otherwise it’d be me layin’ out there in the woods now, gettin’ gnawed on by scavengers.”

  A shudder ran through Maureen, and Breckinridge realized that he’d let his mouth run away with itself again. He had assumed she would be impressed by the grisly details of his tale of derring-do, maybe even so moved by the thrilling yarn that she would want to kiss him.

  He could see now that he’d been wrong about that. He had forgotten that Maureen was a city gal. The renegades stayed far away from town. She had probably never even seen a hostile Indian.

  “I don’t see how anyone can live like that,” she said. “To be in so much danger that you have to respond with such terrible brutality . . .”

  She shuddered again.

  “Maybe we should, uh, talk about somethin’ else,” Breckinridge suggested.

  Maureen shook her head and got to her feet. Breckinridge quickly stood up, too.

  “No, I think it’ll take me some time to get those dreadful images out of my mind,” she said. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to be inhospitable, Breckinridge, but perhaps it would be best if you didn’t come calling for a while.”

  Breckinridge felt crushed. He wasn’t quite sure how the situation had fallen apart so quickly. He had believed everything was going along just fine. Aylesworth was gone, Maureen was smiling and laughing, and he’d been so sure she would be impressed by his story . . .

  Instead she was telling him to leave and not come back, at least for a while. Some instinct told him that arguing would just make things worse, so he swallowed and said, “All right, Maureen, if that’s what you want, I’ll go. But I sure never intended to upset you.”

  She gave him a weak smile and said, “That’s all right, Breckinridge. Sometimes I just forget how . . . how very different you and I really are. But I still consider you my friend, I assure you of that.”

  Well, it was something, anyway, Breckinridge thought. Although the idea of being just a friend to Maureen Grantham didn’t appeal to him at all. He had figured that sooner or later they would be much, much more than that.

  But this was just a minor setback, he told himself. Sooner or later she would get over the revulsion she felt toward him at this moment, and he would work his way back into her good graces. It wasn’t like this changed anything permanently.

  “I reckon I’ll say good night, then.”

  He thought maybe she would touch his arm or something, but she made no move to do so. She just said, “Good night, Breckinridge,” and turned to go into the house.

  Breckinridge waited until the door closed behind her, then sighed and shook his head. He blew out the lantern to save Mr. Grantham the trouble of having to come out and extinguish it, then untied Hector’s reins from the picket fence where he had fastened them, swung up into the saddle, and headed home.

  Chapter Five

  Richard Aylesworth scowled down into the mug of beer in front of him. He was seated at a table in a Knoxville tavern, one of his favorite haunts. He seemed to see images swirling in the brew’s amber depths.

  Those images formed a picture of Maureen and that lout Wallace sitting together on the bench on her father’s front porch. Aylesworth’s fingers tightened on the mug as that mental portrait shifted and Wallace took Maureen in his arms to kiss her.

  He wanted Maureen to pull away and slap the big lout’s face, but she didn’t. Instead she responded eagerly, passionately, to Wallace’s caresses, and the pictures playing in Aylesworth’s head became more and more obscene until his teeth ground together so hard it seemed they might snap.

  Aylesworth was so caught up in the bitter fantasy he didn’t notice his friend Jasper Carlson approaching until Jasper slapped him on the back and greeted him, “Hello, Dick!”

  Startled, Aylesworth jumped a little. The lurid images in his head disappeared. Breathing a little hard, he looked around and said, “Ah, Jasper, it’s you.”

  “Of course it’s me,” Jasper said as he pulled out an empty chair and sat down. He was about the same age as Aylesworth, but the marks of dissolution were already starting to appear on his lean face under a shock of curly blond hair.

  The two of them had spent many nights drinking, gambling, and paying discreet visits to houses of ill repute. Both young men had to be careful because their fathers were respectable citizens, pillars of the community, influential businessmen. They couldn’t risk bringing too much shame on their families because then they might be cut off from their generous allowances.

  “You look like you’re brooding about something,” Jasper went on. “What’s wrong?”

  Aylesworth didn’t really want to talk about it, but he knew Jasper would hound him until he replied. So he said, “I called on Maureen Grantham tonight.”

  A grin creased Jasper’s face. He said, “Ah, the beautiful and nubile Maureen. Did you convince her to take a step closer to coming to your bed?”

  Aylesworth clenched his right hand into a fist and thumped it on the table.

  “Damn it, Jasper, I don’t just want to bed that girl. I intend to marry her in a couple of years, when she’s old enough.”

  “Marriage?” Jasper cocked an eyebrow so pale it was almost white. “I thought you didn’t intend to settle down for quite awhile yet. There are still plenty of whores in Knoxville we haven’t slept with.”

  Aylesworth let out a disdainful snort.

  “Since when does getting married mean that a man can no longer sleep with whores?” he wanted to know.

  “Well, there is that to consider,” Jasper replied with a chuckle. “Some people believe in the sanctity of holy wedlock . . . but we’ve never been much for sanctity and propriety, you and I, have we?”

  Aylesworth drank some of his beer and didn’t reply. He looked around the dim, smoky tavern and saw several other young men he knew. A vague idea began to form in the back of his mind.

  “So what happened at the Grantham house to upset you?” Jasper persisted.

  “Who said anything upset me?”

  “Ah, we’ve been friends too long for that, Dick. I know your moods too well.”

  Aylesworth shrugged and said, “Breckinridge Wallace showed up. He had courting on his mind, too.”

  “Wallace . . . That big, redheaded oaf? The farm boy?”

  “That’s right. He�
�s interested in Maureen, too. I’ve heard that this isn’t the first time he’s called on her. She treated him in quite the friendly fashion, as if he’d been there many times before.”

  Jasper signaled to a serving girl, who brought him a mug of beer. As she set it on the table he rested a hand on her backside, digging his fingers into the soft flesh. She smiled at him.

  “I’ll see you later, my dear,” he told her as he tossed a coin to her, then watched with a smile as she walked away with a sensuous sway to her gait. He downed some of the beer and turned back to Aylesworth. “Surely you can’t regard that bumpkin Wallace as serious competition for the fair Maureen’s affections.”

  “He’s big and handsome, and she’s female. Other than how much money is in a man’s purse, that’s all they really care about.”

  “True, but Maureen is a smart girl. She couldn’t be interested in an uneducated lout like Wallace.” A look of understanding appeared on Jasper’s face. “But that might not stop her from playing him against you. Women are devils for such games.”

  “I know. And before you know it, she might actually start to have feelings for him.” Aylesworth’s fingers tightened on the mug again. “I won’t allow that to happen. I can’t allow that. And there’s something else.”

  Jasper leaned forward and asked, “What?”

  “While Maureen was in the house and Wallace and I were alone, he threatened to gossip to her about what happened in Philadelphia.”

  “No! He can’t do that. He doesn’t know what really went on up there. Only a few people do.”

  “The whispering has just died down,” Aylesworth said grimly. “I don’t want it to start again. There’s been more than enough speculation, and I won’t have Breckinridge Wallace fueling the whole thing again.”

  With a shrewd smile, Jasper said, “It sounds to me as if someone needs to teach young Master Wallace a stern lesson about interfering in the affairs of his elders and betters.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” Aylesworth admitted. “Do you think you could gather up some of the boys . . . ?”

  “There are enough right here in this room who would be happy to help you, Dick. Do you know where we can find Wallace?”

  “It hasn’t been that long since I left him at the Grantham house. If we were to wait on the road east of town, he’ll have to come along there when he starts back to his family’s pathetic little farm.”

  “An excellent idea.” Jasper shoved his chair back and stood up. In the tavern’s smoky light, the grin on his face made him look like a blond devil. “Before this night is over, Breckinridge Wallace will regret intruding where he doesn’t belong.”

  * * *

  Breckinridge was still upset as he followed the road that twisted through the wooded, gently rolling hills east of Knoxville. Because he knew this route well, he didn’t really have to think about where he was going as he guided Hector along the trail. Instead he was able to cast his thoughts back over everything that had happened this evening.

  Now he was able to see the mistakes he had made, and if he got a chance to see Maureen again in the future, he knew he could repair the damage he had done. She thought he was as brutal and bloodthirsty as those Chickasaw renegades. All he had to do was show her that she was wrong.

  He was so deep in thought he never noticed the slight rustling in the branches of the tree limb that hung over the road ahead of him. The night was fairly dark, with only the light of the stars and a quarter-moon washing over the landscape, so even if he had been more alert he might not have noticed anything out of the ordinary in time.

  He was still thinking about Maureen as he rode underneath the limb. He didn’t know he was in danger until a heavy weight smashed against his back and drove him out of the saddle.

  Breckinridge’s reflexes were swift. As he felt himself falling he kicked his feet out of the stirrups so Hector wouldn’t drag him if the horse decided to bolt. An instant later he hit the ground hard enough it knocked the breath out of him. The weight remained on his back, pinning him to the hard-packed dirt of the trail as he gasped for air.

  He heard the crackle of leaves and the sound of running footsteps as several people rushed out of the brush alongside the road where they apparently had been hiding. His first thought was that he had been ambushed by highwaymen. Like the renegade Indians, normally they didn’t venture this close to town to rob unwary travelers, but anything was possible.

  All he felt certain of was that these strangers meant him harm, and if he just lay there in the road there was no telling what they might do to him. They might even kill him.

  So for the second time today, Breckinridge figured he was fighting for his life.

  That thought sent anger surging through him. He bucked up from the ground like a wild horse. That gave him room to get his hands and knees under him and thrust himself to his feet, spilling the man who had tackled him from above.

  A faintly heard swishing sound in the air warned him. He twisted away from it. A club of some sort struck him on the shoulder and sent pain shooting down his arm, but that was better than letting the weapon brain him.

  “Grab his legs!” a man yelled. “We’ve got to get him down!”

  “He’s built like a damned bear!” another man complained.

  Breckinridge didn’t recognize either voice. He didn’t expect to, because he still thought the men were cutthroats and thieves. Seeing half a dozen shadowy shapes moving around him, he clenched his fists and turned with his attackers, watching for one of them to get close enough for him to land a punch.

  “You’ve made a bad mistake, you brigands!” he roared at them. “I don’t have anything worth stealing!”

  That brought a laugh from one of the men, who said, “He’s right about that.”

  That was a voice Breckinridge knew. He had heard it earlier tonight. He couldn’t hold back a surprised exclamation.

  “Aylesworth!”

  “We’re going to teach you a lesson, you oaf,” Richard Aylesworth said. “You’ll stay away from Maureen Grantham in the future, and you won’t say a word about me to her or anyone else.”

  “Go to hell!” Breckinridge shouted. He had run out of patience waiting for the men to come to him. He had never liked letting someone else make the first move, anyway.

  So he charged at the nearest man, lashing out with rock-hard fists.

  That took Aylesworth and his friends by surprise. Breckinridge got close enough for one of his powerful punches to land solidly on a jaw and send that jaw’s owner flying backward. Two of the men closed in and tried to grab hold of his arms, but his hands shot out with blinding speed and locked around their necks instead. With a heave he banged their heads together, and both men dropped like rag dolls.

  Just like that, Breckinridge had reduced the odds to three to one in a matter of seconds. One of the men still on his feet had that club, though, and he slammed it into Breck’s lower back across his kidneys. The agonizing pain from that blow sent Breck stumbling forward and threatened to drop him to his knees.

  Aylesworth straightened him up by stepping in and smashing a right and a left to his face. Breckinridge hated Aylesworth, but the man was big and he could fight, Breck had to give him that. Aylesworth tried to throw another punch, but Breck caught his balance, forced himself to ignore the pain in his back, and blocked the blow. He countered with a jab to Aylesworth’s face.

  The man with the club darted closer and struck again, this time whipping the weapon against Breckinridge’s upper right arm. The whole arm went numb from the impact. Breck wheeled around and swung his left arm in a sweeping backhand, but the man with the club leaped out of the way. He was lean and fast and nimble on his feet.

  The third man grabbed Breckinridge from behind and yelled, “I’ve got him, Dick!”

  “Hang on to him!” Aylesworth said. He closed in and started slugging Breckinridge in the stomach. With one arm still dead, Breck couldn’t break free of the grip by the man behind him. Ayleswo
rth sank his fists into Breck’s belly again and again. A burning pain filled the younger man’s gut.

  “You’ve softened him up, Dick,” the man with the club said gleefully. “Now I’ll finish him off!”

  Breckinridge believed the man intended to do just that. This may have started out as an attempt to give him a thrashing, but Breck sensed that it was more serious now. They would kill him if they could, and if he allowed that man to start bashing him with the bludgeon, that was what would happen.

  He let his knees buckle, using his weight to throw himself forward. The man behind him couldn’t hold him up. They both spilled onto the ground. That loosened the man’s grip, and Breckinridge kicked free. He rolled over and came back up, and as he surged to his feet he realized that the feeling had returned to his right arm.

  The man with the club slashed the weapon at Breckinridge’s head. Breck was out of breath and hurting, but he managed to avoid the blow, if only barely. The other man was off balance for a second because of the miss, and in that instant Breck caught hold of the front of his jacket and slung him toward the trees beside the road.

  He was turning to try to locate Aylesworth when he heard an ugly thud and a crunching sound behind him. He looked around to see the man drop the club and pitch forward on his face. Breckinridge realized that the back of his head had struck hard against one of the tree trunks.

  “Jasper!” That frightened exclamation came from Aylesworth. Breckinridge stood there numbly as his enemy rushed past him and dropped to his knees beside the fallen man. Aylesworth rolled his friend over onto his back, lifted him by the shoulders, and shook him. Breck felt a sick horror in his stomach as he saw the way the man’s head lolled loosely on his shoulders. Aylesworth cried again, “Jasper, can you hear me?”

  There was no response.

  Aylesworth clutched the dead man, looked up at Breckinridge, and howled in a ragged, broken voice, “You bastard! You’ve killed him! You’ve killed Jasper!”

  Chapter Six

  For a terrible moment all Breckinridge could do was stand there, stunned by what had happened. He hadn’t really meant to kill any of the men, even though he was convinced that his own life was in danger.