"Why I am the Right Reverend Peter Doneghy. I am in charge of this exchange, and you will not interfere, whoever you are."
Rob asked, "If you don't talk to these children and grown people in Indian, how do you talk with them?"
"What? It is of no concern of yours, whoever you are, and I . . ."
"It is a concern of mine, and I talk to whoever I want to talk to anytime I choose. So, Reverend, you just turn away and save yourself a lot of jumping around and yelling."
Rob gave the man his back.
"How long have you been here, Ironhawk?"
"For nearly a full moon, Quehana. Others have waited since the frost fathers ruled. We are not sure why we wait, but we all wish to return to our lodges and our people."
Rob ignored shouting behind him. "Well, don't go running off until I can find out more about how this is going to work. I just came in myself, and I will have to step around people like this mouse that is pulling at my belt."
The girl called Bright Morning peered fearfully around Ironhawk's side at the Reverend Doneghy who continued to loudly complain.
Rob suggested, "Do not fear the gnat, maiden of the Delaware. I doubt this one can sting." The girl did not appear reassured.
Rob turned again to Doneghy. "What is the plan here, Reverend? What happens after these prisoners don't get recognized by anyone?"
Thoroughly insulted, Doneghy thrust his chin at Rob's breastbone.
"Who, sir, are you? I demand an answer!"
"I'm Rob Shatto from over the Blue Mountain. I know those two I've been talking to, and I plan on seeing that they are treated as fairly as can be done. That includes being talked to in their own tongue whether the likes of you approve or not."
The Reverend Doneghy felt himself becoming feverish. He was in charge, and no country lout could speak to him in disrespectful tones.
The Reverend whirled toward a number of militiamen who observed with interest as they leaned on their long muskets.
"You men, arrest this criminal and escort him to the fort."
The militiamen appeared discomforted, and one spat in the Reverend's general direction.
"I don’t reckon you've got the authority to tell us what to do, Reverend, and it's a fact that you shouldn’t take lightly the task of arrestin' Rob Shatto, who as far as we can tell ain’t done nothin’ illegal anyhow."
Sensing an opportunity, Chek Sheene slid closer. The big Indian had been talking with the very girl their Pap had pointed out as The Animal’s, and the man in charge didn’t like it. Maybe a little help in cooling off the girl’s friend would be appreciated, even if it now looked like he was white, the way Chok had already guessed.
A militiaman said, "You ought to step back and breathe a little cool air, Reverend. We know Mister Shatto a lot better’n we know you, so don't expect a lot o’help from any of our boys."
Doneghy whirled away searching for one of the few regulars assigned to the exchange project. Shatto was again speaking with a prisoner, and the Reverend knew he was being insulted beyond toleration.
He snatched at Shatto’s leather hunting sleeve, and when that was ignored, he grasped the frontiersman's bicep and attempted to turn Shatto toward him.
The massively muscled arm gave Doneghy pause, but Shatto had turned, and he was about to speak when someone hauled at the hunter’s other shoulder.
A voice said, "You hear what you’re bein' told Injun?" Doneghy was pleased by the strong support.
Rob was unused to being plucked at, and the Reverend's jerk on his arm was purely exasperating. He was about to explain that he had endured about all that he intended when a heavy hand slammed onto his shoulder and bad breath hissed near his ear.
Chek Sheene was pleased that he was helping the Reverend move the Injun talker out of the way. The Reverend would think highly of him and perhaps allow the Sheenes closer to their new target. He was wondering if he might get a chance to punch the Injun talker's head without getting into trouble when someone hit him with an oak club.
The blow came from nowhere, and it dropped Chek Sheene in a stunned heap. Pain exploded across his face, and he found his hands gripping his features in futile attempt to still the sudden agony. His fingers slipped in blood, and new pain lanced as his hands touched his nose. He could not see, and despite his terror and wish to crawl away his senses slid, and he collapsed unconscious.
When the hard hand gripped Rob’s shoulder, the frontiersman's reaction was almost instinctive. He drove his elbow straight backward, twisting his body with the blow, his free hand snatching for the pistol behind his belt.
The elbow sledged home against the victim's face with a dull meaty thud not unlike a side of beef dropped onto a butcher's block. The elbowed man slumped as if dead, and Rob glared across his crumpled form in challenge to any others who might wish to interfere.
A wild looking man with an even wilder beard had a knife out, but Rob's pistol had appeared, and he jerked to a sudden halt and just as quickly turned away.
The figure on the ground gurgled and went completely limp. Shatto studied him for a moment. "Anybody know this man?"
The Reverend muttered "Oh Lawdy," but seemed too stunned to do more.
A militiamen spat and said, "Now, I reckon that hurt more than a mite."
Another added, "That's one of Zach Sheene's boys, Rob."
Rob wanted to snarl. It seemed as if every time he came into town something like this happened.
Rob looked across the stilled gathering.
"Zach, you out there? Is this whelp one of yours?"
Sheene made himself known. "He's my youngest, Shatto, an' you didn't have to do him in like that."
"Next time he lays a hand on me he'll get a lot worse. You hear that, Zach? Good. You be sure to tell him when he wakes up." Rob motioned Ironhawk a few steps away.
This time the Reverend Doneghy did not interfere. He spoke soothingly into the downed Sheene's unhearing ear until Zack and Chok dragged their relative from view. Momentarily undecided, the Reverend milled uncertainly before choosing to search at the fort for more competent assistance.
Ironhawk said, "Powerful was Quehana's blow."
Rob rubbed his elbow. "And hard was the fool's head." They smiled together.
Turning serious, Rob said, "Ironhawk must now become as wise as his namesake. Wait and watch. Study and learn. Just as the great voice told you when you were named, these, too, are your people.
"Tomorrow I will come again, and I will know much more. Tomorrow, Quehana will tell Ironhawk how to act, and Ironhawk will be wise to listen to the council of Quehana."
Ironhawk nodded, and Rob admired the youth's strength in the face of a truly miserable situation.
"Quehana? Whatever is decided, I must be sure of my sister's safety."
Rob grunted agreement. "It shall be so, Ironhawk."
With curiosity, Rob asked, "What has happened to your tomahawk, my nephew?"
Ironhawk smiled coldly. "It is hidden well within the woods at a place only I could find. It will be waiting when I am ready, Quehana."
Rob reached across the low fence separating them. He brushed aside Ironhawk's doeskin shirt and examined the long-whitened brand on the youth's chest.
"Yours is a proud mark, Ironhawk. Now the words spoken at your naming will begin to have meaning. Within a few lights you will enter the world of the whites, and there you will learn many things."
Rob gripped the youth's shoulder. "Do not allow your heart to falter, Ironhawk, and when it is time to do battle you will be strong.
"Remember my words and think about them as you rest. When the light again comes to the sky we will council and your way will become clear to both Ironhawk and Quehana."
When Rob turned toward the ordinary, the soft voice of Bright Morning questioning Ironhawk was warm in his ears.
He wondered for a moment what had set Zach Sheene's spawn onto him? The trader had been long in the mountains, and he should have taught his progeny that to grab another
in anger was not wise unless the grabber was prepared to fight with fist, knife, or gun as the quarrel unfolded.
As it was, he judged the Sheene he had elbowed had suffered broken face bones and a crushed nose. That ought to not only change his looks, but it should make him a great deal more careful about his grabbing.
Rob guessed that the bearded knife wielder was another Sheene. He planned to keep all of the Sheenes in his sights from here on out. The trader had a poor reputation in the mountains, and George Croghan claimed that the man had murdered, although nothing could be proven.
Well, tomorrow he would know more, and if that gnat of a Reverend squeaked at him again, he resolved to toss him into the nearest hog wallow.
Rob twitched his nostrils. There were obviously more than enough such wallows close by. Just as Shikee his youthful lodge companion had always claimed, whites did live like their hogs, and they did stink of sweat and pig fat.
Quehana liked the mountain smells far more than those of civilization.
Chapter Ten
Rob Shatto padded soundlessly across the ordinary's plank floor and disappeared into a private room. Eyes followed his silent passage, and many noted that the big frontiersman had to duck his head beneath the heavily beamed ceiling.
Because it was warm, the preferred tables were near one of the ordinary's two windows, and the most favored looked out upon the village's main street. Four men occupied high-backed chairs at that table, and all observed Rob with special interest.
The Reverend Doneghy spoke first. "That is the man who struck the person who attempted to assist me today. That man insisted on speaking an Indian tongue to our poor children despite my orders to desist." The Reverend sniffed. "Unfortunately, I could find no one who was willing to bodily remove him."
The other table occupants found the statement amusing. All chuckled before the Fort's Lieutenant chose to explain. "It is clear that you do not know Mister Rob Shatto from north of the Blue Mountain, Reverend."
A businessman who successfully sold anything available added information.
"Shatto grew up with Indians, and he has lived among them most of his life. That alone could make him a dangerous individual, but many years ago he received harsh and unfair treatment by some of our local citizens, and since then Shatto has been prickly about being interfered with."
"Public brawling should not be tolerated. The man who was struck was severely injured. Mister Shatto should be jailed."
The clock maker chose to answer the Reverend’s naiveté. He began with a sigh that bespoke ultimate resignation.
"We could all wish that it would be so, Reverend Doneghy, but we live against the frontier, and believe me when I say that a different breed has matured beyond the Blue Mountain.
"Men like Rob Shatto live with their rifles in their hands, and they sleep like restless cougars because the deadly threat of hostiles has never eased. They are poorly educated men with few social graces. Most are Scotch-Irish and are as independent as wasps with about the same tolerance for meddling in their affairs.
"Rob Shatto is exceptional not only in his personal size and strength, but in his success in mastering the wilderness. Although I have never seen it myself, those who know report his home is a virtual castle with a roof of tile, and his fields exceed in size and quality most of those in this area."
"Humph, he looks like a wild Indian to me." The Reverend was not impressed.
The master cobbler who sat with them enjoyed his own chuckle. "That he does, Reverend, but no Injun I ever seen growed that big.
"The fact is, Robby Shatto is just what we need out in front of our civilized places. He and the Robinsons, that also live over in Sherman's Valley, probably kept all them Shawnee and Delaware from coming across during the last Injun rising. They fought the hostiles until the last of 'em quit and went home. Shatto is known to have killed a pile of them when they attacked his home. Without Rob Shatto, the war parties might not have slowed down until they were onto us."
The speaker pondered a moment before including, "And I've got to add that we don’t have fighting men like Shatto living handy here at Carlisle."
The lieutenant bristled a bit. "My men would have stood to the fighting."
The cobbler was quick to explain. "Oh, I ain't questioning your soldiers' bravery, Lieutenant, but they are not Injun fighters, and I doubt the redskins would have stood up to fight 'em fair and square like you might prefer."
The businessman emphasized a point or two. "Rob Shatto is a good man, Reverend. Leave him alone, and he will be your best neighbor. Treat him with courtesy, and you will receive the same, but attempt to abuse him in words or deeds and you will discover you truly have grabbed a panther by the tail. Men like Shatto are powder kegs with very short fuses. My advice is to be certain you never light those fuses."
The Thomas Reeds, their daughter Becky, and their controversial son-in-law talked together in the Reed's private living room.
Rob questioned, "So, how will it go tomorrow, Mister Reed? Right now, the situation looks to me like a cattle auction with the beeves all corralled and waiting for buyers."
Reed smiled in small agreement. "We are not used to controlling the actions of a few dozen Indians, Rob. Few can speak with them, and often they are unable to talk with each other."
"That's no wonder. You have at least five different tribes all living together. How well would a bunch of Spaniards, Germans, English, French, and maybe some Irish make out in a single camp like that one?"
Everyone chuckled at the prospect. "Not too well." Reed agreed.
"But, you ask about tomorrow. As I understand it, we wait only for a wagon or two from Fort Littleton bringing in the last of the released captives. They are said to be camped only a few miles out and will arrive before noon.
"At that time, all interested will be permitted to examine the former captives to determine if identifications can be made."
Reed shook his head. "I must admit that such discoveries have become increasingly rare, and although there is hope among the parents of lost children, none have great expectations.
"Many of those you saw today have been examined by other groups, and this will be the last large effort."
"Then what?"
"As I understand it, those unidentified will become wards of the commonwealth—unless someone wishes to adopt them."
Rob's grunt of understanding was clearly bitter. His words were equally tart.
"I wonder how many believe the unidentified children will be better off in a poor house or an orphan's home than they were with their Indian families?"
Reed appeared surprised. "Why Rob, almost everyone does. These are white children, and they belong among their own people. They will be brought up Christian and taught the right ways to do things."
Becky stirred and added her thoughts. "I have learned a great deal about the Delaware, Father, and belonging to one of their families can be as natural and as wonderful as being part of one of ours. Some of these children will return to their Indian families as soon as they can, and others will long for their Indian mothers, fathers, and brothers and sisters throughout their lives— just as we would if we were exiled to a foreign land. I am not certain that we are necessarily doing the right thing."
Rob nodded agreement. "When we were dealing with babes and small children, returning them to white lives was right, but tearing these almost grown men and women loose leaves me more than a little uncomfortable."
Before Reed could answer, he added, "You heard about the scrap I got into out there, of course?"
Everyone had.
Rob said, "Well, that happened because I was talking to a Delaware boy we know."
Becky looked surprised, and Rob explained.
"Do you remember Ironhawk? I named him about five years back when his father sent him to me for some straightening out. I reckon he might be fifteen years old now, and he has a tight grip on his sister who is maybe a year younger."
Reed interjected, "Perhaps
they will be identified, Rob. It can happen, after all."
Rob's lips quirked in secret amusement "I don't think so, for a reason I won't go into right now, but I'll tell you this—he is not going to an orphanage!"
There was no doubt in Rob Shatto's voice.
"To avoid the poorhouse, I drove out of this village with my dead grandfather in my wagon bed, and I was even younger than Ironhawk. I won't see the boy sentenced to the same miseries I escaped."
Reed nodded agreement. "We do not do well by our orphans, Rob." He sighed, "Everyone is busy with their own problems, and we barely provide shelter and food for our unfortunates."
Becky's mother spoke for the first time. "What can you do, Rob? Might you adopt them?"
Her voice held no appreciation for the idea. Rebecca's life across the mountain was already difficult, and new children would appear. A pair of foundlings were not in her plans for their only daughter.
"No, I will not adopt. I could take them back to their brother’s lodge, but Ironhawk suggests that their welcome would not be joyous.
"Perhaps . . .? Well, I will wait and see, but I will figure out something, and it will happen quickly before Ironhawk is moved beyond my reach."
— — —
Three wagons rumbled in shortly before noon, and following the rapid feeding of both the draft animals and the released captives, the fort fired a cannon and all interested gathered.
Most of the village turned out, and Rob located Zach Sheene and his unharmed brat in the crowd. The Sheenes remained distant, but Rob kept his eye on them anyway.
A number of young men were brought forth in shackles, their eyes defiant, their spirits unbroken. These released captives, it was announced, were determined to return to their savage captors and had to be restrained less they flee in the night.
All of the restrained were of the Six Nations, and Rob did not know them. Clearly these were white Indians, and holding them was foolish. Identified or not, these Seneca and Cayugas would take to the woods at the first opportunity. Rob hoped their chances came soon. There would be nothing for them in white society.
The parents and hopeful relatives mixed among the released children and young adults. A cry of recognition went up, but it was far from Ironhawk who stood silently with his sister's hand in his own.
Ironhawk (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series Book 6) Page 10
