Ironhawk (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series Book 6)

by Roy F. Chandler

  Ironhawk was silent for many minutes before he asked, "What will we do if we do not find them, Quehana?"

  "Well, once things dry out a little, the Shawnee will move on toward wherever they are heading. What we will do is make a large circle around this valley from the river and back to the river again. No matter where the Shawnee march our circle will cross their trail.

  "Once that happens, we will be after them again."

  Ironhawk had an immediate doubt. "They might cross the river, Quehana."

  "Yes, they might, but they came a half mile up this stream to hide their boats, and it would seem to me that if they planned on crossing the Juniata, they would have done so right off and not paddled to hell and gone up this creek."

  Quehana added, "If we don’t find their tracks on this side, we will cross over and scout the other bank."

  Still doubtful, the youth said, "They might still be moving, though, mightn’t they, Quehana?"

  "They might be. The limper is a tricky Shawnee, but all we can do is wait because we won't find a trail in this downpour.

  "While we are resting comfortable here, we should keep one other thing in mind."

  Quehana waited until Ironhawk asked.

  Then he said, "What we should keep close behind our eyes, oh Hawk, is that the Shawnee might return with plans to use these canoes, and we do not want to be surprised by five Shawnee braves."

  Ironhawk sat up and his head collided with the canoe. He heard Quehana chuckle.

  "What will we do if they come, Quehana?"

  He heard the killer of Shawnee snuggle closer into his blanket before replying.

  "Why we'll just fight 'em until they are all dead, Ironhawk. What choice would there be?"

  Ironhawk was not pleased by the words, and Rob smiled to himself. If he thought there was a chance in a thousand that the Shawnee would return he would be out in the woods waiting and not comfortably dry beneath canoes.

  The Shawnee had gone to great lengths to hide the canoes, and that meant they would not soon be returning to them.

  Rob said, "Relax, and catch as much sleep as you can. Tomorrow we may travel many miles."

  Ironhawk stretched his limbs, and they seemed at least as stiff and sore as they had a day earlier. How long, he wondered, would it take for his body to become used to this kind of woods running?

  — — —

  The Sheenes kept moving. Not too far ahead they had shelter, and they were anxious to be in it. Old Zach kept them plugging along despite the mules and horses continual stumbling.

  They hunched beneath blanket ponchos with their hats pulled low. Wide brims kept the rain from running down their faces, and heat from their animals rose to help ward off the chill.

  Chok grumbled about water filling his boots, and Chek snickered at his brother's stupidity in tucking his pants into his boots instead of letting them hang outside where most of the water would run off.

  Zach was comfortable with their continual wrangling and kept his thoughts on how he would handle things from now on. A lot depended on The Animal's presence. If his twisted son came in, he would move one way, but if the man-beast did not appear, he had another scheme.

  In late afternoon the rain ceased, but the going was muddy and visibility remained foul with mists rising and hanging over the trail and the river.

  The men were soaked through and weary of each other when Zach located his mark for leaving the river trail. Spirits rose as the end of the trek neared, and within a half mile along a grown-over trace they burst into a clearing where weak sunlight could reach the earth and where two crumbling cabins slanted with the weather.

  The Sheenes climbed from their horses, and Chok went to examine the shelters. His report was encouraging.

  "The roofs 're still good, but a bear or something's been into one and tore out a side."

  "Probably your brother." Chek's voice held amusement.

  Zach's did not. "Let's hope it is him. We've need of The Animal right now."

  The horses were turned into an enclosure, and the mule loads were heaved into the protection of the best cabin.

  Zach made a turn around the clearing, but the heavy rain had washed away any traces of The Animal's presence—if there had been any.

  He paused by a trio of small wooden crosses that leaned as precariously as the cabins. He scratched thoughtfully and spoke to anyone listening.

  "I wonder who these people were? Never have heard, but they built strong, and these cabins have been useful for four seasons now."

  Chek was disdainful. "Damn fools were in here when the Injuns came out, and they paid for it."

  Chok looked thoughtful. "I wonder if they got buried with their valuables? We ought to dig 'em out and see."

  Zach snorted and turned away. "What valuables? Squatters like these was lucky to have more 'n an ax. If n they did have anythin', either the Redsticks or them what buried 'em took what ever was good. I doubt you'd find they got covered over with even their boots on much less rings or such.

  "What we've got to do is get a fire burnin' an' see if we can get dried out.

  "Chek, you line them small jugs up, just in case we get special visitors earlier than we figure." There was appreciative chuckling.

  Chok asked, "The Animal don’t drink, does he? We wouldn’t want him guzzlin’ any of that stuff—at least before it’s the right time."

  Zach glared at his son. "The Animal’s your brother, an’ nothin’ happens to him until I say so.

  "An’ no, he don’t drink nothin’ but water."

  The old man thought about that for a long moment. "I expect that’s fortunate because he could be one mean customer with whiskey or rum in his belly."

  The Sheene’s fire was built in the center of the slanty cabin depending on wide leaks along the roof edges to draw away smoke. They were crouched around their smoky blaze when The Animal appeared.

  All of the Sheenes were startled and froze motionless because, even when familiar, The Animal was a terrible sight to encounter.

  Zach Sheene was the first to recover. He held out his arms as if to a child, and said, "Mathew, my son, come to your father."

  Mathew! Chek and Chok had almost forgotten The Animal’s given name. Their noses wrinkled with the abattoir stench of the man-beast, but they twisted their mouths into smiles of welcome and made grunting noises that they believed their brother appreciated.

  The Animal went to his father and lowered himself to an appropriate height to be hugged. Zach wrapped his arms as far as they would reach around the twisted upper body and patted the fouled fur of his son’s back and shoulders.

  The smell rising from Mathew Sheene could have strangled a buzzard, and Zach dared not wonder what caused it. The Animal’s pelt was stained and matted with what could be blood, but none of the Sheenes would notice nor ask. It would be better not to know, they figured.

  "Damn, he smells like a dog that rolled in a dead skunk." Chek's nose wrinkled.

  "Bein' wet don't help it none, either." Chok was in agreement.

  Mathew Sheene stood on hooved feet that became legs as thick as trees with little difference between thigh and calf. The legs were short enough to be those of a large child, but the body rising from those legs was massive beyond belief. Even hunched and bent in his usual stance, The Animal stood as tall as any of them. Zach doubted that he could straighten because his back was an immense lump of muscle that had grown into his body's regular posture.

  Mathew wore only a befouled loincloth that could have been torn from a cloth blanket, and foot coverings made from hide pulled above his ankles and tied in place by rawhide thongs.

  Despite his matted body hair that resembled a mangy beaver's pelt, the beast-man's head was as hairless as a stone. He had no beard or scalp hair, and even his eyebrows were missing. The head, huge beyond human sizing, sunk deep without a neck between massive shoulders and seemed to rest upon monstrous chest muscles that defied human comparisons.

  Never had any of them see
n shoulders as wide and powerful as those of their misshapen brother. To enter the cabin's portal he had hunched sideward to allow his shoulders to fit through, and in so doing he had easily placed a huge knuckled maul of a fist against the ground to lever himself around.

  Whatever Mathew Sheene had been denied in legs had been granted to his arms. Those arms were terrifying to contemplate. When not in use, they hung to The Animal's knees, and knotted muscle bulged and writhed with every movement. The hands were equally disquieting. They were immense, and there were only three gnarled and calloused fingers plus a thumb on each hand.

  Once, before he had gone to live in the woods, a camp dog had nipped at Mathew's calf. The Animal had snatched the hapless pup and with a casual twist tore its head completely free of its body. None of the Sheenes had forgotten.

  Old Zach fed his beast-son the best of their meat and crooned into his ear as if he were a child. The father closed his mind to the horrid stench and stroked the hairless head as if he handled a new-born. In The Animal's deadly grip lay all of Zach's hopes for fortune and comforts. Until all he needed had been secured, Mathew Sheene would be a welcome member of their family.

  Unexpectedly, The Animal reached across and touched Chek's flattened nose before stroking his own shapeless lump. Chek smiled dutifully and made the noises he thought would tell Mathew that they now looked just alike, but The Animal had already lost interest.

  Chok said, "Once Mathew is gone, maybe you could take over his duties, Chek. Don't appear to be a lot of difference between you."

  His brother was not amused. "If that happens, you'll be my first customer, Chok."

  The Animal had no human looking ears. His hearing holes were surrounded by shapeless flesh, but they knew he heard at least as well as most. Zach talked into an ear in low tones that his other sons could not make out, but they knew what he would be saying.

  Zach said, "We've found a woman for you, Mathew. This one is as beautiful as a sunny day, and she will be yours for as long as you want her."

  The Animal rarely showed emotion, and Zach went on. "This woman is white, Mathew. Not some worn out old Injun squaw, but a young an' fresh white lady. How does that sound to you?"

  Mathew grunted his responses and rolled his eyes about in search of the promised treasure.

  "She ain't right here in camp, Mathew, but she's close, an' we expect that you can find her without too much trouble.

  "The fact is, Mathew, that we've two tasks that have to get done before you can sit back an' enjoy your woman as much as you like.” Zach could see that The Animal was listening.

  "First is, you've got to go out an' locate the woman. There's five Shawnees campin' right around here somewhere, an' she is in their camp. They likely won't give her up easy, but I reckon you can take care of that part.

  "The second thing is that there’s a white Injun livin’ in these parts that will try to keep you from gettin’ the woman, an’ if you do get her, he’ll keep comin’ after her until you kill him dead.

  "Now, son, once them two things are done, you’ll be movin’ as free as a man can with a fine woman waitin’ with your lovin’ family to warm your robes when you come in from doin’ your regular work."

  Zach spent a long time describing Quehana and how dangerous he was. He instructed The Animal to take no chances with the white Indian but to kill him without warning and without hesitation.

  "An', Mathew, once you've killed him, smash his head so's no one will recognize him, and hang him high in a thick tree like you usually do."

  Chok heard some of the last of it, and he sniggered aloud. "Doubt you had to remind him of the last part, Pap. That's how Mathew always does it."

  "I'm speakin' clear because I don't want this Quehana coming back from the dead some way or other. Some men 're hard to kill, and after you think they're so dead they've rotted, there they are comin' on your trail an' madder than burned panthers.

  "Once Mathew skulls him with one of them rocks he likes, Rob Shatto won't be comin' after nobody." Chok figured Mathew knew his business.

  Next Zach explained how the Shawnee would be nearby waiting for the Sheenes' arrival, and if Mathew could find them he could make sure that the Shawnees did not abuse his woman or maybe even take her for themselves.

  Chek said, "Your turnin' him onto five Injuns, Pap? They might fight purty hard, mightn't they?"

  Zach was disdainful. "They get one look at Mathew, and he won't see nothin' but Injun rumps disappearin' into the brush.

  "You boys don't seem to realize jest how scareful Mathew can be appearin' out of nowhere an' already beginning his killing. Jest imagine you was sittin' around your fire an' your brother—whom you'd never seen before—came in swingin' them rocks he favors. Jest what would you do, an' how hard would you be able to fight?"

  Chok shuddered. "I'd be paralyzed stiff, an' I know it—even if Chek don't, Pap."

  They slept close to their fire with The Animal curled at Zach's feet, but when they wakened, the man-beast was gone.

  Zach said, "Good, he's on the hunt.

  "Now what we've got to do is rub out every track he's made around this camp. If he don't run onto those Shawnee a'fore they come in, we don't want 'em knowin' anythin' about your brother.

  "If they get here, a'fore he finds 'em, we've got our own scheme, an' we'll do it smooth as a knife edge."

  He scratched at his stubbly chin. "Might be he'll run onto that Shatto first, an' that wouldn't be a bad thing. Quicker that white Injun is out of the way the safer we'll all sleep."

  Chapter Twenty

  The Shawnee rose with the sun, and the brightness of the day improved their tempers. A fire was raised, and the prospect of warm food lightened rain-dampened spirits. The woman was put to gathering roots that could supplement their parched corn and dwindling pemmican.

  Only Yellow Jacket cursed the damp wood that created a smoke that he suspected could be detected for miles. Of course, only he worried about their back trail or whoever else might be near their camp. Constant worry had kept him alive through two wars while many who were less concerned now rotted in forgotten burials.

  He allowed the others to eat while he stood on lookout within the near woods. Only when all were finished did he seize meat as he gathered his companions close and explained what they would next accomplish.

  Yellow Jacket always spoke softly in the forest, and with some inner sense still warning that all was not well, his voice rose barely above a whisper.

  First, he would inspire them a little. Many warriors and those who thought they were warriors expected regular encouragements and guarantees of triumph.

  Yellow Jacket said, "Examine the gun of Yellow Jacket." He held forth the musket, and hands touched it. Although they had three muskets, the others were worn and rusty, and his was the only dependable firearm among them.

  "Yellow Jacket seized his gun from the dying fingers of a soldier of Braddock when we destroyed his army and sent them fleeing to the sea."

  Yellow Jacket had told the story so many times that he no longer remembered that he had arrived too late for the battle and had picked the Brown Bess musket from among the hundreds that lay for the taking.

  "With this gun I have killed English and French whites, and with this gun I have killed other enemies of the Shawnee." Yellow Jacket shook the heavy piece vigorously to add emphasis.

  "Within a few suns, perhaps during this very light, we will take other guns as strong as this one, and the band of Yellow Jacket will be powerful.

  "The whites called Sheene will give us their guns. They will give us their blankets and their rum. We will have their horses and their mules, and if they have trade goods, we will take those as well."

  Yellow Jacket paused to add suspense. Before continuing, he held up an open hand to catch their eyes.

  "We are a hand of Shawnee," His fingers moved, "and we have only three to kill." A finger and the thumb were closed. "We will kill so swiftly that as they die, the whites will believe an entire
village has struck them." Yellow Jacket allowed them to study his closed fist.

  "The Sheenes will come to a place I know." His lips sneered. "I know this place because I killed the man, and warriors of my band killed his woman and the child of that place. The Sheenes have used the lodges of those whites for trading, and they will be waiting for us.

  "If we appear with the woman, the whites who have many guns might fire into us and take the woman without payment. Whites cannot be trusted.

  "This light I will take two companions." Yellow Jacket pointed them out. "We will go to the cabins, but the woman will not be with us. We will study the whites and judge their strengths. At the next council we will be prepared to kill them all.

  "The woman will remain tied with two to guard her. If she attempts to escape, beat her thoroughly, but do not injure her where it can be seen. If we have not already killed them, the Sheenes will examine her, and that may be our moment to strike."

  Yellow Jacket rose with only one question from his band.

  "How far do we travel, Yellow Jacket?"

  "We cross the river and a little beyond. Leave all but your weapons here." His lips drew in a cold smile. "It may be that the Sheenes will sleep, and we can kill them before they know we are near."

  — — —

  Quehana allowed no fire, and Ironhawk choked down pemmican without even water to help it along.

  Rob said, "Chew it more thoroughly, Ironhawk. You seek the juices more than the bulk."

  "The bulk is good too, Quehana. My stomach has shrunk to the size of a pigeon’s egg."

  "Good, then you will need even less next time."

  The Hawk watched as Quehana drew the charge from his rifle and reloaded with care. The pistol was handled as carefully, but the frontiersman swore lightly at the dampness of the gunpowder and declared it barely adequate.

  He talked as he reloaded. "During times of rain, a hunter saves more wet powder than the dry powder he shoots. I have returned from long hunts with nearly a horn of gunpowder that had to be dried and carefully rolled into proper sized kernels."