Ironhawk (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series Book 6)

by Roy F. Chandler

  If he stumbled, his most valiant efforts would be to keep his weaponry dry. If submerged for even an instant, his firearms would be out of service and his store of powder would be dampened. Their search for the whites and Shawnees could then be nothing more than a scout, and a much wiser course would be to head for home as swiftly as they could manage.

  Rob disliked being in the open at any time. When he worked his fields, his eyes roamed the forest edges. He circled most clearings, and on roads and trails he constantly watched and listened. Fording the river with enemies nearby he felt like a naked man at church meeting, and he watched the far bank as much as he did his own footing.

  No Shawnee lurked, and again on dry land he quickly scouted the closer woods before signaling Ironhawk and Bright Morning to cross.

  The pair made harder work of it, but Rob could only wait. The tracks of Yellow Jacket crossed the traveling path along the river, and a little way downstream Rob saw where iron shod animals had chewed a new trail away from the river. The Shawnee had paralleled that clear path, but Rob was not sure that they knew it was there. No doubt, everyone would end up at the same spot.

  A musket boomed distantly within the forest, and Quehana disappeared behind a tree. An instant later another weapon thundered, and Rob estimated that the shots had come from the same place and the distance as a half mile or more.

  He popped quickly into view and judged the crossing couple's progress. Damn, not quite halfway. The echoing explosions had stopped them, and they waited his signal. Rob motioned them ahead with urgent waving, and he could see their increased efforts. Then he again faded into deeper cover.

  Yellow Jacket saw the river only steps ahead with gratification. He could make it safely away. There was no twisted monster close behind, and he had heard nothing except his own labored breathing since he fled the cabins.

  He burst into the open and stumbled to a halt. He swiped sweat from his eyes, and there, nearly across, was their captive woman and an unrecognized white man armed with an unstrung bow. The white’s bared chest had been burned with a symbol that Yellow Jacket could not make out from this distance, and he wore clout and moccasins.

  The sight befuddled Yellow Jacket for only an instant. He could not explain the woman's presence, and he saw neither of his guards in pursuit. He did not care. He would leave them for the monster that was surely coming. The beast might abandon his trail and lose more time killing the two whites.

  Ironhawk moved in front of Bright Morning, and drew his tomahawk, but he saw Quehana step from the shadows and doubted he would need his weapon.

  Rob had stood near as Yellow Jacket passed. He saw the yellow vest coming through the trees. He judged the bloodied shoulder and the dangling arm. He saw that the musket's hammer had fallen into the pan, and he listened for a moment longer to make certain that the limper was alone.

  Quehana drew his pistol and stepped into the open. His voice cold with death said, "Yellow Jacket."

  The Shawnee whirled, and his mouth hung. Rob guessed that he was recognized.

  Quehana! The Sky Father had turned his back. Yellow Jacket's spirit deflated and he knew his flight was over. He attempted to make his voice powerful and defiant.

  "I see you, Quehana of the Delaware."

  Yellow Jacket saw no mercy within the gaze of Quehana, but the arrowmaker might choose to accept him as a captive. The band of Yellow Jacket had not warred against Quehana, and the woman was freed.

  Each moment that he could live would increase his chances. The monster would come, and while Quehana fought, he might escape. Yellow Jacket made his face smile, and he lowered his empty musket to the earth.

  Rob considered the shots he had heard. There had been three Shawnee. He had heard two shots, and now he saw only one Shawnee. He listened again to the forest but heard no unnatural sounds. He allowed his senses to feel. They told him that no one approached. And, he saw the cleverness behind the eyes of the limper. Quehana did not blink as he squeezed the pistol's trigger.

  Rob loaded his pistol with large shot, and at close range the load traveled almost as a single mass. The pistol recoiled heavily, and smoke hid the strike from Quehana's view, but Rob had often seen the pistol's work.

  Ironhawk saw with perfect clarity. Smoke blossomed, the pistol boomed, and Yellow Jacket's head was blown partly away.

  He sheltered Bright Morning from the terrible sight, and by the time he tore his own gaze away, Quehana had again disappeared from view.

  The Hawk urged Bright Morning ahead, and they struggled ashore stepping across the corpse in the yellow vest.

  — — —

  Even as they gathered with Ironhawk watching while Rob reloaded, the skies darkened and the first drops of renewed drizzle pattered on the tree cover. Rob swore E’shan's old curse. "A fat man's father!"

  Without looking up, Quehana asked, "Did you hear the gunshots?" Both had.

  "Seeing that Yellow Jacket was alone, it might mean that the rest of his band got killed, but we can't be sure, and they could come prancing along at any moment. Keep watching."

  Rob reholstered his pistol and draped the flap of his clout over it. He hid Yellow Jacket's musket and other worthwhile things within a burned out tree bowl. He took up his rifle and dug the greased hide lock cover from his pouch. Accepting the guidance, Ironhawk removed his bowstring, and fisted his tomahawk.

  Quehana nodded approval. "It will rain, but there are cabins a half mile ahead. That is probably where the shots were fired, and if the Shawnee are dead, it will most likely be their white friends that killed them."

  Rob shook his head. "I don't understand why they would kill the Shawnee before they had Bright Morning in hand." He allowed his gaze to sweep the woods. "We will find that out before the sun moves."

  Quehana again took the lead and moved swiftly without the extra caution shown before. Ironhawk expected that Quehana would be surprised if the Shawnee were not lying dead just ahead.

  Near the clearing, Rob placed his companions in hiding with some protection from the increasing drizzle. Then he scouted the abandoned home site. Beneath their sheltering hemlock, Ironhawk and Bright Morning held each other close, but the Hawk kept his tomahawk free and wished he had Yellow Jacket’s musket and the knowledge of how to use it.

  That he had killed this day passed often across the mind of Ironhawk, and he did not ignore the awareness. Once he had dreamed of slaughtering enemies until they lay in great piles, but the reality was not like the dreaming. Ironhawk doubted that he would ever forget the feel of his tomahawk sinking into the Shawnee's chest. The clarity of the memory brought a shiver, and Bright Morning moved to soothe him.

  Quehana returned and crouched before them. "There are only dead in this clearing, Ironhawk. The whites are the traders named Sheene. Do you remember them?"

  Ironhawk's memory was bright, and he could remember the blood flying when Quehana's elbow had smashed the Sheene's nose. He had seen the traders since, but they had stayed their distance and did not appear to recognize him.

  "The damned rain is beating out what exactly happened, but I think the Sheenes poisoned the Shawnee. The Shawnee had foamed at the mouth and they looked burned around their lips. I sniffed at one of the jugs they'd handed out, and what I smelled wasn’t honest rum. Lye would be my guess. It’s easiest to get, it's quick, and it’s sure."

  "Did Yellow Jacket kill the Sheenes himself? There were three Sheenes, weren't there, Quehana?"

  "That's all I can remember, and they're all dead right over there." Quehana’s thumb gestured over his shoulder. One Sheene was shot, and as Yellow Jacket’s gun was fired . . ." He saw the Hawk's questioning look. "I knew because the hammer was down on his musket's open pan. So, I figure he had fired. One of the Shawnee got the Sheene whose nose I flattened, and, well, I quit trying to figure it out because it doesn't make any difference, and the rain is settling in to stay.

  "What we will do is move quick and get inside the best cabin. We can stay dry here as long as t
he bad weather hangs on, and we can try to work out what happened in between the rain showers—if it stays of interest."

  With only side glances at the sprawled bodies, they hustled into the cabin storing the Sheene trade goods.

  Quehana was already thinking ahead.

  "I took a quick glance, and there is enough grass for the animals, and the people that built this place scraped out a small spring so there is water.

  "What we will do is, we'll lay up here until it clears away. Then we will hook up this horse and mule herd, load all the goods, and ride down to recover Baumhauer's animal. Then, we'll head on out to my place where we can rest up proper and take better stock of how well everything has turned out."

  Rob's teeth shown in a genuine smile and he added, "I still can't figure why the Sheenes and the Shawnee did each other in, but maybe it will come clear when we study on it.

  "We can be more than a little thankful that these people managed to kill each other off and saved us a lot of dangerous work.

  "Seems to me that it's all over now, and these happenings will soon be adventures to tell other folks about."

  — — —

  Huddled beneath tree shelter, Mathew Sheene waited. He had reached the river well above the Shawnees' route. He had seen the woman and a white man crossing, but before he could act there had been a shot, and the whites had hurried ashore.

  The Animal found Yellow Jacket dead on the river bank, and he had taken the whites' trail with great caution.

  He read the tracks where the whites had paused and judged the prints of a third white they had joined. The party had headed toward the cabins, and Mathew Sheene had followed.

  Now the whites sat before a fire in the cabin that had been his father's. The Animal pondered attacking them as they slept, but he recognized the largest white as Quehana who his father had warned him about.

  Quehana did not set aside his weapons, and The Animal suspected that he never did. The darkness within the cabin would disguise everything, and he could not search because his scent would alert his enemies. That lesson, Mathew Sheene had learned long before.

  So, he waited and schemed, and as the moon set, The Animal decided how he would do it. He knew how he would kill the men and have the woman.

  He squirmed in massive discomfort attempting to ignore the throb of the broken off arrow in his back and the duller ache of the bullet in his chest. He had spit blood earlier, but that bleeding seemed ended.

  Weaknesses plagued him and the heat of fever boiled within his body. He wished his father could comfort him and offer soothing drinks that would make him whole, but now . . . That would never be. He savored his rage and knew it would give him strength.

  Soon after the sun rose he would kill them all.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The rain hung on through the night, but dribbled away by mid-morning. Restless and more than ready to get on the trail, Rob and Ironhawk made short work of loading the animals and laying out the bodies.

  The Hawk asked, "Should we bury them, Quehana?"

  Rob's answer was immediate. "I don't see why. Nobody here is worth remembering, and we sure aren't going back to plant those two Shawnee across the river."

  Ironhawk was still uncertain. "We will be asked if we buried them."

  "Yep, and we will tell them, 'No.' If you or Bright Morning wish to say words over them hop to it, but my plan is to strip them of everything worth saving and hope the woods creatures enjoy their meals."

  Rob said, "I've more respect for bears or buffalo than I do for these kinds of humans. I don’t waste time burying either the bears or the buffs, so I'm not bothering with this gut pile."

  Quehana sounded angry. "Look Hawk, these two-legged woods rats would have killed us if they could. Do you think they would care about burying us? Well, they wouldn't, unless it served 'em best if our bodies were never found.

  "You see those three graves over there? That family got murdered here by savages, and we found them chopped and scattered. One was a child, and the mother was near having another.

  "It was murdering buzzards like these, both Indian and white, that killed good people back then, and as we've discovered, they're still willing. I don't see putting these animals in the same ground that's holding those good people. Let 'em rot in the open!"

  Rob jerked the tomahawk from Chek Sheene's skull and collected all of the other weapons. He handed Ironhawk the musketoon.

  "Now here's the kind of weapon you ought to use. It is good in close, it is handy to carry, and it is hard to miss anything within its range. Take old Zach's bag and powder horn for your own, and see if you can get your gun reloaded. Once we're back at my place, I'll get you familiar enough with it that you won't be dangerous to your friends."

  They each rode a horse and trailed a burdened mule. Ironhawk guessed that when they picked up Baumhauer's animal they would make quite a train.

  It seemed as if it had been years since he had bridled Baumhauer's plug and prodded it up Kittatinny Mountain. Since then . . . he could barely place the happenings in order.

  Rob led the column, and they moved toward the river more or less along the Shawnees' path. Within the forest the footing was decent, but on the river trail the churned earth from wagon wheels, teams, and pack animals was still soaked into muck, and progress slowed to bare movement.

  Ironhawk brought up the rear so that he could keep Bright Morning in his vision, a pleasure to his eyes and spirit. She had scrubbed diligently at the nut stain but had gained little. She wore a trade blanket over her Indian dress which looked squaw-like, but the Hawk had grown with the look and found it gently appealing. Bright Morning’s hair was now clean and braided into a single tress that reached far down her back. Occasionally she flicked it across her shoulder, and that movement too lightened the heart of her man.

  There were no other travelers on the river path, but Quehana’s eyes shifted constantly from woods to the trail. Bitter experience had taught him that care had to be taken, and that misjudgments were often costly.

  Once, far back in his youth, he might have safely dreamed his way along any of the ancient paths including the warrior trails because there was order within the Indian societies and honor did not allow evil acts. Now? Rob kept his eyes and mind working.

  Since their earlier passing, rain-softened earth had crumbled under the weight of a great tree, and the limbs of the fallen timber had completely blocked the path. Ambushes were laid at such natural occurrences, and Rob approached the obstacle with caution.

  Fifty yards short of the downed tree Rob snatched his mount to a halt. He stared disbelieving at the deep imprints in the earth, and signaled urgently for Bright Morning and Ironhawk to close up.

  Now Quehana did study the forest. His nose sniffed the heavy air, and he checked the lock of his rifle.

  As Ironhawk came up he sensed Quehana’s tension and saw his hand move the breechcloth flap from over his pistol. Quehana slipped to the ground and handed the reins of his animals to Bright Morning. The Hawk followed suit and came to stand with Quehana.

  Without lowering his eyes, Rob pointed to the trail. Ironhawk's heart leaped to his throat for deeply imprinted were the hooved moccasin tracks of the monster into which he had driven an arrow. It had been a killing arrow he had believed, and Quehana had also shot the beast-man . . . Could there be two of them?

  Quehana seemed to read his thoughts.

  "Reckon there’s a tribe of ’em coming through, Hawk?"

  Ironhawk fervently hoped not.

  The tracks had been heading toward them, and Rob found where the beast, or whatever it was, had left the trail and entered the woods still moving in the direction from which they were coming. Rob went among the trees for a decent way making sure the monster continued, but the tracks ran on without change of direction.

  He returned to council with Ironhawk.

  "It looks as if he kept on going, Hawk, and if it is the same one, he’s bound to be nearly dead. If it's another, we
at least know that fighting him will be serious business.

  "Seeing he's back behind us, you keep a sharp eye out. If you get a glimpse of anything that doesn't look just right, you give a holler so that I can get back there fast."

  Rob added, "Now, all you've got to do is pull the hammer of that short gun back to full cock, point at the middle of whatever you are aiming to stop, and squeeze the trigger.

  "Wait till he's real close, and even then get your hatchet out and be ready to fight because if this monster is like the last one, even a close-in gut blasting may not put him down."

  Ironhawk returned to the rear of the column but left his mule with Bright Morning. If the beast came at him he wanted free hands for shooting.

  Rob called from the front of the column.

  "The breeze is coming into us from behind, and I'd think you would smell him long before he got here. If you get even one whiff, give a yell."

  Ironhawk waved his assent and kept studying the forest they had just passed through. It seemed most likely that the monster had gone, and was moving ever further away, but he would keep looking until they were safely at Quehana's lodge.

  Rob did not like the feel of it. Until the previous day he had never seen a fresh or even a clear monster track, and those few old marks he had encountered were not on trails much less an important traveling path. Now the prints could not have been fresher, and they ran right up an often used path. Nope, he did not like it.

  Leaving his animals with Bright Morning, Rob scouted ahead. To one side a steep bank dropped for ten feet to bottom out on rubble stone that had tumbled from the steep hills that rose on his other side. The tree had fallen downhill, as they always did, and he could see that the beast-man had worried his way across the downed tree trunk before resuming the path for the short distance before entering the woods.

  Had he used the path beyond the fallen tree? Rob moved closer trying to see over the obstacle. He kept his gaze working with particular attention on the higher ground from where an ambush would logically come. Nothing stirred, and he could see that the low side gully was empty. Rob placed a hand on the thick trunk to balance his stretch, and he could see the animal’s tracks on the far side.