Daniel Boone: Westward Trail

by Barrett Jr. Neal

  Flint was a name frontier mothers uttered to scare their children. “You go too far into the woods, ol’ Henry Flint’ll get you, child!” Squire knew more than one family who had lost someone to Flint and his Shawnee friends. Folks in Salisbury refused to believe that the man the Indians called Black Knife would come down this far south, but Squire knew better. And so did Daniel.

  On one of the last days of April, Daniel strode into the pantry and told James to get the horses ready.

  Though his father didn’t say where they were going, James had a fair notion. He kept his silence, even when the two reached Salisbury and hitched their horses outside the store. Just thinking about it could ruin everything—the whole town might disappear and he would wake up and find he was dreaming.

  When Mr. Wells took the brand-new long rifle off the rack and handed it to him, James held it tightly and stared at it for a long moment.

  “It’s a good one, James,” Mr. Wells said solemnly. “I guarantee it. Top quality.”

  “Does it suit you, boy?” asked his father.

  “Yes sir,” James murmured in awe. “It suits me just fine, Pa.” He could scarcely take his eyes off the long rifle. It was shinier than his father’s, and longer than James was tall, but he could handle it. That he knew. And he wouldn’t be here in the store, holding it in his hands, if his father didn’t think so too.

  “It cost me seven pounds sterling,” Daniel told him. “That’s a lot of money. I’m tellin’ you that ’cause I want you to know how hard you worked last winter to help earn it.” He looked squarely at James. You know what I’m sayin’, son?”

  “Yes, sir. I reckon I do.”

  “No, don’t just reckon, James. You got it ’cause you worked for it. A man who’s worth his salt don’t get a rifle given to him free.”

  “No, sir. And I thank you, Pa.”

  Daniel nodded. “You’re a fine young man, James. You make a father proud.”

  The two didn’t speak again till they were well out of town, when Daniel stopped and let the boy wipe down and clean the rifle. Then he gave him the new powder horn and pouch he had hidden in his saddlebag.

  While James loaded up, Daniel stepped off twenty-five yards down the creekbed and fixed a little patch of leather to a tree. James fired six times. After each shot, Daniel inspected the rifle thoroughly, then took the boy out to the target.

  “First three shots veered about a gnat’s hair to the left and above, but that was your fault, James, not the rifle’s. You took better care with the last three.” He slapped the long barrel and handed it back to his son. “It’s a good one. Like Mr. Wells said, top quality.”

  James carefully cleaned and reloaded the rifle, then polished it again. Daniel finally had to stop him. “Lord, boy, you keep that up and you’ll wear her right through to the bore! Let’s get crackin’ ’fore it’s dark.”

  James flushed. “Yes, sir. Guess you’re right.” As he stood up, his father laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “You haven’t said anything about the trip, James, not since you knew I was going.”

  James looked steadily at his father. “No, sir.”

  “Wish you were comin’, I expect.”

  “Yes, sir, I purely do.”

  “You know you can’t. Not this time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Boone looked away and poked at the earth with a stick. “I want you to know I wish you could. I’d be proud to have you with me.”

  James’ eyes nearly filled, and he bit his lip. “I—someone’s got to look after Ma and the others.”

  “You’re right.” Daniel looked at him. “And don’t ever think that I’d be leavin’ you with such a burden if I didn’t think you were ready. Your uncle Squire’ll be around for a while, but that ain’t the same. It’s in your hands, James. And don’t you worry none. I’ll be back. Then you, me and the whole family’ll head out for Kentucky together, and you’ll ride right up there in front beside me. I promise you that right now. I’d be pleased to shake on it.”

  James gripped his father’s hand and squeezed hard. He couldn’t remember a prouder day in his life. The rifle had pleased him, but his father’s respect was something you couldn’t buy for seven pounds sterling, or seven thousand. A man didn’t shake on a bargain with a mere boy. That was a pact between men.

  Daniel knew something was wrong.

  He could feel it, even before they got to the cabin, like a sudden chilly wind blowing over the back of his neck. There was nothing to see or hear—it was just a feeling he trusted and feared. He looked at James, dismounted quietly and handed the boy his reins. Then he cocked his rifle and walked quietly into the clearing.

  Wood smoke curled out of the chimney, not enough for a cookfire, though. The dogs dashed out and barked wildly, but there were no children to greet him, no little ones laughing, running, shouting his name.

  Daniel froze. Israel, his face pale as death, appeared in the doorway. He had the big wood-axe clutched in his small hands. Jemima, eyes wide as saucers, peered out fearfully from behind him. When Israel saw his father, he dropped the axe and came running, tears breaking loose and streaming down his face. Daniel raced forward and grabbed him up.

  “Israel, what is it?”

  “Ma,” he cried, choking out the words, “they took Ma!”

  “Who did, Israel? Who!”

  “The—the men—Billy Girt and his brothers. Pa, I think they hurt her bad!”

  Chapter Five

  Daniel grabbed James’ rifle and sent him riding hard for Squire’s place. Then he put Israel and Jemima atop a farm horse and set them at a trot for John Stewart’s in the opposite direction. He prayed silently one of the two would be home, and that maybe John Findley or Nat would be nearby.

  Daniel wouldn’t let himself think about Rebecca. He forced her out of his mind and concentrated on Billy Girt. The knot in his stomach hardened. He knew full well Girt wouldn’t dare do a thing like this on his own, not in a hundred years. Someone had put him up to it. Flint?

  Jesus God, Daniel prayed, let me get to her before he does!

  Girt’s tracks were clear, and as Israel had said, not a half-hour old. At least there was still time. Three sets of hoofprints were pressed into the mud—Billy’s and his brothers’. One set of tracks looked deeper than the others. Becky was riding double, or more likely, tied on like a sack. Flint wasn’t with them. Not yet. That’s the way he would do it, Daniel was sure. Get Billy to handle the dirty work, then meet him somewhere up north with a band of Shawnees.

  There was no question in Daniel’s mind what all this was about. Boone had killed Flint’s kin, and now Rebecca would clear the debt. But Boone himself coming to get her, that would be even better. The French and Shawnees would both honor Black Knife for a scalp like that.

  Daniel pushed his mount hard. He wasn’t worried about the Girts yet, or the Shawnees either. The Indians wouldn’t try an ambush this close to the Yadkin, and all Billy and his brothers wanted now was to put plenty of miles behind them. That gave Daniel the advantage he needed. He knew the country well, every tree and hollow. The Girts weren’t woodsmen. He could guess where they were going, and which trail they would take.

  Still, something nagged at the edge of his mind. No matter how this business came out, the Girts had cut themselves off from North Carolina or anyplace else where decent folk settled. They had committed themselves to Flint and left everything behind. What the hell had Flint offered them? More than he planned to deliver, most likely. Billy and his brothers would be of no use to the renegade after this. Maybe their scalps might, though. Flint always delivered to his Shawnee friends.

  The tracks led into a thick stand of trees, then stopped. Daniel left his horse and stood for a long moment, sniffing the air and peering in every direction. Finally, he went to his knees and carefully studied the ground. The three horses had taken different paths. One went northwest, the other two, including the mount carrying Rebecca, went straight on to the north.

&n
bsp; He knew what they were trying. They would split up here, then come together again somewhere farther up the trail, figuring he was alone and could follow only one path. Daniel let himself smile for the first time since he had left the cabin. The trick was as clear as glass. Maybe the Girts figured he couldn’t read sign any better than they could.

  Daniel cut a notch to show Squire, or whoever followed, where he had gone. Then he moved on, ignoring both trails and pushing his horse fast. He could guess where they would join again, and he intended to beat them to the spot. For a while, before he turned back east, the shortcut would put him in danger of running into Flint. Still, the Blue Ridge country would hide a whole army in one of its pockets. With any luck, he would miss the Shawnees completely.

  The sun was high over the western mountains when he came down off the ridge and plunged once more into the thicket. A shallow creek sparkled on his right. He knew that it ran due east for some miles, and that unless the Girts turned back, they would have to cross to open ground. If they kept to the trees, they would have to go miles out of their way. When they crossed the creek, they would leave clear tracks. Daniel had cut the distance between them fast, and when he spotted their trail he would be only minutes behind.

  In a few minutes, he found the tracks. They plunged up the soft bank on the north side of the creek. But he instantly knew something was wrong. His heart jumped up in his throat and he cursed himself soundly. The Girts had already met—and switched again! The two riders who had taken the eastern route had joined the single rider somewhere south. The lone rider had taken Rebecca and gone off on another path. Neither of the animals he was tracking now was carrying an extra load.

  He couldn’t credit the Girts with a trick like that. Indian sense was behind this kind of business. Had they already met Flint, somewhere behind him, or the Shawnees? Hell, he couldn’t have missed their tracks. He was a better tracker than that.

  He had two choices: He could double-back on the rider’s path south and find where they had met and switched, which would take him to Rebecca but add hours to the search; or he could follow the two men north. The Girts, he decided, wouldn’t feel easy in the wilderness. They would want to meet up again fast, even if Flint had warned them not to. Either path was a gamble with Becky’s life. He knew, though, he had to follow the tracks he had found and pray they would lead him to her. He didn’t dare let the Girts meet Flint before he found them. Even if Squire brought the whole Yadkin Valley, they would never make it in time. Daniel would have to take them on himself. And if he ran into both Girts and Flint, he would never get Becky out alive.

  He followed the tracks straight for a few miles, then started crisscrossing in ever-widening circles until he was convinced they were keeping to the natural lay of the land. Finally, he ignored the tracks entirely and headed north. After an hour of plunging through deep clefts strewn with rock and tangled growth, he came to a ridge. He left his mount and climbed twenty yards up. He recognized the valley right off. He and Nat Gist had taken some good deer there several years back. It was a wide, natural bowl between the ridge and the woods beyond. One end butted up just below, the other curved out of sight in a long half-circle northwest. If he was right, the riders would come out of the woods here and into the valley. They would either keep on going, or wait there for Becky and the other rider—and for Flint. Daniel hoped they would wait. The valley was fully in shadow now, and darkening fast.

  Daniel watched as twilight slowly descended. He tried not to think about Becky, but her face kept creeping into his thoughts. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he had outwitted himself good this time, and the Girts had gotten past him. If Becky was in Flint’s hands, she was dead already—or soon would be after the renegade got through with her. Jesus God, if he and James hadn’t stopped to sight the damned rifle, if only he had been there a little sooner!

  Daniel went rigid. Suddenly, just to the south, a flock of crows rose noisily out of the trees. Then, moments later, an owl flew up and flapped swiftly off to the west. Boone grinned and let out a deep breath. Damn! The Girts couldn’t have announced themselves better with a drummer boy marching out ahead.

  In a few moments two riders came cautiously out of the forest. Daniel waited. Then a third rider rode up behind the others, with Becky—still alive and well! Daniel’s heart started beating again. She was bound, and sagged wearily behind Billy Girt, but by God, she was all right.

  Even before they began to settle in, he was off the ridge and making his way down into the valley. There was no time to wait or to get his horse. Flint might come out of the valley at any moment.

  The Girts would stay put, but they weren’t foolish enough to make camp. They knew someone was after them.

  Boone hated to lose his horse, but if his plan worked, he would have the Girts’ mounts, and maybe time enough to get his own. If not, hell, he wouldn’t need horses anyway.

  Daniel stalked slowly, silently. Before he could get up close, one of the brothers walked right out to him, stopping behind a tree not twenty yards away. In a moment, Daniel heard a stream of water splattering on leaves.

  The man never heard him. Daniel slapped a hand over his mouth, slipped the scalping knife under his ribs, and lowered him gently to the ground. The Girts didn’t even look up. Billy was squatting down rummaging through his pack. Becky was under a tree. The other brother, hearing someone behind him, turned around and grinned. The grin faded and the man went pale. Boone’s tomahawk whistled through the growing dark and caught him square in the chest. Billy jerked up, took one look and crashed through the brush with a startled yell. Daniel slung the rifle off his shoulders and calmly laid the bead on Billy’s back.

  Then he stopped and eased his finger off the trigger. With Billy on foot in the woods, Daniel was safe enough, and a shot would tell Flint exactly what he would want to know.

  Bending quickly to Rebecca, he brought her to her feet and slashed the leather about her wrists. “Becky, you all right?”

  Becky wound her arms tightly about his neck and sobbed into his shoulders. “Oh, God, Daniel!”

  He took her by the hand and plunged into the trees. Damnation! Two of the horses had spooked and run off. The Girts hadn’t even bothered to hobble them. He would have to go back for his own horse now. Riding double, they would be an easy catch for Flint. Pulling Becky up behind him into the saddle, he quickly explained their situation and passed her the extra rifle. Then, urging the mount on, he took them swiftly back south through the trees. There was a gap there, not a quarter-mile back. If he could find it in the dark, it would take them safely to the other side of the ridge.

  He missed the gap twice, then found it. The horse didn’t like stumbling over sharp rock with two strangers on his back, but Daniel urged it on, cursing under his breath. Branches whipped out and tore at their faces, but Becky hung on tight. Finally, the growth thinned and Daniel stopped. His eyes were used to the dark now, but with all the racket they had made, if anyone was up there, seeing wouldn’t be much help.

  Something moved, froze, moved again. Daniel let out a deep breath. The pale shadow took the shape of his own horse, waiting where he had left it. Becky touched him and said something, but Daniel never heard. Her words were lost as a blood-curdling yell suddenly split the night. Boone jerked up in time to see a dark figure leap off the ridge to his left.

  The shadowy figure hit him hard and tackled him to the ground. Daniel saw the long knife flash in the Shawnee’s hand and felt the Indian’s hot breath against his cheek. Boone kicked out savagely, driving the warrior back. The knife sparked as it scraped against stone. A rifle exploded, scalding Daniel’s cheek. Then fire lit the hollow and he saw a second Shawnee drop to his right, a few yards from Becky, who picked up a rock; snuck up behind the Indian, and smashed the back of his head. The Indian with the knife came at him again. Daniel searched frantically for his own rifle. It was nowhere in sight. As the Shawnee jerked his blade around in a wide arc, Daniel sucked in his gut, leaped back and went sprawling o
ver a root.

  The Indian flew after him, but this time Daniel swept out his arm and caught him on the shoulder. The knife whispered again, and Boone yelped as pain burned down his side. He scrambled back and tore at his waist for a weapon. His knife was gone—it had slipped out in the dark—and the tomahawk was back there buried in one of the Girts. Daniel’s hand touched something hard. He clutched at it, recognized the barrel of James’ rifle. It was the wrong end, but better than nothing. Jerking it up fast, he caught the Shawnee’s arm just below the elbow. The Indian grunted, dropped the knife and took a step back. Boone went down on his knees, grabbed the barrel in both hands and swung out blindly. The stock hit the Indian’s head and splintered. Boone felt the blow clear up to his shoulders. That Shawnee was out for good. Grabbing the reins of both horses, he led them quickly back down the hollow.

  When they were past the gap again, he held Becky briefly, then swung her up on his horse. In a moment, they were cutting quickly through the trees, skirting the edge of the dark valley and heading south.

  Black Knife could follow if he liked; Daniel knew they would make it now. He was just as dangerous in the dark as Henry Flint or any damn Shawnee. And by God, so was his Becky, for sure!

  They rode hard all night without stopping and by noon of the following day, they were once again safely at home. And for the first time in his life, Daniel Boone was happy to be out of the wilderness. But not for long.

  Chapter Six

  “You take care of yourself,” he told Rebecca. They were lying in bed the day before he was to leave. “Squire’lI be here awhile. James too. And Dick Henderson, if you need him.”

  “I don’t expect I’ll be calling for help.” Her voice was hard, cool. “I never have, Daniel.”