New Frontier of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 2)

by Dorothy Wiley

  They mounted and turned their horses toward camp.

  “Hey, new settlers,” the man yelled, striding directly toward him, carrying a heavy rifle in the crook of his arm. His five other men, still looking disheveled and menacing, followed behind the man. “I want to buy that horse mister. I’m partial to buckskins, always was.” The man grabbed the gelding by his bridle and turned the horse’s head toward him, eyeing Alex with a sinister envy. “Buckskins are as tough as wet leather.”

  Alex shied away from the stranger. Sam felt his horse’s muscles bristle beneath him. The gelding didn’t like this man any more than he did.

  “Keep your grubby paws off my horse,” he warned through gritted teeth. “My horse is not for sale.”

  The man stepped back and blatantly appraised Sam, then said to his grungy companions, “I bet he’s a good horseman. Can’t wait to have him between my legs.”

  It was a threat couched in an insult. A disgusting insult.

  Sam said nothing but he glared with disgust upon a man already his enemy.

  The fellow’s five companions, all wearing whiskey induced grins, came closer.

  Their leader strolled around Sam’s horse. “Yup, this horse will suit me just fine,” the hunter said, his mouth curled in a mirthless smile. He spat a brown stream of tobacco, some of it dripping into his oily beard. “Get this man a couple of cases of whiskey. I’m about to trade for a horse,” he instructed one of his men.

  “Forget the damn whiskey,” Sam snarled. The only thing he would trade with this snake would be punches.

  “If you men are looking for a fight, we’ll oblige you, but I’d advise you to move on. My brother here is slow to anger but once riled, watch out. He won’t be stopped,” Stephen warned, his voice smooth as silk, but his eyes full of threat.

  The man gave Stephen a mocking smirk and said, “He doesn’t worry me none. I have more muscles in my cock than he has in both arms.” He wrapped a hand on his manhood and thrust out his hips.

  Sam’s lip curled at the revolting gesture.

  “I want this horse and I’ll have him by God,” the man continued to insist.

  “I doubt God has anything to do with the deals you make,” Sam growled. “More likely, they are made with the Devil. I’ve told you once the horse is not for sale and I am not accustomed to having to repeat myself. Move on, now.”

  He motioned for Stephen and Bear to leave too as he turned his back on the man. He tapped Alex’s sides with his heels and started down the road.

  “Hey coward, running off again? Afraid of a little brawl with real Kentucky men? Come on, let’s settle this. I’ll fight you for the horse,” the man taunted.

  Sam leaned forward and looked over at Stephen and Bear. Bear’s nostrils flared with fury and Stephen’s face was a mask of rage. They exchanged a long deep look with him, their eyes as angry and dark as thunderclouds.

  “You three cockteasers are running off like virgin hens,” the man said mockingly.

  “Boc, boc, booccc,” the other hunters cackled and then broke out into raucous laughter.

  The man’s words seemed worn, used too often, by the shallow petty man and the others with him. But his contemptuous tone, the insolence in his voice, singed the tinder of Sam’s anger. Sam struggled to quench the spark threatening to erupt, clenching his teeth together so hard they threatened to crack.

  “Is that pretty young blonde a virgin too?” the leader drawled.

  That was it. Sam’s control blew apart like a volcano. His blood began to boil. His throat grew hot and inflamed. Mumbled curses spewed from his hardened mouth. He shoved his boots against the stirrups and tugged back on the reins bringing Alex to an abrupt halt. Seething, he whirled the horse around, back toward the laughing men. He pushed the big gelding right up to the man.

  Alex seemed perfectly willing to trample the hunter, who took a big step back to avoid being stepped on.

  His eyes blazing, Sam glared down at the man. “Apologize. Now!”

  The hunter just stood there, tall and insolent, but silent.

  “Good Lord, you are a stupid fellow,” Stephen told the man, as he pulled up next to Sam.

  Stephen was wrong. There was nothing stupid about this man. He was cunning and calculating. Sam could see it in the man’s dark eyes. He was after something more than this horse and he was deliberately provoking this fight. Carefully controlling his hardened voice, he said, “I don’t know your name Sir, but apparently you need to learn mine. My name is Captain Sam Wyllie, and these gentlemen are Stephen Wyllie and Bear McKee. And now that you know who we are, we will teach you not to insult our family again.”

  With a face that would make a grizzly look friendly, the leader stood in the middle of the six men.

  Sam took each man’s measure with battle experienced eyes.

  Then he, Stephen, and Bear regarded each other, each silently recognizing what the others had to do.

  They dismounted slowly and, in unison, advanced toward the six men.

  Always protective of Stephen, Bear took position in front of the biggest hunter, who appeared to be the most menacing. “Don’t want to take away from your fun,” Bear told Stephen, “but let me take this wee one here in front.”

  Each heavily armed with knives, axes, and pistols, the six large grubby men continued to taunt them.

  “The bugger’s proud of his ‘good’ name,” one shouted, “Let’s show him what pride buys here in Kentuck’.”

  “A ‘good’ beating,” said another, “that’s what.”

  Wearing vests made of buffalo hide, the hunters gave the appearance of a small herd of mangy buffalo themselves. But unlike buffalo, these men would not be easy prey. The whiskey the hunters had obviously been drinking would make them even more dangerous. Intoxicated men were not as quick, but the liquor would make them wilder and rasher.

  They narrowly avoided fighting these men the first time. But this time they were in for a serious fight. They would each have to fight two. But neither he nor Stephen would back down now. And Bear always enjoyed being in the middle of a good fight.

  “Lay down your rifles men, we wouldn’t want to miss these bastards and kill one these good townspeople now would we?” the leader asked with a contemptuous half-smile.

  “We’ll just give ‘em a good beating before we skin ‘em,” the biggest man replied.

  “I will give you but one more opportunity to apologize for your ill manners and insults,” Sam informed them. He pulled his shoulders back and waited.

  “You pilgrims know there are three of you and six of us?” the big man asked haughtily.

  Bear answered before Sam could. “Aye, we do. And if ye think ye’ll be needin’ more help, we’ll be pleased to wait while ye go and get what ye think ye will need.”

  The leader’s face turned red as he said, “You son-of-a-…”

  The hunter never had a chance to finish his sentence as Sam’s fist took the word out of the man’s filthy mouth. Then he ducked to avoid the leader’s fist before shoving a right hook upward into the fellow’s bearded chin, causing the man to stumble. Spinning around easily on his moccasin-clad feet, he kicked a second hunter in the stomach, sending the man flying to the ground, gasping for air.

  Bear had taken on the giant of a man he had singled out, who was nearly as large as Bear. Sam could hear the two standing there growling at each other while the hunter on the far left came at Bear. Using his left arm and fist like a giant club, Bear whacked the forehead of the man coming at him, knocking the hunter down with one blow, all the while continuing to snarl at the man swaggering menacingly in front of him.

  Sam grinned to himself as he detected a Scottish burr in Bear’s deep growl.

  The fight was dirty from the beginning. As he expected, the hunters fought for the chance to bully, rather than the honor in it. These men were not to be trusted. He would keep one eye on Stephen and Bear. If they needed help, he would make sure they got it.

  As the leader pushed himself
up from his knees, Sam’s fist slammed into the jaw of the man. He felt the skin of his knuckle tear open. Despite the force of his powerful blow, the hunter still stood upright. The two exchanged blow after blow, both refusing to show any sign of weakening. He tasted blood as his lip split open but he would take punches from here to eternity if he had to. He wasn’t going down. He put all his weight behind his next punch and the man finally went crashing to the ground, landing on a fresh pile of Alex’s dung.

  “That’s as close as you’ll ever get to owning my horse,” Sam swore.

  The second man regained his breath and came at Sam, trying to knee him in the gut. He stepped aside just in time, grabbed the man’s elevated foot, and twisted the ankle backwards and to the side. The hunter bellowed in pain before collapsing to the ground, unable to stand.

  Swiping at the horse shit on his face and baring brown teeth, the leader came at him again. Sam charged and rammed his head into the man’s ample stomach. Gasping for breath, the big fellow fell backwards onto his back.

  One of the other men tried to knee Stephen in the groin. Stephen shuffled to the right just in time, turned in a tight circle, and kicked the man on his ass, which sent the hunter sprawling to the ground face down in the mud and muck.

  Sam glanced at the leader, now on his knees, who was still trying to wipe manure off his face with his shirt sleeve. A corner of Sam’s mouth twitched with mirth.

  The hunter stood, nostrils flaring, and charged, grabbing Sam’s shoulders. Sam threw his arms up between the leader’s arms and grinding his teeth, grabbed the man’s throat. He could feel veins pulsing and twitching on his own neck as he considered whether to strangle the fellow.

  Then the man thrust a powerful blow, hot and weighty, into his stomach. It momentarily sucked his breath away. Panting for air, he shoved the leader violently and the hunter fell to the ground face down. Sam roughly turned the man over and sat on the leader’s soft ample belly, using both legs to pin the man’s arms. The man glared back at Sam with burning, ruthless eyes, the stench of rotten teeth and whiskey heavy on his hot breaths.

  Sam was about to ask him if he was ready to end the fight when the worm spat in his face.

  “Shit!” Fury almost choked Sam. As slimy spittle dripped off his jaw, he hissed, “Nobody spits on me.” His mouth twisted in wrath and he began pounding the son-of-a-bitch’s face with both fists.

  Somehow, the man mustered the strength to use his legs to throw Sam off. The hunter turned, jumped up, and quickly scrambled away. Had the repulsive fellow given up?

  Sam sprang to his feet, about to go after the leader again, when he saw Stephen gasping for breath. As his brother sucked in air, he charged Stephen’s attacker, using his shoulder and elbow to knock the brute to the ground. Then Sam lifted the rascal by his shirt and bashed his fist into the man’s face.

  Stephen appeared to regain his breath, and then graciously said, “Thank you, my Captain,” before returning to the fight.

  The hunter whose ankle he had twisted was now hopping toward him on one leg. As Sam drew his right fist back to strike the man, he remembered how painful his knuckles felt when he threw the last punch. So, instead, he simply swept his foot against the man’s leg, knocking him down again. “I believe, if I was you, I’d stay down,” Sam said in his most threatening voice.

  The remaining boorish men fought like the wild animals they were. Scanning the rest of the fight, he saw one man claw his black fingernails into Bear’s face as another took a vicious bite out of Bear’s ear.

  Bear let out a particularly potent Gaelic curse. Then he roared deafeningly, doing a fine imitation of a real bear, and the two men suddenly seemed intimidated. The two hunters would soon regret their ungentlemanly like behavior, especially the one with Bear’s blood on his mouth.

  “These fellers fight like wee lassies,” he heard Bear yell. Bear used sarcastic humor whenever he was truly vexed.

  “Indeed, like bad-mannered little girls,” he drawled with distinct ridicule, looking at the man on the ground.

  Sam quickly located the leader again, who had retrieved his rifle and was checking the powder.

  “I’ll show you how a little girl fights,” the leader yelled, focusing his battered eyes and the heavy weapon on Stephen’s gut.

  Sam’s horror and anger instantly flared. But he was too far away to reach the whoreson before the man could fire. He heaved out his long knife. In a heartbeat, it flew across the fight and sliced into the man’s arm, making a grisly sound as it cut through bone and flesh. The knife’s impact knocked the rifle out of the hunter’s hand and caused the weapon to fire. The explosive sound momentarily stopped the fight.

  Sam’s huge knife protruded grotesquely through the other side of the man’s arm as he screamed and dropped to his knees. Dark blood sputtered out both sides of the long blade and trailed down the dangling hand.

  Springing toward the man, Sam swiftly retrieved his knife. Giving the leader a look of pure contempt, he pushed the hunter to his back and yanked the blade free as the man continued to yell in horrible agony. He ignored the terrible cries, which brought even more people, running from all directions, to watch the fight.

  He wiped the bloody blade on the man’s vest causing him to cringe, and then sheathed the weapon.

  Sam heard Stephen groaning and snapped his head in his brother’s direction. Two burly men were still attacking Stephen. One held his youngest brother while the other repeatedly thrust his fists into Stephen’s stomach.

  Despicable bastards!

  Sam leapt close to the three, and grabbed the man’s wrist before he could throw the next punch. Using both hands, he twisted the hand and wrist in opposite directions, bringing the hunter instantly to his knees. The man’s face would soon become unrecognizable, even to his own mother.

  Stephen stomped his boot heel onto the foot of the man holding hm. His brother’s wiry strength and quickness on his feet served him well. Stephen turned and began punching the hunter in the stomach, returning the belly punches he had just received.

  Sam spun toward one of the men attacking Bear. At the sight of Sam hurrying toward him, fear burst into the man’s eyes. The man jerked out his skinning knife. Before the hunter could use it, Sam grabbed the wrist holding the knife with both hands. He twisted with all his strength until the knife pointed away from him and toward the buffalo hunter, but the man’s other hand grabbed his throat. He felt the big hand pressuring his windpipe. His throat hurt more with each breath he tried to take. He felt himself loosing strength in his arms.

  The hunter’s eyes blazed with ferocity as the knife came closer to Sam’s face. The scent of death seemed to emanate from the man but Sam refused to breathe it in.

  With renewed determination, the blade just inches from his face, he managed to pry the knife out of the man’s hand. Then, grabbing a good chunk of the man’s hair, he wrenched the hunter to the ground and pressed his foot against the man’s back. He tossed the man’s knife aside and had his own knife at the man’s throat in half a second.

  “Sam don’t,” Stephen yelled, scrambling up and darting over to him.

  He gaped at Stephen, his pulse speeding and chest heaving.

  “Don’t!” Stephen repeated.

  He hesitated long enough to calm his killing rage, but he couldn’t resist slicing through the man’s hair held in his hand, cutting so close to the scalp it shaved the top of the man’s head. He stood and then threw the dirty hair onto the now pink sheared head. Then he rolled the man over and with a brutal stare said, “Bother us again and next time your scalp comes off too.”

  Bear’s foe did not fare much better. Holding the hunter by the throat until the fellow’s face turned blue and both eyes were bulging, Bear finally let go, dropping the limp man on top of the one with the fresh haircut. “This is for me ear,” Bear said, punching the man in the face as the hunter sucked in air. Blood ran from the broken nose, now angled toward the hunter’s left eye.

  Bear stepped away
. The two men sprawled on the ground evidently did not possess the will to fight further.

  By the time the fight was over, Sam saw five buffalo hunters scattered across the road, bleeding and groaning. The sixth could only bleed. Dead, he was the unlucky recipient of his leader’s gun’s discharge.

  Pointing the long knife, all thirteen inches, at the leader’s face and then the other hunters, he said, “If you, or any of your men, ever again point a weapon at one of my brothers, I swear I’ll plant this blade in that man’s chest.”

  Breathing heavily, he sheathed his knife, and then wiped at his face and hair dampened by sweat. Taking slow steady breaths, he surveyed the people standing in front of the shops and other buildings surrounding them, and then noticed the darkening sky and thunder rolling in the distance.

  Under the gloomy grey clouds, the townspeople, including Tom Wolf, stared in stunned disbelief. Sam suspected it was the first time anyone had answered a challenge from the unruly and insolent hunters.

  “Someone needs to take care of that weasel’s arm. He’s not far from bleeding to death,” Sam declared, then spit out some of his own blood.

  None of the town’s people even budged to help. In fact, nearly in unison, they took a step or turned away.

  Finally, one of the buffalo hunters, who could still move, crawled over to his suffering leader and tied a belt tightly around what was left of the arm.

  Although obviously in tremendous pain, the man struggled to prop himself up on his good arm. The hunter’s face turned white but he still managed a vicious stare.

  Sam filled his eyes with menace, as he swiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand.

  Hatred oozed from the eyes that glared back at him as readily as the blood seeped from the man’s hemorrhaging arm.

  As Sam kept a wary eye on the five hunters, he, Stephen, and Bear remounted their waiting horses. All three horses were trained to remain standing wherever their rider dismounted, even when weapons were being fired.

  Sam glowered at the hunters’ leader as he settled into his saddle. “Like I said, the horse is not for sale.”