Spake As a Dragon

by Larry Edward Hunt

  Nate hears the rustling of the leaves as someone approaches from the direction of the road. All he can find for protection is a stick of wood from a near-by tree. Hiding he waits for whoever is coming. His plan is to wait for the intruder to pass and then slam the chuck of wood into his skull as hard as he can swing, hoping to kill him. The footsteps grow louder – a few more steps and Nate will be able to strike. Nate raises the piece of wood above his head with both hands it is now or never!

  “Nate,” Luke whispers, “Nate!”

  Lowering his arms Nate voice quivers as he speaks, “T-T-Thanks the good Lord it’s you Luke,” looking towards the sky he continues his prayer, “Thanks you Lord!”

  “Nate, saddle your horse and let’s walk them out of here for a mile or two before mounting to ride. I have a good supply of food; all we need now is to get away from the soldiers at the roadblock and head south again. We’ll camp a little farther down the trail.”

  After a mile or so they mount and begin to ride. Nate turns to Luke, “I’m sorry ‘bout your grand pappy’s watch Luke, I knows it means a lot to you to swap it fer our food.”

  “Well, I have some good news! I still have Pappy’s watch. I ran upon another Gettysburg son of the South. He provided us the food at no cost. He wouldn’t take my pocket watch in trade. Nate, you won’t believe this, he also gave us a pistol. I have it stuck right here in this holster I’m wearing. I believe our luck is finally turning.” With these last words Luke calls to Nate, “Heads up!” Luke pitches the Spencer to Nate. “The pistol wasn’t all he gave me!”

  Nate grabbed the rifle with one hand and began to admire the rifle’s beauty – from the walnut stock to the golden color of brass in its trigger action. “Luke I’ve heared about such rifles, but I never put much stock in them bein’ real. And right here in my own hands is one, well I’ll be!” Luke couldn’t keep from admiring the rifle as he rubbed his hands up and down its barrel and stock saying again, “Well I’ll be!”

  Luke explained that the innkeeper told him if they skirted the main stagecoach road to Knoxville their next major obstacle would be the Cumberland Mountains roughly 75 to 100 miles distance. From the Cumberland Mountains to Knoxville was another 100 miles. Luke thinks since they were getting deeper and deeper into Confederate territory they should see less and less of the Yankees. Maybe they can pick their speed up from five miles a day to ten miles a day, if so they might reach the mountains in about a week.

  “One more important thing I found out Nate, the area from Lexington to the Cumberlands is crawling with bandits. The innkeeper warned they rob and kill Yankees as easily as they kill Rebels. We will take four-hour shifts sleeping, just to be on the safe side. One of us will pull guard duty, while the other sleeps.”

  They stayed away from the main road most days and still only traveled at night. Each day, as they slept, one of them was always on guard with the Spencer rifle. At daybreak a few days later they could see the gray-smoky outline of the Cumberland Mountains to their southeast. They were deep into Kentucky now and had not seen or heard a Yankee or the hint of any bandits. That night it was pretty cold. Luke thought it might be safe enough to build a fire. They boiled a pot of coffee with the last of their water except for a couple of mouthfuls in their canteens, sliced off some of the cured ham and enjoyed the first good meal they had eaten in a long time. It was a few days before Christmas.

  The next morning they took the risk to travel during the day. Being able to see where they are going doubled their speed. Luke guesses at the rate they are traveling they should reach the mountains sometime late the next day.

  Luke is right as night falls the following day they made camp in the woods a couple of hundred yards from the coach road. This is the road, which winds its way across the mountain. It is the only real road across these mountains for dozens of miles in either direction.

  “Nate, you and I must make a decision before we begin our trek across this wilderness. We can follow this coach road, which, by far will be the easiest and fastest, but this route is sure to get us captured, or we can dead reckon a path through the woods which will be safer, but much harder and will take at least an extra two weeks. Nate, I want your opinion. I do not want to make this decision alone.”

  “Luke you know I don’t know nothin’ about such thangs.”

  “All right Nate, let’s do it fairly,” Luke reaches down on the ground and picks up a long straw. He separates it into one long and one short piece, arranges them between his thumb and index finger. “Nate you pull one - short we use the stagecoach road - long we go cross the mountain. Is that fine with you?”

  Nate nodded his head, reaches and pulls a straw – it is the long one. “The decision is made, we’re fixin’ to stomp ourselves across this old Cumberland Mountain. We leave out at first light tomorrow morning, but before we begin climbing these hills and hollows I’d like to have another good taste of coffee. If I’ve got it figured right, it’s a few days before Christmas. We can call it a Christmas present to us both. We will break out the hardtack, and by the Grace of our Lord in honor of his birthday we’ll even put a pinch of sugar in our coffee. Guard the camp Nate and I will see if I can find a spring or creek nearby to fill our canteens.”

  THE ‘BANDIT’

  Luke rides off and disappears into the forest of old growth elm, oak, birch and pine. Nate un-saddles his horse plops the saddle blanket and saddle on the ground. Later this will become his bed. Firewood to build a fire is plentiful, so it isn’t long before everything is ready for supper – just as soon as Luke returns with some coffee water.

  Nate worn out from the day’s ride settles down on his saddle blanket, using the saddle as his pillow. He thinks maybe someday the smell of leather and horse sweat won’t be the last smell he experiences before going to sleep. His old slouch hat, found at Gettysburg, with its wide brim, is pulled down over his eyes. He thinks he can catch a few winks before Luke returns.

  He nods off, almost asleep when he hears a twig break - he is now wide-awake! Someone is trying to sneak up on him. Fortunately, that big old .56 caliber Spencer is snuggly pressed against his stomach. He slowly slips in into his hands – gently he cocks the hammer. The rifle is loaded, cocked and ready to fire. He doesn’t move. He wants to give the impression he is fast asleep to whoever is trying to sneak into his camp. His ears strain to determine the direction of the footfalls. They are coming from his right, good; he can squint through his eyes, and get a good look at the intruder before he gets close. Besides the barrel of the Spencer is pointed in that direction too.

  The ‘bandit’ was close Nate can see his outline at the outer limit of the fire’s light. Slowly, step by step the hunched over figure approaches Nate as he ‘slept.’

  As the man draws closer to the fire, Nate springs from his horse blanket, points the Spencer at the stranger and demands, “Don’t you move a nuther step or I’m fixin’ to scramble yer brains all over God’s creation!”

  “Please Mister! Please don’t shoot, I mean you no harm. I see you is a Yank by the looks of yer clothes and that there Union repeater rifle.”

  “What if I is a Yank who’s you side with?”

  “Mister, I don’t have a dog in this fight – I’m not Union or Confed, I’m a prospector – gold ain’t blue or gray, it’s yeller.”

  “Yank or Reb, what you doin’ slippin’ ‘round here in the dark? Don’t you know that’s a good way to git yerself kilt?”

  Nate could see this ‘bandit’ was an old man, hunched over from years and years of heavy toil. Limping on a bad knee. A dirty wide-brimmed hat with the front brim turned up and secured with a pen covered what little grey hair he had left on his head. A guitar was slung over one shoulder. This War aged people beyond their years, so guessing his age is useless. He has a face full of whiskers that have already turned to the color of snow, and a chew of tobacco stuck in his jaw big enough to choke a hog – Naw, thought Nate; this old fellow means me no harm.

  “I saw yer fire and
though I might come in and git warm. My name’s Billy Jefferson, Old Bill as most calls me,” he said spitting. “I’m a prospector, been at it near on fifty years now. I’ll strike it rich one of these days. I keep telling myself that mother lode is jest around the next bend in the river.”

  “Billy Jefferson, ye say? I got me a brother called Tom Jefferson, actually his’en is Thomas Jefferson Scarburg. We jest call him Jefferson. You alone Mr. Jefferson?” Before Old Bill could answer, “Pull up a chunk of wood to sat on and warm yerself close to the fire.”

  “No, it’s jest Old Bill, and I’m alone, well I suppose I ought to count my burro Lucky, and my horse Goldie. Never could keep a real partner, they sez I’m too ornery. Don’t know why I call her ‘Lucky’ she ain’t never led me to an ounce of gold, and Goldie, well that speaks fer itself. You alone too Mr... Mr... I didn’t catch yer name.”

  “Didn’t throw it, but mines Nate...Nate Scarburg. My partners out fetching water sos I can boil us some coffee.”

  “You fellers usin’ them parched corn kernels fer coffee?”

  “No sir’ree bob, we got the real thang. Coffee jest like we had afore the War...” Nate slowed for a moment thinking back to the good old days before this awful War began. His home in South Carolina and his Ma, Pa and brother in Alabama... “Uh, what was I sayin’?”

  Before Old Bill could answer, a noise comes from the brush. Was it Yankees, bandits, or bushwhackers? The fire is burning brightly; it is too late to hide or putout the fire. Nate says nervously to Old Bill, “That’s my partner coming now,” Nate slowly wraps his fingers around the trigger of the Spencer and begins to point it towards the sound. He quietly adds, “I hope!” Shouldering the rifle to fire, he says again, “Halt! Halt, or I’m gonna shoot! I’s got me a rifle, and I know how to use it!”

  “Hold on there Nate! It’s me Luke.”

  Luke, walks his horse into the campsite, dismounts and slowly moves toward the fire. “We got company Nate?”

  “Yes sir, this here’s Billy Jefferson goes by Old Bill, he’s been looking for that chance to git rich in these here hills. Gold, sez he gonna find that mother lode someday.”

  Tipping the brim of his hat Luke replies, “It’s my pleasure Mr. Jefferson.”

  “Hope you don’t mind me buttin’ into your camp, but I seen you’re fire and was hopein’ to get my old bones warmed up, but Nate tells me y’all got some real, gen-u-wine coffee. He invited me to a cup and laws a mercy, I ain’t had no real coffee in... in... ain’t that a shame, I don’t remember the last real coffee I’ve had.”

  “Nate’s right Mr. Jefferson, we have real coffee, and it would be a pleasure to have you join us for supper.”

  “Nobody calls me Mister, if you don’t mind it’s just Old Bill.”

  A while later after eating, leaning back against a tree Luke smells the sweet coffee aroma coming from his cup, takes another sip and speaks to Old Bill, “Hope you enjoyed your meal – coffee, sow belly and beans make pretty good eating’.”

  “Y’all don’t know how much I enjoyed that meal, it’s been a while since I ate so good. Can’t remember the last time I et bacon. If I jest had a chaw of tobaccy, it will be perfect.”

  “Sorry, Old Bill, but I don’t have any tobacco, but Nate might give you a chaw of his plug.”

  Old Bill glanced down at the Union blue horse blanket Luke had spread on the ground for his bed. He couldn’t help but notice the big white general’s star sewn in the corner. He had also spied the U.S. brands on both Luke and Nate’s horses.

  “You fellows Yanks?”

  “Why would you ask?” Luke replies.

  “Well, you see I don’t take sides with the North or South in an open fight, but I see from your gear you must be Yankees.”

  “I guess it isn’t going to hurt to tell you – no, Nate and I are not Yanks, we’re Southerners through and through. Our horses, saddles and such were stolen from a cavalry unit just out of Cincinnati. We figured they had a bunch of them and wouldn’t miss just a couple, but Nate,” chuckles Luke, “just had to get the General’s horse and tack. Nate was conscripted into the Union Army as a muleskinner, but a while back those Yanks killed his wife and son, so he’s run off trying to return home. I was captured at Gettysburg but escaped, anyway it’s a long story.”

  Grinning, Old Bill answered, “Now I get it. Sure, glad to hear that. It’s the truth I’m neutral, but I have a strong leaning to the South.” Tom said wiping his brow with his handkerchief.

  “Old Bill can I ask you a question?”

  “A question, for me? Shore nuff, what could I know that would interest you?”

  “Could you give me a little bit of information? For instance, what would be our best route to take to get over these mountains and on to Knoxville?”

  “As fer as gittin’ over this mountain, of course, the best way is the Wilderness Road, the one Dan’el Boone laid out, but those Yankees keep a close eye on it. It’s ‘bout the only way to git a wagon over these mountains. It runs right smack through the Cumberland Gap, that’s where them Yanks will be, but I know another trail that leads from here plumb to the other side. Those Yanks don’t know about it tho’ so y’all will be safe usin’ it. Safe as fer as meeting Yanks, but I wouldn’t advise trying to go over this mountain in the winter. It’s fer too dangerous.”

  “We’ll take the risk, will you show us where the trail begins?”

  Old Bill readily agreed, with one stipulation: he was traveling in the same direction and wanted to accompany Luke and Nate across the mountain.

  “Shore nuff, be happy to have you with us,” Nate answered.

  Luke invited Old Bill to bed down beside the fire and after breakfast they would set out across the mountain at first light.

  All three lie down on their saddle blankets and within a few minutes Old Bill is jarring the ground with his snoring. Luke waits another hour, slips quietly over to Nate. Places his hand over Nate’s mouth, scaring him almost to death. “Shhh,” whispers Luke removing his hand and placing his index finger over his own lips. Motioning with his hand for Luke to follow they slip away from the fire into the cover of the brush nearby.

  “By gosh Luke, what you tryin’ to do, smother me?”

  “Shhh, quite Nate. I want to talk about Old Bill. I don’t believe he is whom he says he is.”

  “What you mean Luke?”

  “He says he is a prospector. Did you see a pick or shovel on his pack animal? No, me neither, and did you notice that Arkansas Toothpick knife he ate his supper with?”

  “Luke, yeah I seen it, but perzackly what is one of them tooth picky knifes?”

  “It just means the Arkansas Toothpick is a heavy dagger with a 12-inch pointed, straight blade. The knife is balanced and weighted for throwing and is used for thrusting and slashing in a fight. I don’t think a prospector would need a blade like that, and did you notice his hands – they do not seem rough enough for someone who uses a pick and shovel all day.”

  “What you saying Luke?”

  “Remember what that innkeeper told me about this road? He said this road is a good place to run upon cutthroats and thieves. I believe it was no accident that Billy Jefferson, or whoever he is, found us. I believe he’s working with those outlaws! Slip back over to your blanket, but keep one eye on our guest. I don’t trust Old Bill, so tomorrow don’t let on we suspect him. Let him make the first move. Get some rest, we’ll leave at first light.”

  UP THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL

  It is an hour or so before sunup. Old Bill is already up packing his equipment on Lucky, his burro. Nate had rustled up a load of firewood and Luke has a pot of coffee brewing over the hot fire. A light rain is falling, not hard rain, just enough to make a cold day in December more miserable.

  Sitting around the campfire sipping on his coffee and nibbling on hardtack Old Bill explains the ordeal they are about to undertake. He tells how the trail over the mountain is hazardous with cliffs that drop hundreds of feet in places. In others, a horse and
rider can barely squeeze through the tight opening between the rocks. He then mentions the weather. Old Bill reminds Luke and Nate that it is December. December means snow, and as the darkness begins to fade, the sky he says indicates snow is coming soon. He expects the light rain they are experiencing down here in the valley will be snow up on the mountain. He suggests they load up and get started as soon as possible.

  Once mounted they ride down the valley at the base of the mountain for a mile when Old Bill in the lead suddenly takes a sharp turn to his left and disappears between a couple of large cedar trees with long, wide-spread limbs, which hides the trail.

  Nate had been keeping his eye on the land to his right and did not see Old Bill vanish. He looks back ahead and now discovers he and Luke are alone. “Luke! What happened to Old Bill? Where did he go?”

  Luke waits for Nate to catch up, “Hush up Nate! Someone will hear. He turned betwixt them cedars up yonder.” Luke said putting a heel to his horse. Luke’s horse begins to gallop forward toward the evergreens Nate follows. Both men rein their mounts left into the grove of trees ahead they see a trail. A few hundred feet to their front is Old Bill on a narrow trail that is beginning to ascend up the mountain. For the next few hours, all three men wind and weave their horses up the steep incline. All along, the farther they go up the mountain, the harder the snow is falling. It appears there must be at least a couple of inches of snow on the ground.