Shatto (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  "I've seen some pretty bad noses straightened among the tribes, Blue."

  "I recall such things myself, Rob. I am sure our people had that skill but none have retained the ability. Believe me, I have searched widely. Perhaps your western tribes could help." But Blue Moccasin's discouragement was plain.

  "Isn't it strange, Rob, that nowhere among all these books that I have exclaimed about can one find a way to straighten a long-broken nose. Surely man has suffered that affliction since time began. But, those who knew did not record their knowledge. How welcome it would now be to me!"

  Ami-ta-chena Cummens sailed into the study with a vitality that turned all attention to her.

  Blue was right! Her nose was as squashed as any Rob had ever seen, accustomed to the often flattened, moon-like faces of some mountain tribes, Rob did not find her appearance distressing.

  He took his time examining her as she studied him with equal interest. Blue Moccasin found himself unintentionally isolated and felt a tiny hope surge within him. The occasion seemed far too coincidental, too contrived even, for anything to come of it, but his quick mind considered the pros and cons, and judged probabilities with detached objectivity. The hope flared brighter.

  Amy Cummens was tall enough, though she barely reached Rob Shatto's chin. Rob judged her age as early twenties, although her crushed nose made his guess questionable.

  She wore a split riding skirt that only partly concealed rounded legs and hips too sturdy to meet the currently fashionable slenderness that bordered on frailty. Her slender waist accentuated womanly curves and Rob found her strong body singularly attractive.

  Hair as black as his own was worn in a single braid. Rob expected that her hair had never been cut, and that combed out it would fall below her waist.

  Her level eyes met his frankly and Blue Moccasin hastened to make introductions, Rob extended his best bow and received a half-curtsy in return. His greeting was warmly returned by a voice deepened by her blocked nose, but still melodious to Rob's ear. They exchanged words of little meaning and she excused herself to prepare for supper.

  Rob found her appearance and movements captivating, and he spoke to James Cummens in Delaware. "The maiden Ami-ta-chena graces the lodge of Blue Moccasin and is worthy of the attention of many warriors."

  Blue appeared startled, and Rob's eyes swung to him fearing he had committed some breach of courtesy. With his attention on Blue Moccasin he failed to note Amy's pause near the doorway.

  Blue said, "Would the grandson of Quehana offer many horses and beaver pelts for the maiden Ami-ta-chena, or does he speak only of other warriors?"

  Rob smiled and continued the game, "The hand of Ami-ta-chena demands a warrior of many feathers who can offer belts of wampum. Quehana's grandson has only metal of the sun to offer."

  Blue Moccasin's eyes twinkled his enjoyment of the exchange. "It might be that Blue Moccasin, undisputed chieftain of the Delaware Turtle Clan, could find some use for the yellow metal and would look with favor upon the suit of Quehana's grandson."

  Amy's voice from the doorway jarred Rob and her lilting Delaware stunned him. "Before a brave seeks the hand of a Delaware maiden, he should have at least earned his own name. One who dresses in smelly skins and is called only the son of the Arrowmaker should visit long with the old men to learn the right ways before fumbling at a maiden's lodge entrance!"

  She was gone in a swirl of skirts, leaving Rob gaping in astonishment and James Cummens doubled in glee. Half-irritated, Rob turned to Blue Moccasin, "Blue, you should have told me she spoke Delaware."

  Holding forth a placating hand, Blue Moccasin got his breath. "Robbie, you jumped in with both feet so suddenly that I couldn't resist it." He again choked on laughter. "Oh my lord, you should have seen your face!"

  Rob's grin was rueful. "Expect I wasn't at my best, Blue. I haven't heard a woman speak Delaware since 'Flat' died when I was a mite of a boy."

  He again switched to the Indian tongue. "The warrior's feathers hang limp and his paint has run."

  Controlling himself Blue said, "Why Rob, all you need are some new skins and a proper name. Perhaps we could call you something like, 'Coson-na-dosene,' which might translate as, 'The one who speaks with moccasin in mouth.'" His own humor was too much and Blue lay gasping amid the pillows of his soft chair.

  +++++

  Amy rode along when he went for the gold. She volunteered at their breakfast table and stilled his fears of tension between them.

  Rob's obvious interest in her was more than matched by her pleasure in listening to his vigorous stories of the Shining Mountains, and later his plans for living as a horse breeder in Perry County.

  Amy's knowledge of horses at least matched his own, and her questions were sharp requiring careful answers.

  "How could a horse remain strong on grass alone?'

  Rob answered, "He would not have the bottom of a grain-fed animal, but through a constant diet that included much grass, he would grow accustomed to it and not slowly starve the way many eastern horses do."

  A single mare could not supply a herd of animals. What would he do when his Appaloosa strain grew thin?

  True, the Appaloosa would in time be gone from his horses. By then, he expected to have developed his own crossbreed that would have the sure-footed endurance demanded of a mountain horse.

  They rode stirrup-to-stirrup, talking in both English and Delaware. Their arms waved in the expressive Indian manner and, engrossed in each other, they barely noted the passage of time or countryside.

  Rob had visited many country girls during his growing years and he had known squaws of many western tribes, but Ami-ta-chena was to him unlike all others. He experienced immediate ease with her that he could recall sharing only with old Bogard, and that closeness had taken time to develop. He recognized the pleasure of speaking the Indian tongue and their common interest in horses, but there was more and he let his mind play with it as they rode.

  Amy Cummens' education far outdistanced his own and her cultured life afforded amenities strange to him. Yet, fine threads of understanding wove somehow between them and he could feel their strengthening by the moment. He was certain that she too was aware of a mutual attraction and must herself be pondering its specialness.

  They made a day of it, nooning at the farm where he had left Elan's pack animal. He watched Amy's acceptance and enjoyment of the poor farm family's rough ways. If she felt herself above the common folk, none of it showed. Rob liked what he saw.

  Rob led the way to a deep woods and they dug up the gold. Amy "0ohed" over the dull yellow hoard but admitted to having no idea of its true value.

  The sun cast long shadows before the cobbled Cummens drive rang beneath their horse's hooves. They walked their mounts wishing the ride could continue. Rob raised a solemn palm to Blue Moccasin standing in a tall window, and Amy waved brightly to his nod.

  Rob helped her from the saddle, knowing she could do it better without him. She handed her horse to a stable hand and the low sun caught her flattened profile making her smashed nose ugly and obtrusive. She deserved better, and Rob felt a terrible need to do something about it. Her smile turned her beautiful and Rob turned to the care of his own horse while Amy strode to the big house and preparation for supper.

  +++++

  James Cummens, Junior took charge of Rob's gold. He appeared unruffled by the sight of a fortune contained in two saddle bags, but Rob noted James, Junior's increased attentiveness. Robbie Shatto had graduated from a peculiar friend of his father's to wealthy client status, and in the mercantile world of James, Junior, there was a significant difference.

  Gold in Rob's amount was not converted to cash, holdings and multiple assets in a day. Rob was glad to linger while the Cummens men bargained and maneuvered to his advantage.

  Blue's evening descriptions of his daily acquisitions in Rob's behalf were truly interesting, but the days with Amy were his pleasures. They galloped to her favorite places and she chose his tailor and a
dvised on clothing styles. She pretended to groan over Rob's insistence on plain, useful trousers and shirts, while he in turn, moaned and growled over her adamance on proper boots to supplement his favored moccasins.

  They fished and boated on the river, and Rob invited her to skinny dip but she demurred on the pretense of catching cold. She did feel the muscles of his arms as he resaddled after a long picnic. Rob hardened his biceps and muscle bunched iron-like within her grasp. Her genuine admiration made him feel a bit foolish but pleased him as well. She said in Delaware, "Mighty is the warrior I call 'Goldbearer.' His arm is uncle to the hickory and his enemies will flee before him."

  Rob stuck out his chest and pounded it with his fists. Amy grimaced and added in English, "Such strong arms can also chop much wood and carry many water buckets."

  Rob let his breath wheeze away saying, "I think I like the Indian version better!"

  Their preoccupation with each other was plain to all, but nothing was said. When others retired, Rob paced the flagstone porch and looked across the river thinking about it.

  He supposed, due to the gold, that he had much to offer, but his intent was to live simple, as one of many among the people of his county. He would raise some horses in his chosen manner, but their numbers would be few. There would be no real profit there.

  He had not expected to choose a wife so soon. There was land to buy and buildings to raise. On the other hand, should a wife not be party to that as well? Most men might feel otherwise, believing that the man's thoughts and decisions were paramount and the wife's of little import.

  Old Rob had shared equally with great-grandma Becky and Robbie had seen that it was the right way.

  Of course, he wondered what Amy's answer might be. The thought of refusal chilled him. His mind told him that Ami-ta-chena more than liked him, but he feared to speak too soon, or at the wrong moment, or in the wrong manner. He paced faster and sighed more often.

  Blue Moccasin slept with an old man's lightness. He heard Rob pacing and recognized his dilemma. He wished to say, "Robbie, just ask her. If you don't, she might tire of waiting and ask you herself."

  He heard Amy stir in her room and knew she also heard Rob stomping around down there. He smiled, thinking of her ill-concealed anticipation of Rob's declaration. He stretched comfortably, listening to his old joints crack, and pondered how strange the ways of the Great Spirit. After all these years, the blood of Blue Moccasin and Quehana would mingle and grow. He wondered if his old friend could see and know what transpired. If so, he wished a trifle grimly, it was time Quehana gave his great-grandson a quick shove into action. Knowing old Rob, Blue was sure he'd have already done it. So, he guessed it wasn't allowed.

  Before he spoke, Rob had a thing to do. It was a dangerous and fearful act, but he saw no other course. To refrain out of his own fear of loss would be wrong and shameful. Though his heart quailed and his fingers grew damp he resolved to delay no longer.

  Blue Moccasin heard Rob's fist strike his open palm and knew a decision was made. He heaved a great sigh and tried to sink into sleep. He wished he were camped deep among hemlocks, his fire burning low, and great messages to speak in nearby villages. Those had been the great days. All gone now. All gone, never to return.

  +++++

  There was an icy spring in a small copse a short half-mile from the Cummens home. At Rob's suggestion they walked to the spring and sat on grass and needles in the warm sun.

  Amy was beautiful, with brightness on her features and contentment showing in her eyes. His hands almost shook and his belly tightened in a knot. He had to fight himself to continue, but this was the right moment and he could delay no longer.

  He gave her no warning or choice. He'd seen beaver men and even full-grown braves that had needed holding against the pain. He clamped his big hand against the back of her head, feeling the thick hair slide and firm up beneath his grip. Her eyes leaped, startled and unsure, to his and he sorrowed over what he was figuring to do.

  He just plain reached up, and got a good grip with his thumb and finger along her flattened nose. Then, he broke it with a snap so sharp that he could feel it run through his fingers, her eyes shot through with astonishment and agony, then turned dull and blank with the overwhelming pain of it, he held her secure, half-listening to her shocked breathing as he concentrated on pushing her tortured nose about as straight as he could get it.

  He shifted her head around, judging his work from both ahead and from the side. Swelling immediately started and he had only a minute to get it all set.

  The girl began gagging deep in her throat and he rolled her over letting her choke blood onto the ground. He became aware that she still hadn't uttered a mean sound. Tears were leaking around her eyes and a site of blood dribbled from her rapidly-swelling nose, but the yowling and squalling he had expected hadn't started.

  He let her choke a moment, watching long shudders wrack her body as the first shock wore away and serious pain started up. He picked a pipe straw from his shirt and snapped it in two, gently, but firmly he turned the stricken girl, propping her against a tree bole so blood wouldn't run back and down her throat.

  He couldn't tell much of what she was thinking from her eyes. Right now, it didn't make any difference anyhow. He'd made up his mind, and he figured on finishing what he had started.

  He tipped her head back a little and as gently as possible slipped a straw tube into each nostril. He pushed in until she balked. Then, he talked as he soaked a cloth in the cold spring water and placed it across her forehead and nose.

  "A horse threw old Matt Holsten one spring along the Yellowstone. Old Matt landed on the only rock for a mile around. Left him looking like a Taos tortilla with two eyes. One of the boys and I held him flat while young Jim Bridger straightened his nose out, the same as I did yours.

  "When we let old Matt up, he came for us with his knife, snorting blood and howling like a 'Rapahoe. Blew the straws clean out of his head, and we had to get him down and do it all over again.

  "A week or two later, he was thanking us loud, because his nose healed up to pretty decent shape."

  Rob paused to consider the girl's partly covered face. He removed the cloth and soaked it with cooler water. She lay with her eyes closed, but her chest heaved with breathing, so he figured she was listening,

  "Whether a nose looks pretty doesn't mean much to a man like me. I've been around enough to see beyond shapes and sizes, but a nose is for breathing and smelling. When it's bashed flat, it isn't much good for either, and as you know a flat nose makes your ears ring so you don't hear too well, and it makes your voice sound wrong for the kind of person you are.

  'That's the reason for the hollow reeds. They help make sure things are straight inside. They will hurt a mite coming out, but all the tribes do it this way and most of the time it works."

  He sat quiet, then resoaked the bandage and started to feel real lowdown mean. He surely wished she'd say something. Even coming up with a knife like old Matt had would be better than just laying there.

  Amy couldn't believe what he had done! She thought about it through surging waves of pain so strong she ached to scream. He had just reached over, as cool as you'd please, broken her nose with his bare hands, pulled it around to suit himself, and then stuffed straws in it like venting a cooking goose.

  She listened to his talk, understanding his words, half-appreciating the cool relief of dripping cloth, but stunned by pain and his incredible, brutal audacity.

  Who did Rob Shatto think he was to just up and hurt a person who would have trusted him in almost any circumstances? She had thought him so good and so strong and brave, and here he had willfully gone and hurt her about as bad as a person could be hurt.

  She felt the coolness of a freshly wetted cloth and became aware of his long silence. Oh how she hoped he was suffering just one whit of what she was feeling. Just wait until her grandfather saw what his precious friend had done to her. Rob Shatto would be lucky to keep his scalp, that's
what!

  What a reckless thing for Rob Shatto to do. With his many wealthy and powerful friends, James Cummens could chase Rob Shatto clean back to his Shining Mountains.

  Inevitably, her thoughts came full circle. Rob knew the power of Blue Moccasin. He could never expect his actions to go unnoticed in the Cummens household. Could he then care so much for Amy Cummens that he would risk everything he might hope for? Could there be another, darker reason, for his terrible act? With lifting heart she searched her thoughts and studied her logic. She had to be right! He cared about her! That was why he did it. It was so obvious now.

  With that acceptance, even the pain seemed a little less, and she moved her fingers until they found his. His vast hand engulfed hers, and she heard his breath gust in relief. She felt him leaning close and his words clear and strong in the melodious Delaware tongue would live in her heart and mind for her lifetime.

  "The maiden Ami-ta-chena holds the heart of her warrior. Her beauty and her courage bind her man forever. In his lodge there will be but one woman. For her, he will hunt and fight. Her spirit will brighten their lodge. She will bear their children and be grandmother to their children's children."

  In English then . . . "I love you, Amy."

  +++++

  Chapter 12

  Melchior Fordney's pistol modifications were all that Rob had expected. Minus the heavy flint hammers, the pistol was less bulky in its holster and Rob thought it balanced a little better.

  Fordney had filed deep and strong notches in the hammers so that the pistol could be safely carried at half cock, easing the springs yet clearing the percussion caps.

  His saddle bags heavy with coins, Rob felt more comfortable with the familiar weight of the pistol at his back. There were also letters of credit in his hunting pouch. Drawn on Cummens interests, they would pay for his land.