Shatto (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  A sudden sharp report surprised them and they looked at the machine, but all seemed well. Ruby resumed his circles and further snapping, plainly small roots breaking were heard. A number of long ridges opened as large roots began ripping from their ancient beds. The helper quickly chopped through roots conveniently showing and the great screw continued its remorseless pressure.

  With a sudden upheaval the entire stump and root system rose a foot or more. Accompanied by multiple snappings, the earth gripping the oak gave way to the iron monster. Without strain, the ox wound the screw raising the stump ever higher until it hung clear like some many-tentacled sea beast trapped amid the chains of iron.

  They applauded the result. Sam Ruby bowed as though a stage performer, blushing in pleasure and grinning widely. Jonas Ickes raised a toast of Rob's beer and they trooped down to look closer.

  Rob was more than satisfied. Sam Ruby went to work on Rob's fields with at least one day a week given over to Abel Troop's adjoining land.

  Abel was given a special deal. He paid only Ruby's wages; the machine came free. In exchange, he agreed to ride the legs off a few of Rob's spotted-rumped horses. He claimed he would wear a feedbag over his head so that real horse people wouldn't know he was riding those funny-colored nags.

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  Chapter 21: 1833 & 1840

  The 1830's had been growing years. County population increased by twenty-five percent and buildings went up in every meadow and along each road. Men flourished and bought more land. Businesses opened and a few were profitable.

  Yet, the times were also strange. Ventures failed suddenly due to over-extended credit. When a customer could not pay in cash, the local merchants accepted barter, but the suppliers to the businesses still demanded their money, and too often the businesses failed. Then, the Sheriff sold the few physical remains to the highest bidder.

  Farmers enjoyed large crops, but the city markets were glutted by produce and grain from nearer farms and little money came into the mountain county. Doctor Jonas Ickes, with his hand in a dozen enterprises, became stretched too thin. With the new decade he regretfully allowed much of his property to go at Sheriff's sale and drew back to lick his wounds.

  Rob felt Doctor Ickes' loss to be particularly regrettable. Half the people in Sherman's Valley owed the doctor or had paid him with chickens, bacon or vegetables. While his many children might profit from barter fees, his creditors demanded hard cash. Rob's offers of loans or outright gifts were graciously refused. Loans could not solve the problem and a gift under such conditions was unacceptable charity.

  By 1840, too many families were growing desperate. Without money, taxes remained unpaid, mortgage foreclosures became too common and all payments fell in arrears. Speculators began appearing in the county. They waited, buzzard-like, for the unfortunate to sell for too little cash. They would reap their own profits by waiting out the cycle of bad times and selling high to newcomers wishing to live in the mountain country.

  The county printed its own scrip to pay its own bills. Cadwallader Jones put his signature on much of the scrip and groaned over it. Scrip was, of course, worthless outside the county and few within the county believed that the paper currency would ever be redeemed for gold or silver.

  But, the county had no chickens to barter. They paid in scrip, and Cad Jones found his signature on his own monthly pay.

  The Shattos suffered not a whit. Their fortunes flourished under Cummens direction, although few in the county were aware that Rob and Amy Shatto had money to spare.

  Rob cared little for the profits accumulating in Philadelphia. His time was filled with family, horses, and their home. Amy was at least as content. She planned for more children, but with the Troop children continually underfoot, her two boys seemed enough for now. Materially, they had all they desired, and she too seldom thought of her father's careful investments in their behalf.

  Abel Troop seemed unaffected by Perry County's hard times. His family holdings were in Cumberland County and things went adequately out there. Closer to the cities and large towns, Cumberland goods reached market quicker and cheaper than Perry's. Cumberland skimmed the cream from the profits and often gobbled up even the dregs.

  Yarning about it one evening, Cad Jones said, "A man could wish old Lewis the Robber would come riding back, Rob. I could use a bag of gold tossed on my porch now and then."

  They laughed over the legendary highwayman, but the idea stuck in Rob's mind, and he dug out his books to read up on Lewis the Robber.

  Lewis had died about 1820, far from Perry County,. How his name had become legendary in Perry County was a mystery. David (The Robber) Lewis was a common thief, army deserter and a complete no-good. His passage through Perry County had been recorded as a few minor robberies. Stories that he rode out of the night to give to the poor were invalidated tales that were contrary to Lewis's mean disposition.

  Yet, the stories of Lewis the Robber paralleling those of the equally improbable Robin Hood persisted, and Rob thought he might turn the legends into a way of giving needed assistance and having a fine time doing it.

  He enlisted help for his plan. Amy, of course, had to know. Cad Jones would be needed, and Abel Troop was never excluded from Shatto activities.

  Rob explained his idea to their gathering which, at Amy's insistence included Widow Oakes.

  Rob said, "Now, my plan is that Cad lets us know who around the county is genuinely in need of a little help. He will also make real certain that they are deserving. Too many people need because they don't try hard enough. Them, I am not interested in helping.

  "So, one of us will ride up in the night on a plain old horse that no one will know. We'll throw a bag of coins against the door, and yell out that we're Lewis the Robber and to use the money well.

  "We'll not go out too often and be very careful when we do go. If one of us ever gets caught we can claim he was just pretending to be Lewis that one time. Seeing that we are doing nothing illegal, it ought to be fun, and it may help a few folks that won't accept help any other way."

  They all thought it a grand scheme. Cad Jones wished he didn't know about it so that a bag of coins might come his way. Abel claimed he liked it best because they were using Rob's money. Rob got a little even by making Abel provide the horse. He claimed there were plenty of unrecognizable old plugs standing around Troop's pastures anyway.

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  Andrew Crum was walking home from a workday that had not ended until after dark. Near Elliotsburg, a giant figure clad in black rode from the brush and hurled a heavy cloth bag at his feet.

  Andrew saw the black mask and two huge pistols in the rider's sash. Scared speechless, he stood frozen in place as the rider reared his horse and shouted, "The money is yours, Andrew Crum. Use it well!" The horse crashed away though the brush and a catamount scream tore madly on the air.

  The money was enough for Crum to keep his place from going to creditors.

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  A day before her eviction, Eva Brodisch answered a knock on her cabin door. A moneybag clanked onto her porch and a masked rider pranced his horse in dim light and called, "Lewis the Robber has returned. Spend the money well!"

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  Word of the robber's return sped across the county. A few claimed to have seen his dark figure. Others, seeking importance, boasted of sheltering or feeding the famous outlaw.

  A few jealous souls stated that money given by Lewis should be turned in, to be returned to its rightful owners, but with no reports of robberies by Lewis, those suggestions fell on barren soil.

  Amy made her own deliveries. That she was small of statute and that her deepened voice sounded artificial, passed unnoticed. Grateful people saw and heard what they wished. Lewis was plainly a giant on a monstrous black stallion. He was said to hide out in a cave on Doubling Gap. A few believed him to be the returned spirit or ghost of Lewis. That accounted for his ready disappearance and the lack of robberies to accompany the money gifts.

  Cad Jone
s chose his recipients with care. Many thought they merited a visit from the generous robber, but none could claim that those gifted by Lewis were not genuinely deserving.

  Rob enjoyed the game. He draped cloth covers over both his good foot and peg-leg for disguise. To add to the mystery, he once tossed a purse of coins through an open window onto a table where a hungry family attempted to divide a single rabbit. His wild catamount screech added to the excitement, and as panthers were long gone from the mountains, the cry was strange to county ears.

  One night, Lewis struck three distant places at the same moment. The perpetrators enjoyed the resulting confusion of claims and counter-claims, but thereafter, Lewis was seen infrequently. Cad Jones had seen to those deserving. The list had been surprisingly short. Examination disclosed that persons in truly dire straits were not many, and some of those had willfully made their own beds and tried very little to better themselves.

  Lewis rode ever more rarely, although he was often seen by those desiring special attention. Soon, he fell more or less into retirement, but upon occasion, they dusted the robber off to give aid to an individual, perhaps not destitute, but in need of financial help. They could ride about the county and count barns and homes that Lewis had helped put up, and they could mark off farms saved from the sheriff's sale and people rescued from the county almshouse.

  Rob thought old Lewis had done well, with none the wiser, and their shared secret drawing the adventurers even closer together.

  Lewis remained a popular topic of conversation, and Rob expected that future generations would hear of the dashing robber on his great stallion.

  Rob recommended they retire the old plug of a gelding they had usually ridden out of gratefulness that he had held together through the entire campaign. Abel agreed and renamed the plain, old horse "Fire Breather" as a special reward.

  Rob vowed to ride "Fire Breather" in the next Independence Day parade and Amy promised to darn him a special feedbag. The widow Oakes agreed to applaud as Rob rode by.

  Cad Jones was hard put to come up with a matching offer. Finally, he topped them all. Cad agreed to clean up behind "Fire Breather" the whole length of the parade.

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  Chapter 22: 1833 & 1840

  Dyed turkey feathers canting from leather headbands moved behind a great downed log not far upstream. Rob counted three warriors moving with great caution. The colored feathers made them out to be of the Cheyenne nation and one could wonder how they came so far from their lands close by the Shining Mountains.

  The third warrior seemed a trifle clumsy and either lagged or crowded in upon the other two skillful leaders who hissed and gestured their disapproval.

  The day was warm with a soft breeze stirring still sparse greenery, and the Little Buffalo chuckled its pleasure at being free of winter's cold grip. Rob had come down to watch the horses where they stood hipshot beneath massive oaks and chestnuts that lined the stream.

  He had a favorite seat half within the fire-burned bole of a forest giant. He could lean back and prop his legs comfortably over a nearby log and look across the best part of his holdings,

  The home site rested solidly against Buffalo Ridge and the barns lent their own touch of permanence. Fields, newly green, belied the late summer need for the irrigation ditches spanning them. Rob could smell newly-turned earth and the ammonia aroma of his horses. Things seemed right at the Shatto place so he turned his attention to the warriors who were closer now.

  His heart smiled at the sight and sound of them, He could remember his own pretendings when as "Little Shingas" he stalked old Rob with all his skill and cunning, only to find he'd been detected long before.

  He rose and drew his long knife from his boot top. Being careful where he placed his peg-foot, he began dancing heel and toe in a tight circle, chanting like a Sioux with a sore belly.

  Three pair of enchanted, round eyes peered across a log at him. He stood very tall and spoke some meaningless words in the Ute tongue.

  Switching to English he said, "I, Chief Robbo, last of the Delaware on this land, welcome warriors who have traveled far to council here on the Little Buffalo."

  There was whispered consultation behind the log before three brave figures marched into view. Chip Shatto, age seven, was the obvious leader and example-setter. With arms crossed on chest, he led equally solemn Beth Troop, of the same age, and a slightly wobbly Teddy Shatto, almost four. Rob sat cross-legged. The two senior warriors did likewise, but Teddy poked about uncertainly and finally moved to sit within Rob's arms.

  "Dang it, Pap, he always ruins everything!"

  Chip's ferocious scowl matched his words and Beth's outthrust lip displayed her annoyance. Ted stared back with his own owl-eyed obstinacy and Rob hastened to smooth troubled waters,

  "Well Chip, you've got to remember that Teddy here is a mite younger than you two. Time will come when he will do better." The scowls lessened not a whit.

  "I don't know, Pap. He sure seems slow learnin'."

  "There will be a day, Chip, when you two boys will be riding together all over the county. Seeing as how you're brothers, you will be special friends and you will stick by each other no matter what happens." Chip appeared highly dubious.

  "I expect I will see the time, not too long from now either, when the three of you will pack your camping gear and ride way out into Kennedy's Valley to scout around for good cabin sites and maybe look for old Indian sign. Why, you might stay out more than one night even." Rob let them mull on that adventure for a while.

  The Indian game had lost their interest and Rob was ready to start back. He carried Ted on his shoulders enjoying the small boy's firm grip on his hair. Chip and Beth galloped ahead or lagged behind.

  Chip asked, "Pap, when are you going to teach me Delaware? You and Mom talk it all the time, and I can't hardly tell what's going on."

  "Well, sometimes we talk it so you won't know what's going on. Young people don't need to know everything.

  "I'm figuring on teaching you Sioux instead of Delaware anyway. Fact is, Chip, the Delawares are scattered and will never be a tribe again. Now, the Sioux are another proposition. They control a heap of country out west. A man can't tell where his stick will float. Could be that you will be heading that way when you're grown up. Then, you'll know how to talk with them that own the land—could be real useful, son."

  "Wasn't it Sioux that stuck that arrow in your back and put old Bogard under, Pap?"

  "Yep, but a man can't go around hating a whole tribe because of what one war party did. You've got to remember that for a long time there will be more of them than us out there. It could pay a man to know their way of talking."

  "Don't know if I'll go out and fight them Injuns anyway, Pap. I might just stay back here with you and raise horses. I haven't really decided yet."

  Rob grinned within himself at the boy's seriousness, "Well Chip, you've got awhile to decide yet. A man shouldn't make up his mind too quick on things anyhow."

  The boy nodded solemn agreement.

  They saw the Widow Oakes near the house and went tearing away. Rob lowered a squirming Ted and watched his roly-poly charge after the older pair.

  Rob thought he had best get to the Sioux lessons. His words might have more weight than he expected. Eyes were turning west, and in time Chip or Teddy Shatto might stretch their own legs in that direction.

  There was a lot about surviving that he could teach his sons. He guessed that was part of his job as a father. He began laying out the things he ought to go over.

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  Chapter 23: 1842

  Winter chill had touched the land. Leaden skies pressed on the rise of far ridges and the sun hung weak and distant. At dawn the earth crunched underfoot, although by midmorning fields again turned muddy.

  The harvests were in, nuts had been gathered and stored, and Rob could feel the place settling into slower winter routines.

  Hunting was especially fine at this time. The trees stood bare and squirrels cou
ld be seen at good distances. Deer worked a bit longer at their browsing and were more likely to be caught in morning light near field edges. Meat kept better, too. It cooled and firmed up fast without the worry of blowflies or spoilage while packing it home.

  Rob sniffed the crisp air, watched the fog of his breathing, and felt the cold tingle his fingertips. He figured the time was ripe for an Elbedritch hunt.

  Cad Jones opened the subject for him while the families gathered in the warm comfort of Amy's kitchen. "Been out for Elbedritch this year, Rob?"

  Young ears perked up. Anything to do with hunting was of intense interest to Chip and Ted.

  Amy said, "Oh Cad!" and started to smile. She caught herself and looked quickly away.

  Rob replied soberly, nodding seriously as though considering the matter. "No, Cad, we haven't gone out yet. I'd say the weather's about right and we might be able to catch them moving west tonight. Trouble is, Abel can't come along, and we've just got to have another good man. Hunting Elbedritches needs a dependable man on the catching sack. Afraid we can't go unless we find somebody.

  There was suggestive squirming from Chip and Ted.

  Cad spoke as though just recognizing a possibility. "Rob, you don't suppose Chip and Ted could do that job do you? They could each take a side of the bag instead of one man holding it all alone."

  Chip was enthusiastic and Ted even more so. "We could do it, Pap. No old elder branch would get past us!"

  'That's Elbedritch, Chip." Rob spoke to hide Widow Oakes' amused gurgling. "Well, Elbedritches are tough to catch, Chip. To tell the truth, we've never caught one. Folks say they're about the size of a small turkey and their fur is worth a pile of money."

  Cad Jones put in, "I've heard a man could trade one Elbedritch hide for six or seven good horses."