The tinsmith was only starting to turn when Rob reached him. Rob's sweeping arm slapped Krouser's stove pipe hat off his head and across the room. He spun the man furiously and slammed him back against the bar.
Complete surprise in Krouser's eyes dissolved into mindless fear as Rob's long knife appeared and touched lightly under his chin. Krouser's throat convulsed in spasm and the knifepoint brought a trickle of blood.
The room was soundless. The raw violence naked in Rob Shatto's face was no longer seen among these people. Those watching were held as motionless as Rob's knife held Krouser.
"Krouser, the need to carve you like a ham is awful strong in me." Rob's knife flashed and Krouser's overalls were cut loose at the chest. The knife was instantly back, this time well up in the terrified man's left nostril.
Even a twitch of the blade would lay his nose wide open and Krouser thought his legs might collapse with the fear of it.
Slowly, Rob's knife forced the man's head backward until his fat body arched back across the bar. His overalls sagged around his knees unnoticed and Rob spoke his final words.
"If you ever interfere with me or mine again, as long as you live, I will come after you, and I'll finish you once and for all." The coldness of his voice left no one doubting the certainty of his promise.
He turned and strode to the door. Krouser's hat lay in his path. He kicked it into the street, mounted, and was gone. Uncaring of what others thought, Krouser slumped to the floor, his back braced against the bar. His heart pumped wildly and his body bathed in sweat. He had been close to dying, and he knew it. So did everyone else. After a while, Krouser got up, recovered his hat from the street and went home. Not until then did the voices rise in awed and still fearful exclamations.
Rob met Amy where she waited a block away.
Relieved she asked, "Rob, what did you do?'
He smiled a little grimly, "Oh Amy, I just knocked his hat off and kicked it into the street."
He had been gone only a little time so she guessed they hadn't fought. She was glad that was all Rob had to do.
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Chapter 28
The boys knew they had Indian blood. Rob and Amy made much of the little they might have inherited from Blue Moccasin. Rob figured they could be one-eighth Delaware.
Few around Perry County knew anything firsthand about Indians, but they had heard the wild tales handed down, and they saw the few Indians still living in poverty along Cisna Run, so even fewer citizens had good words for Indians at anytime.
Amy had grown with Blue Moccasin's stories of the Indian before his society was torn asunder, and Rob had cherished old Rob's early life within E'shan the Delaware arrowpoint maker's family and the squaw "Flat" who lived with them. Rob added his own western tribal experiences. They thought it important that their sons appreciate the true nature of the Indian and understand the still continuing destruction of ancient tribal ways.
They taught Chip and Ted skills and beliefs, as practiced by redmen, because they were correct and still useful. Yet, it was the broader view that concerned the parents. To both Rob and Amy, the ignorant bias so often expressed against Indians was repugnant. They wished their sons to know rightly how it was.
Rob said, "A man can't really bunch all Indians together when he talks about them, boys. A horse-riding, buffalo-hunting Sioux isn't much like a lake and woods Huron. But before our white crowding and pushing did them in, the tribes had worked out ways of living that worked, and according to their ideas, made life good for about everybody.
"Now, although some tribes were organized into nations, like the old Six Nations of the Iroquois, each tribe spoke a different language and stuck pretty much to themselves.
"Each family provided for itself and none laid claim that any piece of ground belonged to them. A tribe considered a general area as theirs, but within those miles any family could raise its lodge, hunt, or plant squash where it wished.
"The Indian lived within nature. He was part of it. He didn't rip or chop or level things. A few seasons after he moved on, there was no trace of his passing. Why, here in Perry County the only signs left of thousands of years of Indian living are the grown over trails and old arrowheads lying around.
"Until the white man broke the patterns, Indian families made all they used. Sometimes you hear stories about Indians being too idle or too stupid to store food for winter, so they often starved by spring. Well, those tales are way wrong. Indians stored and planned ahead. They ate well, lived free, and enjoyed living about as much as any humans ever have.
"None of this denies that Indians weren't hell's damnation in war. They still are out west. Indian braves are hunters. That's how they keep their families eating. Turn those hunting skills to war and you've got about the best fighting men that could be created.
"A warrior is skilled with his weapons. If he was not, he would starve to death. He has animal cunning and patience, or he wouldn't get close enough to shoot his game. He is taught from birth to be brave, honorable, and skilled.
"Who's to say there aren't sneaky, lying, and cheating Indians, just like there are whites? But for the most part, Indians live by exacting codes that demand courage and honor. A warrior will fight to the death for his family's lives or for his tribe's honor.
"When an Indian fights, it's a no-holds-barred, flat-out battle. The Indian respects cunning. It is part of his life. He sees it in the rabbit or mouse and in all the animals, including the panther. So, to an Indian's eyes, it is only natural to lie in ambush or slip up from behind. Yet, a warrior of about any tribe understands individual combat and is probably willing to square off man-to-man. Most believe there is great honor in that kind of fighting.
"I've told you about the greatest fighter the Six Nations ever had. They called him 'The Warrior', you will remember, and he lived only to fight for the honor of his people.
"They say in his early years he wiped out so many enemies that it got to mean nothing to him. So, he went around hunting great challenges. He would attack whole war parties with just his hands and run them home screaming. He would slip into enemy camps and steal a chief's totems. He was a man who walked in winter without special furs, so there is no question he was about as tough and as hard as they come.
"Yet, it was The Warrior who helped Jack Elan escape from the Ohio Country, and it was The Warrior who named your great, great grandpap 'Quehana,' which means Arrowmaker. So, you see even the greatest of warriors could be generous, kind, and certainly admiring of courage and skill in others. I hope you both remember that The Warrior is buried up on the hill with all of our family—and we never take that kind of burying lightly.
"Our biggest trouble with Indians is that we can't let them be. We are always insisting they live according to our rules. Well, that doesn't work out too well. Recognize that the Indian isn't being offered any chance to go his own way. We crowd him on his hunting ground, then fence the rest and tell him he can't come there anymore. We shoot his buffalo, deer, and bear but tell him he can't shoot our cows and pigs. We give him small pox and diphtheria. We destroy his pride with bad whiskey. Then, we wonder why he gets real serious about killing off every last one of us."
Amy would say, "But, an Indian family isn't very much like our white families. Among Indians, the man is the hunter and warrior. Everything is done for his benefit. The women do all of the work and they raise the children. When a boy is old enough, he joins other boys in classes taught by an experienced older warrior, He learns to hunt and to fight, He is taught the ways of the warrior and the traditions of his tribe.
"The young girls remain with the mother and learn the things they must know when they marry and have their own families."
"To Many white people, the Indian ways seem unfair. We might feel the men have all the fun while the women are merely drudges. That is not all the truth of it, though.
"You see, the wilderness is terribly unforgiving. Those that can do a thing best must perform that task. To eat, means having a gr
eat hunter, free from other tasks—out hunting. To defend the tribe requires the best warriors possible—trained and free to fight. Men are stronger than women. They are the better fighters, so over a thousand generations the tribes worked out ways of living that got all things done, the best way possible.
"I doubt many white women would choose to live as squaws. But probably few squaws would choose our ways either.
"That is the big lesson we wish you to understand. The Indians are different, but the Indian prefers his ways to ours and should have the right to live on his own lands without our continual interference."
Rob might add, "Looking ahead, it appears that the Indians will disappear within a few generations. We whites are just rolling over them like a great river.
"Right now, the Indian is a power in the west, but our people are heading that way, and before you know it, the Sioux, the Apache, and the Comanche will be swallowed up and few will know how it used to be.
"We wish to be sure that our sons know the truth of it."
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Chapter 29: 1849
Four riders breasted the low knoll above the creek and walked their lathered horses slowly for a good blow. The animals had been working hard and snorting through flared nostrils; they stood with flanks lightly heaving.
Rob dropped from his saddle and sat on a decaying log that overlooked a low bluff. Chip, Beth Troop, and Ted followed suit, leaving the four mounts ground hitched and unattended. The horses moved about but never dragged rein. They would remain there, held by the dropped reins for some hours.
"You kids know this place?" Rob's sweep took in the mounded field, swift running creek, and sloping fields beyond.
"Chip said, "I know about this spot, Pap. Used to be an Indian fighting fort here. Captain Troop and I stopped here one time. He said a lot of people got killed hereabouts."
"That true, Pap?" Beth Troop looked about with a delicious shudder. She had lived and ridden so long with the Shatto boys that she, too, called Rob, Pap. No one ever noticed.
"Yep, that's the truth of it all right, A lot of living and dying happened right here. It's a story everybody ought to know. Want to hear some of it?"
Agreement was enthusiastic. They walked the horses down to the spring where they could water when they were ready. Rob always said that a mountain horse had to have the good sense not to drink until he foundered, just like a wild horse did. If a horse lacked that sense, it was better to find it out before some poor devil risked his life depending on a dumb animal.
They picked comfortable spots where they could see the lay of land. Ted sat a little apart, as he always did, while Chip and Beth sat together, as though specially comforted by their closeness. Rob noticed and expected he should think on it a little pretty soon.
Enjoying the story telling, Rob began slowly, laying out the way things had been in those early days.
"A family of Robinsons came in here almost before any other whites were around. Rob Shatto, your great, great grandfather was living on our old place, and a few traders came through now and then. Otherwise, this land was Indian country, as it had been since time began.
"Now, though the Iroquois Sachems had sold these hills, most Indians weren't happy about leaving the places they'd grown up in and where they had buried their people for all their generations. When trouble rose up, plenty of braves were real eager to slip down the old trails and clean out whites living around here."
Pointing west, Rob continued, "The Robinsons cleared those meadows and fields across the creek, and knowing things wouldn't stay peaceful, they put up a log blockhouse. As soon as enough people came into these parts, they added a stockade around the blockhouse. The idea was to have a place to fort up if Indians attacked.
"Well, they were thinking real sound. Old Fort Robinson got hit time and again. Both Reds and Whites died where we're standing. Children were carried off and people were scalped right on this spot.
"Right there, John Simmeson got shot, over there, the Widow Gibson was scalped, and from right there, two children were carried off as captives.
"The Injuns used the old trail just east of the fort. They came in quiet and tried to catch the settlers unaware. More than once they did. An Indian was a hunter and fighter. Most of the whites were farmers trying to raise families. Unless the whites made it into a fort, they were likely to lose their scalps.
"Anyhow, old Fort Robinson hung on, no matter how mean things got. Some of the men Robinsons got killed fighting Indians, but other people took their places. Finally, the Indians stopped coming and things got peaceful.
"George Robinson, that headed the clan, seemed to like the hard life because he moved into Kentucky where there were more Indians to chew on.
"All we see now are some rotted old logs, the old spring, and a sort of high spot in the field. Seems nobody notices or cares anymore. Still, there's an important lesson here, and that's why I'm passing this story on just like old Rob did to me.
"Anything we humans ever have is due to someone taking a stand and fighting for what he wanted until he won. It's real comforting to talk and pretend about how nice or different things might have been if everybody acted reasonable and lived by the same rules. The fact is, people don't think the same in many things, and until they do—which God hasn't seen fit to work on yet—you will win by fighting harder, longer, and smarter than the other side.
"So, if you think something is right and it is what you want, no matter what it may be, you are probably going to have to bleed a little—like they did here, and endure a lot—like they did here. If you do, you may win, and you will leave things a little better—according to your lights. Just like they did here at Fort Robinson."
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Chapter 30: 1850
Amy heard Rob sigh and realized he had been doing a lot of that lately. She looked closely at him where he sat resting against a tree trunk.
She thought he looked awfully good. She admired the crick in his nose where the Ruby fight had left it forever altered, and even as she watched, he rubbed the crooked finger, also a Ruby souvenir. She knew it ached in bad weather, but he rarely mentioned it.
His body was as familiar to her as her own, and she thought each scarred and long-healed wound added to the Rob Shatto she loved so deeply.
She took the time to study him, noting newer lines that touched his face. There was a sprinkling of gray at his temples, but his jaw was firm and no sag of wearied flesh showed on him. She knew that if he moved, firm muscle would swell on chest and arm, and if he chose to, he could be cat-quick as well as immensely powerful.
Unaware of her attention, he gazed across the roll of valley and sun-splashed ridges that fell away from their lookout on Conococheague Mountain. Their horses tore at wild grass on the slope before them and a distant thundershower rumbled and lighted its heavy way across the far mountain.
His chin rested across a forearm, and was in turn propped on an up thrust knee. She could not read his expression, yet she heard him sigh again and saw his chest rise and fall with the sound.
Concerned she asked, "Rob, are you all right?'
Startled from his thoughts he asked, "What? Am I all right, Amy?"
"Yes Rob, You were sighing way down deep, as though something had been hurting."
"I was?" Then, remembering, "Have I been doing that a lot lately?"
"Yes, you have. I've noticed it often."
"Oh Amy, I wasn't aware. I didn't mean to upset you."
He waved a hand about, trying for the right words, "There is nothing wrong with me. On the contrary, it's because everything is so good.
"It just makes me feel content looking around and thinking about you and me, the boys, our horses, this land we've got to live on. It's as good as I could have hoped, and a lot more than I ever expected."
He grinned the wry smile that wrinkled his eyes and quirked his lips, the one that always made her melt inside and added, "All that sighing is just old Robbie Shatto feeling thankful and content with thi
ngs."
He reached across and took her hand. He seemed to study it for a moment, as though examining the wear and tear, the signs of living that added wrinkles and roughness and made fingers a little less straight. His eyes turned to hers and he used the soft Delaware of their special language.
"The long seasons have treated well the lovely Ami-ta-chena, and her warrior is grateful for he holds her happiness above all other things." He turned to English, "How do you feel about it all, Amy? Have you missed the fine and exciting living you would have had in Philadelphia?
"I know I get involved in things and forget to ask. The years prowl by and you are always there. It's as though you were as much a part of me as my mind or my soul." He frowned a little. "Yet, once in a while, the thought comes to me that sickness, a bad fall, a thousand things could happen and suddenly you would be gone. . . And, I don't know how well I could stand up to that."
She waited out his words, loving him for them, and wondering at the gentleness of this man that could and had torn other strong men asunder.
She said then, "Oh Rob, if every hoping and dreaming young girl could know the happiness and contentment that are mine, they would forget their shining knights and gentlemen duelists. They would all rush to the mountains in search of horse-raising Indian fighters."
Rob laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Why Rob, since the day I entered my grandfather's study and saw you in your stinky old skins and worn-out moccasins I haven't wished for more or different than we have had."
He lifted himself easily to move closer and share her backrest. He held her hand in his lap, using his free hand to gesture and emphasize his words.
"But Amy, what about the silk dresses, the fancy balls, the famous people? You could be traveling to Baltimore and Washington, and up to New York City. Or, here in our county, we could build a new house and finer home. We could join groups and visit in Harrisburg. Don't you miss any of the finer things you grew with?" Then, soberly, "Before I rode in to carry you off to the wilderness?"
Shatto (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series) Page 19
