“What can I do about that?”
“I will tell you what you can do. These are soft people,” he said contemptuously. “It will not be hard to frighten them. Things like their cattle pulling loose and running away in the night, their food getting something in it perhaps, or their water, a wheel breaking down. It will not be hard to discourage them and turn them back.”
Rhoda sat there thinking of her life. It wasn’t much of an existence. Her mother had died the previous year; her brothers and sisters had all moved away. She had no reason to stay around, and she was growing older and knew that no decent man in Williamsburg would have anything to do with her. The thought of getting away, even for a while, attracted her. Finally, she looked at Cartier and said, “I’ll do it . . . if no one gets hurt.”
“Why should anyone get hurt? All I want them to do is come back. It will be better for them anyway. If they keep on going, those Cherokees will have their scalps. No one will get hurt. I promise you. You will do it then?”
“All right. I’ll do it.”
“That’s my good girl. Here!” He opened the bag, poured out a few coins, and put them in her hand. “This is for you now. When you get back after the settlers return, I will give you that many more.”
In Rhoda’s hand was more money than she had seen in a long time. If I can just get the rest of it, it’ll be enough to leave this place, she thought desperately. I can start over again somewhere.
“When do I go?” she asked.
Jacques grinned as he said, “Let’s get you ready. Your new life begins now.”
Rhoda could not stop herself from shuddering as she walked out the front door of The Brown Stag with Jacques Cartier.
****
“Josh!”
Paul Anderson had seen Hawk come in along with the Indian, but he had not recognized him. The two had walked right up to him, the Indian remaining in the background, and only when they were less than five feet away did Paul finally recognize his old friend. He moved forward and put his hands out, pleasure spreading across his face. “Josh, when did you get here? Where have you been? Look at you! A long hunter!”
“Hello, Paul. It’s been quite a while. It’s good to see you again.” One of the pleasant things Hawk remembered about Williamsburg was being with Paul. “This is Sequatchie, my Indian brother.”
“I’m happy to see you. Both of you. Come along and sit down.”
“Well, we actually came to buy some supplies.”
“We can take care of that later. In the meanwhile, I want to know all about what you’ve been doing. Come, sit down!” He practically dragged them to a table and set some apple cider down in front of them, which they drank with evident pleasure. Sequatchie had never tasted it before and finally picked up the jug, ignoring the glass.
“Help yourself, Sequatchie,” Paul grinned. “Plenty more where that came from.”
“You’re looking well, Paul. I guess you’re an old married man by now.”
“No, just an old bachelor. Have you been by your folks’ house yet?”
“Yes, we just came from there.”
“That boy of yours. Isn’t he something? Fine-looking lad! Better looking than you, I think.” He expected a smile, but Hawk’s face clouded and he looked down at the table.
Paul knew the loneliness of Jacob Spencer. Since Josh had left, he had become a friend to the boy and had tried to be as much of a father as possible. Once Jacob had opened up and said what was on his heart. I wish I had a father, Mr. Anderson.
Paul remembered the boy’s words now and could almost see the boy’s loneliness as it had spread across his face. Seeing his friend’s reaction, Paul knew it was not the time to pursue the subject, so he said, “Let me tell you what’s been going on here.”
Hawk listened halfheartedly as Paul related the events happening in the Colonies. He was not really interested in Williamsburg, or Virginia, or anything except getting away from there. The town depressed him, and he wanted to return to the wilderness he now called home. But when Paul continued to press him, he told how he had become a long hunter, and then nodded to Sequatchie. “He’s taught me how to be a hunter. I feel more like an Indian than a white man now. They even gave me another name—Hawk.”
Sequatchie said suddenly, “He reads the Bible to my people. I tell him how to live in the wilderness. I think we have the best of it.”
Paul Anderson stared first at the Indian’s bronze face, and then at Hawk. “Why, I think that’s wonderful,” he said. “Do your people like to hear the Bible?”
“Many of them are Christians. I have been baptized myself, and so have many of my people.”
He repeated the story of how a missionary had converted many of the Cherokees, and Paul Anderson’s eyes grew wide. When Sequatchie finished, Anderson hesitated. He swallowed hard, then said, “You won’t believe this, but God has been speaking to me. He’s been calling me to go across the Appalachian Mountains as a missionary, but I’ve never felt the time was right, but now I feel strongly that He wants me to go to your people, Sequatchie, to the Cherokee.”
Sequatchie instantly sat up straight, and his eyes gleamed. “You would come and preach to my people the gospel of Jesus?”
“God has been putting it on my heart for several years now, but I didn’t see any way. I don’t speak the language, and I don’t know the territory.”
Sequatchie shook his head. “You come! I will be the servant of the servant of God.”
“Wait a minute,” Hawk said. “You don’t know what you’re getting into! It’s rough out there, Paul. A lot of men are lying in shallow graves, killed by animals, by Indians, and some by renegade whites.”
“God is calling me to do it,” Paul said simply. “I must go. And I take your coming at this time as a sign that it’s time to go now. Sequatchie, shall we shake hands, or how do your people agree on a thing?”
Sequatchie said, “As Christians we give our word.” He put his sinewy hand out, took the hand of the white man, and a broad smile spread across his face. “It will be good to have a preacher to explain the Book. Hawk reads it, but much of it we do not understand.”
“Well, much of it I don’t understand either, brother, but I’ll do the best I can,” Paul said with excitement. His eyes sparkled, and he pumped the two men with questions, finally saying, “Well, I’ve got plenty of money, but I don’t know what to buy. Are you two going back?”
“Yes,” Hawk said slowly. “We’re leading a group of settlers to William Bean’s little community.”
“Is that far from your people, Sequatchie?”
“No, it’s very close. You can come with us now.”
“What all will I need?”
“Well, you’ll need a gun, for one thing—a rifle,” Hawk said.
“I haven’t hunted since we were boys.”
“Every man in the woods needs a rifle, Paul,” Hawk said. “At least, I can remind you how to use it—perhaps teach you a little more.” Actually the more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it. He had always liked Paul Anderson, and the thought of seeing him in his own territory pleased him. “Now,” he said, “let’s get you outfitted. We’ve got to buy you a horse, a pack animal, and quite a few other things.”
“You pick it all out,” Paul swept his hand. “My father will give it to me as a going-away present. Pick out some things for yourself, too.”
The two long hunters began at once, and soon the counter was piled with equipment and supplies. Even as they were adding more to it, Hawk looked up to see a red-headed man walk through the door with his wife and two children.
Paul walked up to the man and said, “Good day. May I help you?”
“I think you might, sir. My name is Patrick MacNeal. This is my wife, Elizabeth, and these are my children, Andrew and Sarah.”
“I’m Paul Anderson. Happy to make your acquaintance. How can I help you?”
“Well,” the man said, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his red hair. “I
’m putting myself at your mercy, Mr. Anderson. We’re headed out over the mountains. We’re going to settle out there. We’ve just come in from Boston, and we need just about everything.”
Anderson stared at the couple. They were wearing clothes that would have been suitable in Boston, and though they looked hale and strong, neither of them looked like the pioneer type. He asked quietly, “Have you ever been over the mountains or spent a lot of time in the woods, Mr. MacNeal?”
“Hardly any. Oh, I’ve hunted some, but I must say my wife and I know very little. I’ve worked for a shipping firm, but we want to have a place of our own.”
“Have you chosen a spot yet?”
“A friend of ours invited us to come along on an expedition west. Perhaps you know him—Jed Smith?”
“Well, what a coincidence!” He turned and said, “This is Hawk Spencer and his friend Sequatchie. They’ve come in from over the mountains to lead that same party to the settlement established by a man called William Bean.”
Patrick asked excitedly, “The settlement at Watauga? Wonderful. That is where we were planning on settling.”
“Will you tell us about it, Mr. Spencer?” Elizabeth said. She was fascinated by the rugged look of the tall hunter. Her eyes took in the buckskin hunting shirt, the leggings, and the coonskin cap, and her eyes brightened. “What’s it like living on the other side of the mountains?”
“Well, you’d have to ask Sequatchie, here. He’s been there all of his life.”
Sequatchie was studying the small group closely. He said at once, “Hard place, but a good place.”
“It sounds like what I’ve heard,” Patrick MacNeal said. “I wonder if you could give us any advice, Mr. Anderson.”
“Well, as it happens, I’m going out myself. God’s called me to be a missionary to the Cherokee, and I’m about as green as you are.” He grinned and said, “Sequatchie is going to make sure that I do the right thing. I’m sure the group going out would be glad to include you.”
“Isn’t that wonderful, Elizabeth? We made it in time to join the wagon train.” The man turned to his wife, then to his son and daughter, saying, “Do you hear that? We’re going to join some other settlers and start our own farm.”
“Can I have a horse, Pa?” the boy asked.
“Well, I would think we’d all need animals, wouldn’t we, Mr. Anderson?”
“Oh yes, and pack animals, too. Several of them. You’ll need farming equipment, and it’ll be rather expensive, I’m afraid.”
“We have plenty of money to get us started. Is this your store?”
“It belongs to my father. My brothers run it mostly, but for new folks like you, I can get whatever you need at good, honest prices.”
“We’d be very grateful to you,” Elizabeth said. “It must be God’s will, for we don’t know a soul.”
Hawk replied, “I don’t know if God’s in it or not, but Sequatchie can tell you everything you need to know about that country. Daniel Boone’s out there, and he’ll be a help, too.”
“Do you know Daniel Boone?” Andrew MacNeal gasped. “I heard about him!”
“I guess a lot of people have heard about Boone,” Hawk said. “How old are you, boy?”
“Thirteen. Going on fourteen, though.”
“Well, you can’t go in those clothes. They wouldn’t last an hour on the trail. You’ll have to have something tougher than that.”
“What should I wear, Mr. Hawk?”
“Just Hawk is fine. I guess Mr. Anderson can help you get outfitted. I’ll be glad to introduce you to the settlers who are going, but there’ll be no problem with you joining up with them.”
That settled the matter. It took the rest of the day to find four horses and pack animals for the group. By the time they paid for all their goods it was late afternoon. Hawk led the little procession out of town, and Paul Anderson kept pace with him. “I don’t know any of these settlers,” he said. “But I know Bean. He’s a good fellow.” He looked cautiously back and studied the faces of the MacNeals. “I don’t know about those people. They’re mighty soft, Paul.”
“Yes, they are, but a fine-looking family, aren’t they?”
“They won’t be fine looking if they get scalped.”
“Is there much of that going on?”
“Always possible for a war party of Creeks to come marauding through,” Hawk said rather gloomily. “No way to guard against it. Men like Boone, and well, like myself, we live every day in danger, and we’re always ready for it. But settlers . . . they forget how dangerous it is.”
They made their way out of town, and without trouble found the small group of settlers exactly where Bean had said they would be. As Hawk looked around, he was surprised to see at least thirty or forty people, including children, gathered with their wagons.
A tall man came forward at once and said, “My name’s Smith. Jed Smith.”
“I’m Hawk Spencer. This is Sequatchie. Here’s a letter from William Bean. He asked me to guide you folks over the mountains to Watauga.”
A look of relief passed over Jed Smith’s face. “Well, we been waitin’ long enough. We was about ready to start out without a guide.”
“Not too good an idea,” Hawk said. “Would you be willing to have some more folks join your party?”
Jed Smith looked at the others and said, “Always glad to have good folks.”
Hawk introduced Paul Anderson, and Anderson in turn introduced the MacNeals. Jed recognized Patrick MacNeal from a trip Patrick had made earlier from Boston. In fact, he was the one who had encouraged Patrick to bring his family and head west. Patrick then introduced his family to Jed Smith. Quite a crowd had gathered then, and there was a hubbub of talk as the newcomers were welcomed.
Jed Smith said, “We just took up a bait of supper. Y’all come on, and we’ll see what the women have got cooked up.”
Hawk showed the MacNeals how to care for their stock, and how to unload the packs, which took some time. He found out that the boy, Andrew, was underfoot all the time, curious about everything. It bothered him, somewhat, but he did not let it show. And he was careful to answer the boy’s questions. Actually he did not want to get too attached to the boy. With the dangers of the journey that lay ahead, Hawk knew it was a real possibility that some of them would not make it. Young and old alike had died trying to cross over the mountains through Indian territory.
As they were getting ready to eat, another rider galloped down the dusty road, into the group of wagons.
Jed Smith said, “Who’s that? It’s not one of our party.”
His wife, Mary, said, “Maybe she’s going west over the mountains. She’s got a pack animal.”
“Anybody know her?” Jed Smith said, staring at the woman as she rode up, loaded down with supplies.
Two members of the party knew her. Hawk was standing back in the shadows, and he recognized Rhoda instantly. He said nothing as she rode up and inquired for the leader.
When Jed Smith introduced himself, she said, “My name is Rhoda Harper. I heard about your group traveling west. I’d like to go with you.”
“Well now,” Jed said, scratching his whiskers. “Have you got a man?”
“No, I’m alone.”
“Hard for a woman to travel alone,” Mary said. But she was a friendly woman and added at once, “Well, you get off that horse, Miss Rhoda Harper. If you ain’t got a man, we’ll find you one when we get to the Watauga.”
Rhoda dismounted, and several hands were ready, especially among the younger men, to help her. Finally the food was set out, and the meal began. Rhoda sat apprehensively and was startled when a man dropped down beside her, saying quietly, “Hello, Rhoda.”
She turned to him quickly, but in the fading darkness she did not recognize him. “You know me?”
“You know me, too, but it’s been quite a while. My name was Josh Spencer, but people just call me Hawk now.”
Rhoda stared at the tanned face of the man who had seemingly appeared
from nowhere. She had heard rumors from some of the men at the tavern that he had become a long hunter, like Daniel Boone, and a wanderer. From time to time she’d thought of him, but she felt strange now, seeing him after so many years. Memories came of the time when they had gone to school together as children, but she was certain he still did not remember her as a schoolgirl. To him she was nothing more than a tavern girl. “Hello, Josh,” she said quietly.
“Better make it Hawk,” he suggested. “If it’s all the same to you.”
Rhoda nervously looked around. She had hoped to escape her past, but now she felt there was no hope at all. She felt somehow that she needed to explain to this tall man what she was doing, and she said quietly, “I haven’t seen you for a long time . . . but I’ve had a pretty bad life, Hawk. I wanted some way to get out of it.”
“It’s pretty hard where we’re headed, Rhoda.” He smiled then, and his teeth flashed in the firelight. “But I’ll help you all I can.”
Rhoda felt better then. Her heart lifted for a moment, and she nodded. “Thank you, Hawk,” she said and then ducked her head so that he could not see her face.
Chapter Twenty
Sabotage!
Fine weather favored the small band as they wound their way out of Williamsburg and headed west. By dawn, the procession of wagons and horses had left Williamsburg behind them. Hawk had roused them all while the stars were still winking faintly in the sky, and the women had quickly prepared a hot meal for their families. “We won’t have time to stop and cook at midday,” Hawk had informed them. “We’ll take cold vittles, and then you can cook again at night.”
By noon they were on a road that was mostly barren, except for a few scattered farms. Hawk drew up his hand, and the procession stopped. “There’s a stream down there where we’ll water the stock. It will be a good time to let them have a rest. I reckon some of you could use a little rest yourself.”
He spoke the truth for Elizabeth MacNeal, who was accustomed to padded coaches and carriages. The hard seat of the wagon had become an absolute agony for her. She had said nothing to Patrick, but she resolved to gather something to make a cushion to sit on for the rest of the day’s journey. Climbing down stiffly, she stretched and watched as Sarah and Andrew leaped to the ground and ran about, quickly finding the other young people.
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