"We need to do something, Colonel," Julian interjected. "We have to protect them."
"Marshal Crane, we do know how to do our jobs here," the Colonel said with his eyes narrowed.
He watched Julian for a bit. Julian knew it was the man's way of telling him to shut up. The Colonel turned to his men.
"Inform the militia of the news, and tell them that we are going to give them an escort and send some soldiers ahead to let the fort know they are coming," he said.
"Right away, sir," the Major answered.
The Sheriff smiled. "Indians attacking Indians and Indians going to our forts for protection."
"Why shouldn't they?" Julian said. "The Iroquois fought on our side. If it wasn't for Indian help, we wouldn't have survived Valley Forge."
"This feud between the Iroquois and Lakotas is our fault anyway," Marshal added. "We supplied the Iroquois and encouraged them to make war on them and any other tribe in their way and ours. It's payback time now."
"Let's not make more of this than it is," the Sheriff said. "These tribes were fighting and killing each other long before the White man ever set foot on this land at Jamestown."
Colonel turned to his soldiers. "Lieutenant, you ride point with them until they get to the Fort. Ensigns, you two ride ahead to the fort, but take care. Lakotas may send their own riders ahead for an ambush. We think there is bad blood between America and Britain and between Britain and France. It's not even close to the bad blood between these Indian tribes. Sheriff, you can go back to your town and tell them that hell isn't riding into town today. Marshal Crane?"
"Yes, Colonel?"
"Did I forget anything?" he asked sarcastically.
Julian sighed. "Sorry, Colonel. My mother always said I was a willful boy with a large mouth like my uncle. Only he used his for eating, and I used mine for talking." He smiled. "You don't have to say it. The Marshal already told me to be more like my uncle."
The Colonel laughed. "I was a willful boy myself. How else could I become an officer? Sorry, marshals that we got your hopes up. No warpath, just families moving out of harm's way, just like we would have done."
"We'll make our good-byes here," the Sheriff said.
Marshal said, "I'll try to find Mr. Frenchie before I reunite my comrade here with his long, lost uncle."
"Frenchie?" the Colonel asked.
"I know what you're thinking, Colonel. Frenchie, not the French," Sheriff said.
"Yes, I know him," the Colonel revealed.
"There's a bounty on him for murder," Marshal added.
"Murder?" The Colonel was surprised.
"I'm to take him in to stand trial," Marshal said.
The Colonel looked at his soldiers and saw them listening to every word. "We're not having a conversation with you! Go!"
The soldiers raced off in different directions to carry out their orders.
"Marshall, I know where he is, but I find that charge hard to believe," the Colonel said.
"I can appreciate that. He's a popular trader, lots of friends, but you and I both work for the U.S. government and swore an oath of office to follow the laws of this land. The man was accused of a crime. He will have his day in court, judged by his peers and adjudicated by a judge. What he can't do is pick which warrants he will obey and skip town because he views a lawfully executed warrant an inconvenience. The murder was also particularly ferocious—decapitation and mutilation."
Everyone, including Julian, was equally alarmed by the information.
"Decapitated and mutilated?" Sheriff repeated.
"If he's innocent," Marshal continued, "then he'll prove it in court. Unless, Colonel, you're advocating the defiance of this nation's laws."
"No, Marshal, I'm not."
"So someone tell me, where's Frenchie?"
The Marshal leaned back on his horse and folded his arms, looking at them.
Distant Shadow
"I believe it's following. Not the main devil, but his little henchmen."
Marshal took point, and Julian followed as they galloped down the ridge. They moved alongside the convoy of soldiers and Indians. Fort Clinton had played an important role in the War, but it had fallen into a bit of disrepair. Julian touched the tip of his hat in respect when his eyes met the Oneida chief at the front of the trail of horses. He was equivalent to a military general in the American army, but this chief, who smiled and nodded back, had an unassuming demeanor, deceptively so, as these men didn't rise to their honored position for lack of skills, courage or cunning. Julian was a bit surprised that the Marshal ignored not just the chief but also all the Indians despite their tribe's role in saving his life and other Americans at Valley Forge.
After a few miles, Marshal and Julian took a fork in the path, continuing northwest as the main Indian convoy continued north. Julian waved to their sole soldier escort.
"Good luck, marshals," the soldier said as he rode forward to the head of the convoy.
"We'll get there in about an hour," Marshal said to Julian without being asked.
It was more silent riding for the men. It was not out of unfriendliness towards one another but heightened watchfulness. The soldiers thought they knew exactly where the Indian war party was, which may or may not be the true reality of things.
A shot!
They stopped the horses and scanned the countryside in the direction of the gunshot.
"Not far at all," Julian said. Both men waited for another shot or commotion of any kind. "We should ride to it."
Marshal smirked. "We should ride away from it. Marshal Crane, is this how you do your work? You run to gunfire?"
"Someone could be in trouble."
"Or someone could be baiting us into a trap."
"You stay then, and I'll see what it is about." With that, Julian rode off hard.
He wasn't foolhardy. He stayed close to trees and brush. His gun was already in hand. He jumped down from Caleb Williams when he felt he was closing in on the source of the shot.
A covered wagon was crashed up against a tree. Then he saw the silhouette of a man near a tree across from it a few feet away. The man looked in his direction, turned, and ran off into the forest.
Julian ducked down low as he moved to the wagon. Another man's face popped out from behind it.
"You thieves can come on in if you want, but we got six gun hands in here and we're prepared to send you and your buddy to hell!" a man yelled out.
"This is Marshal Julian Crane, mister. I heard the shot and came to provide assistance. But if you want me to go, I will."
Julian waited a few moments as he crouched low to the ground. He was worried about the other man who ran off.
"Okay, come on in slow."
Julian rose and walked closer, with his horse blocking their complete view of him. A man will shoot at another man but not a horse, unless the man was some savage, but they didn't sound like savages. At the wagon were two men and a woman, all well dressed. The woman was sitting on the ground, leaning against the wagon, and holding the hand of one of the two men. The other man stood in front of them and only he had a gun. Sprawled on his back lying dead on the ground was a third man, obviously the driver.
"So much for your six gun hands," Julian said.
"Mister, I'm going to have to ask you to prove you are a lawman," the second man directed.
"Important matters first," Julian interrupted. "Where did that other man run off to?"
"How should we know?" asked the first man. "He was the one who ambushed us and killed our driver."
"What kind of barbaric place is this?" the woman screamed. "Whites. Indians. You don't know who's friendly and who will murder you."
Julian pulled his badge from inside his coat pocket and showed it to the three of them.
"Why don't you pin it to the front of your coat like every other legitimate lawman?" asked the other man.
"Because I don't want to give anyone something to aim at," Julian answered as he moved closer to them with his horse
in tow.
"What's your name again?" the woman asked.
"Marshal Julian Crane." He returned the badge to his inside coat pocket. "I need you two men to watch that forest. I hardly think that the thief, as you call him, ran off to leave us be. Most likely, he's circling around or waiting for us ahead. We also don't know if there are others with him. Ma'am, I need you to watch my back."
Julian walked over to a side of the wagon and tied up Caleb Williams. He dragged the driver off to the side and inspected the wagon.
"Oh, before I forget, I am not traveling alone. I'm with a fellow lawman."
"You mean him," the second man said.
Julian looked up and the Marshal was slowly riding in.
"I was starting to think you were going to forget about me out of spite," Julian said to him.
"Who's delaying who now? How can I get you to your uncle as quickly as possible if you stop to help every hapless, helpless person or cause you come across?" Marshal said. "Where's the shooter?"
"Ran off into the forest," Julian answered.
"So he can try to back-shoot us or catch us further along."
"Can't do anything about that now. Let's get their wagon fixed and move out of here."
"Where were you all going?" Marshal asked the three people.
"We were heading north as fast as we could," the first man said. "There's a thousand-man army of Indians on the warpath here."
The marshals laughed.
"What's funny?" the man asked.
"There is a group of Indian men, women, and children heading to Fort Clinton," Julian said. "They're fleeing the warpath of Indians, but that warpath is only about two dozen of them."
"Sounds about right. Indians killing Indians. Whites bushwhacking Whites," the second man said.
The wagon was not broken at all. Marshal and Julian pulled it away from the tree with their horses and set it properly. The dead driver was loaded into the back. He would be buried later when and where it was safe.
"We'll ride hard since we don't know where the shooter is," Marshal said. "We can relax when we're in sight of the next town. Can either of you men handle the wagon?"
The second man volunteered. "Yes, I can manage." He showed no fear knowing that he would also have no protection from the shooter as he drove the wagon.
"You ride with them and I'll take the rear," Julian said to Marshal, who nodded.
They were off. Marshal rode hard ahead of the wagon. The wagon followed behind with tremendous speed, sometimes it seemed as if it would tip right over, but the man was an able wagon-driver.
Julian maintained the rear. Something told him to look back, and he did. There he saw the silhouette of a man, in the distance, running after them on foot. Julian stopped Caleb Williams. The man in the distance stopped, too. It was impossible for him to catch them now, but he seemed like he was going to do his best to try. But why? Julian debated whether to just go after him, but he didn't get a chance to decide. The man ran back and disappeared into the trees.
Julian returned to the ride and caught up quickly to his position behind the covered wagon. The wagon passed through the lightly wooded area and was about to head into a denser area of trees when he rode up along the wagon to gesture the driver to slow down and stop.
"What's the matter, marshal?" the driver asked.
"I need to ask some questions," Julian answered.
"Shouldn't we keep moving?" Marshal asked.
The couple in the wagon sat up straight.
"Marshal, what's happening?" the woman asked.
"This man who tried to hijack the wagon, was he on horseback when you first came across him?"
"We never saw him on a horse," the man in the wagon answered. "But we weren't focused on that. He killed our driver, and we were fearful we'd get shot, too. We thought maybe there was a gang of them."
"We didn't even see the man until we settled in behind the wagon, and we only barely saw him then," the woman added.
"Why are you asking, marshal?" the driver asked.
"Yes, why, marshal?" Marshal added.
"This man isn't on a horse now, but he's still running after us. It doesn't make sense."
"He's a criminal and a murderer, marshal. The criminal mind is not one for making sense," the woman said.
"He can't possibly catch us, but he is determined to run after us on foot. Why would he do that? Have you ever seen this man before? Is there something valuable on the wagon?"
"Marshal, what are you suggesting?" the driver asked with a tone.
"I am not suggesting anything. I am simply trying to figure out this criminal. That's what I do, what I'm supposed to do. Also, we may have gotten beyond his grasp, but what about the next victim? Should we leave that victim or victims to this criminal?"
"Marshal, you can't save everyone," Marshal said to him somberly.
"I disagree, Marshal. I don't want to be the lawman who simply shows up after the victim is dead. If I can keep there from being another victim, then I believe that to be part of my duties, too."
The driver changed his attitude and said, "We never saw the man before, marshal, but none of us were able to see his face clearly the first time. He was waiting for us and shot our driver in cold blood."
"And there is nothing valuable on the wagon," the woman said. "You saw all our belongings with your own eyes."
"And even if there were valuables, he wouldn't know about it," the man said. "We loaded up the wagon straight away after we left our hotel."
"I don't doubt any of you," Julian said. "Perhaps he thought you were wealthy or he's targeting every wagon that crosses his path."
Marshal laughed to himself. "Marshal Crane, sometimes things don't have a reason."
"Very true, Marshal, but I look for reasons anyway because most of the time there is a reason. It doesn't mean it's logical or good, but there is one."
"Wish you were this diligent in your thinking when you first rode into Sleepy Hollow."
"So do I, but that's the past." Julian looked at the driver. "Time to move. Ride as hard as is safe."
"What will you do, marshal?" the woman asked.
"What I need to do. As I said, I believe that if there is a way to stop someone from becoming a victim in the future, to stop someone from making someone a victim, then I have to do that."
The woman smiled at him. "We need an army of lawmen like you, marshal."
The crazy man watched until they became mere dots in the distance. He reappeared from the dense part of the forest, jumping out to continue his run after them.
"I'm gonna get them," he said to himself with a mouth full of rotten teeth. "Get them."
The town was not that far away. Wealthy people like that must have something of value on the wagon, and he would have it.
As he reached another twenty feet, he heard something nearing his heels—fast. He stopped briefly to look back but then turned to run full-speed. He glanced back to see Julian crash through the brush behind him, riding hard.
There was no outrunning him. He stopped, turned, and jutted his head forward as if it were a pouncing cobra.
Julian's whole body jerked back as the man spat a putrid, chunky, black mess from his mouth at him, barely missing his upper body. Julian charged again and as Caleb Williams whipped by, Julian kicked the man hard as he passed.
"You bitch's bastard!" Julian yelled as he turned Caleb Williams around to run at the man again. He checked his clothes and his horse's body to ensure there was no piece of the filthy concoction the vile man had exhaled at them.
But the man was on the ground, face first.
Julian angrily rode to the body. "Get up! I'm taking you in!"
The man remained motionless. Julian jumped down from the horse and kicked the man hard again in his side. No reaction.
It was only after standing there and staring at the man that he realized the shooter was dead.
Julian was a bit disturbed. The kicks were by no means of sufficient force to kill a
nyone. He turned him over with his foot, and the man's empty eyes stared up at the sky and his bottom lip was covered with black spittle.
Julian leaned down and touched his neck and then his chest. No pulse. No heart beat. Julian stood up again and shook his head.
How could the man just die like that?
A black shape descended into his view and a shot rang out! Feathers exploded in his face.
Julian threw himself back, rolled, and scurried along the ground as fast as he could to prop his back up against a large tree. He shook the panic from himself as he looked where the shot most likely came from. He looked up and saw several circling black birds high above the trees, directly overhead. They made strange calling sounds in unison that sounded almost like hissing. But more important to him were the sounds of someone on horseback riding quickly away.
He glanced around the tree to see the dead man on the ground, in the exact spot and position, but next to the body was a giant black vulture bird—dead, with its feathers everywhere. Julian stayed quiet behind the tree to wait a while. Caleb Williams seemed quite unnerved by the growing number of black birds in the air.
Julian was uneasy by the hellish birds too, but more so by the fact that someone tried to shoot his head off. Only sheer luck and one of the birds inadvertently diving into the bullet's path saved his life.
His mind filled with images of that chunky, black spit from the dead would-be thief.
This region was cursed, not haunted. That's what he always felt. However, now another notion was creeping into his head, especially after that night with Knickerbocker, standing there, and pretending not to be frightened by the howling wolf. Maybe it wasn't the land, maybe it was him, like the Black Indian had said. Some invisible, foreboding cloud was following him, and with it came everything that was bizarre, unnatural, and unholy. It was the price to be paid for this quest for his unfortunate uncle.
Who just tried to blow my head off?
Julian knew that the wagon would be safe with the Marshal. Whoever it was that shot at him would not be able to get away if he did so again against the Marshal.
The sounds of the vultures turned to frenzy. More of them descended in mass to the ground for the dead man. Julian never saw vulture birds as aggressive as these in his entire life, and so many. It was as if they were materializing from thin air to swarm their victim.
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