“You’ll want to clean it up some more down at the creek yonder. I cleaned it as best I could for you, but some water would do it better.”
David took the silver, sniffing and feeling embarrassed that he had cried. “Thank you, Alonz.” He fired a furious glance at the seething Kelso. “I reckon we could clean it by making Kelso wash it in his mouth.”
“Well, we could,” Tidwell said very seriously. “If you want, I’ll do that, David.”
David shook his head. “Reckon not. I’ll not squat so low as to be on his level.”
Kelso looked very relieved for a moment, and then his look of fury returned. He glared with hatred at David, who curled his lip defiantly, turned, and headed down to the creek.
Kneeling by the water, David washed the silver clean and put it back in its pouch. He was rising to go back to the camp when something pounded him hard between the shoulder blades and toppled him into the bitterly cold water. He thrashed and whooped and gasped for breath, struggling to come to his feet.
Ben Kelso stood on the bank, laughing. “That’ll learn you!” he declared. “You don’t play Ben Kelso for no fool!”
“Boy! Benjamin Kelso!”
The voice was Siler’s. Fists clenched and swinging at his sides, he strode down to the creek. “I saw you push him in, boy, so there’s no point you denying it. And Alonz told me what you done before. You’ve crossed the mark. I’ll stand for no man in my hire causing a ruction amongst his companions.”
Kelso spluttered, then said, “It ain’t true! Them two, they’re lying to you, trying to make me look bad.”
“It don’t take lies to make you look bad, boy,” Siler said. “The truth does that, with no help. You’ve had a way of graveling me ever since I hired you on. I’ve never made a bigger mistake in my life, I don’t reckon.”
David clambered up out of the water. The cold wind hit him and made his teeth chatter. Siler dourly looked him over, and motioned him back toward the camp. “Dry yourself out by the fire and get to bed, before you catch your death of it. As for you, young Kelso, you’ll be on your way in the morning. I’ll have no more part of you.”
“Old jackass!” Kelso muttered.
Siler raised his foot, kicked Kelso into the water and watched him flounder there. “I’m an old jackass who can still kick, as you can see. I’ll give you your pay in the morning, and you can go.”
“I’ll take my pay tonight!” Kelso yelled back. “I ain’t sleeping another night in your camp, old man!”
“Well, if that’s your intention, I’d dry myself by the fire before I left, boy,” Siler said. “But you’ll have to wait until David’s done it first.”
“I’m freezing half to death!”
“Just half to death, eh? Well, then I reckon you’ll pull through it just fine.”
Siler turned and walked back up to the camp, David at his side.
“Mr. Siler, if you don’t care, I’d like to give Ben his pay,” David said.
“You?”
“Yes sir. There’s a special way I have in mind to do it.”
Kelso came grumbling and glowering and shivering back into the camp some minutes later and let the fire dry him. Silence hung over the camp. Siler was at his supper, eating without talking, keeping his eye on Kelso.
“I want my pay,” Kelso said when his clothes were dry.
“Take it. It’s over yonder.”
“Where?”
David answered this time. “Tucked right up that there cow fundament, safe and sound! Just lift the tail and finger it out! It’s as easy as picking your nose, just like you said your own self.”
When Kelso stomped away from the camp minutes later, cursing and wiping his finger on his trousers, laughter followed him a long way into the darkness. Tidwell laughed louder and longer than any of them. He was still cackling and chortling when David crawled back into his bedroll. When David finally fell asleep, Tidwell had gone from laughing to talking to no one in particular. David paid no attention to the content of his chatter, but when he dreamed that night, it was of chickens.
Chapter 11
After the Kelso incident, David’s feelings toward Siler warmed considerably. He knew now that Siler truly liked him and valued his work—obviously he valued it far more than he had that of Kelso. David felt a sense of being part of things in a way he hadn’t felt before. That evening his usual bout with homesickness was notably absent. Siler was no longer a resented authority, but a defender.
“We’ll be there this afternoon,” Siler announced the next day. “Lord knows I’m ready to be home again.”
Indeed, they reached the home of Peter Hartley in early afternoon. Siler had a reunion with his family that David thought was surprisingly emotional, and brought back his own homesickness for a few minutes. That faded, however, when Siler introduced him to his kin and described in glowing terms what a fine job he had done, then made a virtual ceremony out of presenting David with six dollars in pay. Tidwell received only three, but it didn’t seem to bother him. David wondered if Tidwell even understood that he had come out with less pay for more work. Tidwell, after all, had been with Siler even before David was bound on at the tavern.
After supper that night, shared with the Hartleys around their big table, Siler called David aside. “I’ve been generous with you, giving you six dollars for a few miles of herding. Now, I expect, you may be thinking of going home. I don’t want you to do that. I want you to stay on and work for me here for a time. You’re a good hand for work, and I can use you.”
“Well, Mr. Siler … I don’t know what to say. My pap might be looking for me, and my mother will worry if I don’t get home before too long.”
“They won’t worry. They ain’t looking for you back any particular time. I told your pap I might be keeping you on for an ex-tree spell.”
David had heard nothing about this before. He wondered if Siler was lying to him. His impulse was to say no, that he would go home as planned. But Siler’s looming, pressuring presence made him hesitate to do that. He recalled his father’s exhortations about honesty and obedience. Probably it was his duty to stay on, if that was what Siler wanted … yet David didn’t want to. He mumbled and faltered, fidgeting on his feet.
Siler pressed his case. “Look out yonder at that snow a-falling,” he said. “It would be a fool thing for a young fellow like you to to set off alone in the wintertime. Your pap would have my hide if I let his boy set out alone in such falling weather! You wouldn’t want him to think ill of me, would you?”
David said, “I’ll stay for a while,” then felt like kicking himself for doing so.
As days passed into weeks, he found further reason to wish he had gone on. Siler worked him hard, but that wasn’t the problem. What worried David was that Siler talked about work they would be doing in the spring and summer, and it became clear that he had no intention of David going home at all. The warmer feelings David had developed for Siler after the brawl with Kelso quickly cooled again. He began to perceive Siler as an imprisoner, a man who would seek his own advantage in David Crockett’s disadvantage.
David decided that he would have no choice but to escape. And “escape” was exactly how he thought of it. As far as he was concerned, he was under legal obligation to Siler and couldn’t leave at will. All he could do was run off.
But how best to do it? After careful thought, he concluded that the most promising option was to make Siler believe he was happy in his situation, then take whatever opportunity for leaving that presented itself. After all, the roads were heavily traveled with westward-moving travelers. Surely he could take up with one of them. In the meantime, he would make the best of his circumstances and take whatever pleasure he could find in them.
Among those pleasures was a friend—a boy his own age who lived in a house a couple of miles up the road from Siler’s place, which was close to Hartley’s. Whenever Siler gave David time away from labor, David would trudge the two miles and spend whatever time he had in recrea
tion, playing marbles with round pebbles, using slings to fling stones at unwitting birds, skipping stones on a nearby pond, making and shooting crude bows and arrows, setting rabbit snares, and other boyish pursuits.
On one particular Sunday afternoon about a month after his arrival in Virginia, the day’s recreation consisted of fighting with snowballs. A three-inch snowfall had come the night before, and it was a wonderfully sticky snow, the kind that packs nicely in the hand and makes excellent missiles.
David had just delivered his companion a solid shot to the side of the head when he heard the snow-muffled approach of the wagons. He stopped and cupped a hand over his brows, squinting as he looked down the road, because the sun had come out and made the snow blindingly brilliant. His companion came to his side.
“What are you staring at? It’s just another bunch of wagoners.”
“I believe I know one of them,” David replied, squinting harder.
There were three wagons in all, pulled by stout teams. Two were driven by young men, the third one by an older fellow. It was this one who seemed familiar to David.
The wagons rolled up closer, having a harder go of it because of the snow than they would have otherwise. David and his friend stepped aside, letting the first two pass. The third wagon pulled up closer, then stopped after its driver got a look at David’s face.
“Well, howdy there, young man!” the old man said, grinning. “Have you tanned out any good buckskin lately?”
David’s heart rose and sang. As he had thought, it was Dunn, the elderly wagoner who had admired his work on the buckskin many weeks ago! He grinned back. “No, sir, not lately.”
“Last time I seen you, young fellow, you surely had. That was fine tanning you done on that deerhide.” He looked more closely at David. “Have I mistook you? You are the Crockett boy, ain’t you?”
“Yes sir, I am.”
“You’re a long way from home, Mr. Crockett.”
David licked his lips nervously. He wasn’t the kind to impose himself on others much, but this was a unique situation, and Dunn represented the best chance he might soon find to break free of his bondage. “Maybe I won’t be for much longer … if you can help me, Mr. Dunn. Reckon I could talk to you in private?”
Dunn flicked his brows, looking confused and slightly wary. “Well, I reckon so. We’ll step right over here.”
David advanced and talked in low tones to Dunn. It proved difficult to communicate. His playmate, very curious, kept sneaking in close to listen, causing David to further drop his volume, which only made it harder for the slightly hard-of-hearing Dunn to understand him. When he finally did understand, he stepped back, a concerned expression on his face.
“That’s quite a request,” he said. “I am fearful of entwining myself with the bad side of the law if I fulfill it.”
“Please, Mr. Dunn. You may be the only good chance I get for Lord knows how long. I’m pining for home mighty bad.”
Dunn fooled with the back of his neck and made funny shapes with his lips, the very image of discomfort. At length he sighed and relaxed.
“Very well. I’ll help you—if you’ll show me you’re serious.”
“I’m serious. Just tell me what to do.”
On the way back to Siler’s, David could hardly keep from dancing down the road. Freedom loomed, big as the sky and wonderfully inviting. It was all going to work out. He could sense it. Before the night was through, he would be a free soul again, out on the road and heading for home.
Chapter 12
David walked into the yard of Siler’s house at sunset, as snow fell profusely all around him. He looked about in confusion. Usually the Siler place was buzzing with activity, but now it was dark and silent.
“Hello!” he called. “Mr. Siler?”
No one answered. David went to the door and found it open. He walked in, calling again, still receiving no reply. A grin stole onto his face. “They ain’t home!” he whispered to himself. “They’ve gone off on one of their Sunday visits, I do believe!”
Surely fortune was on the side of David Crockett today! He could hardly believe that two strokes of luck would come in such quick succession. First, to encounter Dunn so unexpectedly, and find him open to his plea for help, then to come back to Siler’s and find the family gone—this was a fine situation indeed! With the Silers away, he could pack his few possessions and be ready for the night’s escape into the welcome custody of the wagoner Dunn.
Dunn had told David that he and his sons would spend the night at an inn about seven miles west of Siler’s place. If David could reach the inn by daybreak, when Dunn planned to depart, he would be welcome to join their party.
David gathered his things and bundled then in a cloth, which he stuck beneath the head of his bed. Hardly had he finished when the Silers returned, talking loudly about the heavy snow and the cold.
He made sure his pack was hidden, then met them at the door. He looked out past them into the night, and his heart sank. The snow was piled up to five or six inches, and still falling fast.
He wondered if he would be able to meet the challenge that faced him. His gratitude toward Dunn took a significant drop. Blast the old fellow! He had said he was willing to help him return home, but the scheme he had laid out would be hard to follow in such a storm as this.
Maybe that was Dunn’s intention, David thought. Maybe he had wanted to make it hard for him to get away, just so he wouldn’t have to involve himself in spiriting away a bound-out boy. David glowered into the storm, thinking: Well, old Dunn, if that was your scheme, you’ll find yourself surprised when I walk up and shake your hand in the morning, and hold you to the bargain!
The Silers had apparently enjoyed their neighborly visit and did not seem eager to retire. David sat and listened to their talk, fidgeting and casting surreptitious glances out the window every chance he got, hoping to see a decline in the snowstorm. There was none. Why, of all times, did such a storm have to strike this very night? Why would providence tease him with such a promising opportunity for escape, only to nullify it with a blizzard? It was terribly frustrating.
David went to bed well before any of the others did, and pretended to sleep. His mind was filled with the images of his family back at the tavern. He longed in particular to see his mother.
At long last the Silers retired and the house fell silent. David lay unmoving, listening until he was sure that all were sleeping. Then he rose and put on his coat and boots, hand-me-downs from one of the older brothers, which were already worn-out when David had gotten them. Silently and slowly, all but holding his breath, he slipped out of the house and into the cold night.
The snow drove down, heavy and stinging cold. David held his pack against himself and huddled inside his coat as he set off, taking high steps over the heaping white at his feet. There was no moon and the darkness was virtually impenetrable by the eye. He headed for the road, moving as fast as he could, hoping that he could make the seven-mile-journey without freezing.
By the time he reached the road, there was no trace of its bounds left visible to the eye. Even the rutted tracks left by the wagons that had traveled it through the day were filled, leaving David to judge the road’s location solely by the gap it made through the timber.
He set the image of his family firmly in his mind, refusing to think of anything else, and walked as fast as he could. His heart began to hammer under his ribs, making his pulse ring in his nearly frostbitten ears. He walked for the longest time, wondering how far he had come. To his right he saw the house of the playmate he had been with when Dunn’s wagons came along.
Two miles. Five more to go. He was seriously wondering if he could make it. Should he return to Siler and try to escape another day? At the very least he would be inside warm walls. He thought of the bed he had abandoned, of its thickness and warmth, heavy quilts atop him.…
No. No. He would rather risk freezing than remain where he had been. He pushed ahead.
It seemed to him th
at the trek down the empty road lasted the duration of two nights strung together with no day between them, and though he knew this was an illusion, knowing it didn’t ease the trial. Teeth chattering, fingers numb against his pack, he struggled forward.
The snow was rising deeper by the minute. He could no longer feel his feet inside his boots, and that scared him. Once he had seen a man who had lost his toes to frostbite, and it had been an ugly sight. The tracks he left behind began filling with new snow almost as soon as he made them. That, at least, was good. Siler would not be able to follow him. Maybe providence wasn’t against him after all.
He was near to collapse when finally he saw the gatepost of the inn where Dunn and his sons had stayed. He was making for the door, figuring he would have to pound it to waken the occupants and gain entrance, when he saw a human figure at the side of the building, where the barn and stable stood. There were horses there too. Maybe Dunn had risen before daylight to feed and hitch his teams.
“Hello!” he called. His face was so frozen he could barely mouth out the word. His lungs ached from breathing the cold air. “Hello!”
“Who goes there?” Dunn’s voice! David was overwhelmed with relief. His dangerous trek was over. He had made it.
“It’s David Crockett!” he called back. “I’ve come … like I said.…”
He fell face forward into the snow, feeling inexplicable warmth wash over him. The snow was soft, not at all chilling. He wanted to sink into it like it was a heap of soft feathers. It was even better than the bed he had been dreaming of.
Smiling, congratulating himself for his successful escape, he closed his eyes.
They poured hot tea down his throat and warmed him by the fire. Dunn hovered around him like a nurturing angel, exclaiming all the while about David’s grit and determination.
“I was sure we wouldn’t see you, boy, not in this storm,” he said. “Why, I can’t think of another living soul who would have set out to walk the distance you have in such a mess as this!”
Crockett of Tennessee Page 9
