by Joel Baker
“I remember Uncle Paul. We all love the story. Especially the part about the dogs,” James said.
“I see you carry a frog sticker strapped to your leg,” Uncle Paul said.
James drew the knife and showed it to the old man.
“Yeah, that’s the one. Well I got a knife I’d like to give to you.”
Uncle Paul reached down by his chair brought up an old knife with a razor sharp blade and handed it to James. “This here knife was Franklin Pierce’s and the very knife he took to the Haskins shootout.”
James held the knife with respect. He’d heard the story of the Colter fight with the Haskins many times growing up. Now he held a relic of the story in his hands.
“Are you sure, Uncle Paul?” James asked. “Don’t you have someone in your own family you’d like to pass this on to like Otto or Seth?”
“Nope, James, I decided on you,” Uncle Paul said. You’re like we were when we were young and just starting out. Hell, truth is my side of the family has become so civilized they’d probably just cut themselves with it. But you, James, you still got the grit. You know we still hang by a thread. All this could be taken away from us if we don’t protect it. You keep the wolves away from our door. Not many appreciate it now days, but I do.”
James looked the knife over and held it up to the light. He tested the knife for balance and knew it would have a tendency to elevate in flight over a target. Still he couldn’t help but think about this knife and how Jesse Colter and Franklin Pierce had handled it. The knife felt like he was holding a piece of history.
“There’s something else, James,” Uncle Paul said. “I want you to have my coat laying there in the corner. My wife Julie made it for me just before she passed over a few years back. It’s an exact copy of the one my mother, Sarah, made for Dad, Mark and Cole all those years ago. It’s the best coat for long trips on a horse. It’s like wearing a tent. It will keep you nice and dry.”
James tried it on and it fit like a glove except being a little tight through the shoulders. He bent over and hugged the old man. He stood for a few minutes holding the knife and coat looking out the window. When he looked back the old man was asleep, the coffee cup empty, still in his hand.
Chapter 4
James went to the family meeting the next Friday. The valley residents met for an hour or so each Friday to keep everyone up to date on any news. They discussed what was happening in Haven and any needs they might have. Word got out James would be there. Most of the families were represented.
Many of the distant relatives attended with their daughters of marrying age. They sat off to one side as a group; giggling and casting furtive glances in the direction of the tall, handsome, young man in buckskins. James worked hard at pretending not to notice.
About a half hour in, Otis, stood and announced he heard a young married couple was murdered in a most brutal fashion over by Fallen Tree, near Chattanooga. James stood and waited for the murmurs to die down before speaking. As everyone settled, James looked around the room.
“As most of you may know,” James said. “I’ve been after Mason Lowery for the foul murders of the Watson family over in New Port. This sounds like some of his handy work to me. Otis, do you know if the couple was scalped by any chance?” Jesse asked as a collective gasp ran through the room.
“It’s what I heard James,” Otis said. “There were other things too I choose not to mention.”
“I’d like to ask if some of you could spare some provisions.” James said. “I’ll be headed after this Lowery guy.”
“I’m sure we will be more than willing,” Otis said. “What do you need James?”
“Hard tack,” James said. “I could use some jerky, reloaded rounds for my forty four and three fifty seven. Also, I’ll need a couple of bags of black gun powder and reload shotgun shells for trade. I’ll be heading out at first light.”
“We can supply those things,” Otis said. “Anything else we can do?”
“My dog Samson is in the barn stall next to the sorrel,” James said. “His paw is hurt and he will not be happy about being left behind. You know what it could mean. So, be careful if you try to go into the stall. I don’t think he would hurt anyone, but warn the kids off. If he gets loose, just let him go. I doubt if you could stop Sam anyway.”
“If he gets loose, where will he go?” Otis asked.
“Sam will be looking for me,” James said.
The trip to New Port took James a day. It started to rain shortly after he left Haven and James wished he would have brought the coat Uncle Paul had given him. He camped outside of the town of New Port and watched as a posse returned from chasing Lowery.
The next day he rode into New Port and up to the Sheriff’s office. He tied the sorrel to a hitching rail and walked up to the older man sitting in a chair on the front porch whittling what look like a cow or a horse. It was too early to tell.
“Would you be the Sheriff?” James asked.
“I would be if more people had voted for me,” the man replied without looking up from his work.
“Is he in the Office?” James asked.
“I expect not,” the man said.
“Do you know where I can find him?” James asked.
“Most likely he’s home in bed with that pretty little wife of his,” the man said. “Hey, ain’t you the hunter feller that was supposed to be headed this way to look up Lowery?”
“I am,” James said.
“Where have you been?” the man asked. ‘The Sheriff and his posse chased that son of a bitch Lowery for over a week. They just dragged back into town empty handed.” HE The old man leaned forward in his chair and spit something he was chewing.
“They chased him all the way to the edge of the Cherokee territory,” the man said. “Of course they couldn’t keep going and turned back. By the way, my name’s Kurt Jennings… and you would be…?”
“James Colter from Haven, over by Eagle Rock,” James said.
“Hey,” the old man said. “I heard of the Colter clan over there. You’re the ones with those god awful dogs aren’t you?”
“We do have dogs,” James said. “Why’d the sheriff turn back? Last I heard the Cherokee would allow you to travel through their territory.”
“Not since they joined up with those Gypsies,” the man said. “There is some new King of the Gypsies suppose to be really tight with the Cherokee. His name is Zoster, Molars, or something like that. He’s supposed to have big magic and the Cherokee seem to do what he asks.”
There must to be something more to the story, James thought. The Cherokee are more civilized than most white folk. If they joined up with the Gypsies it must have been because of that stupid war.
“Thanks for the update,” James said. “I’ll be heading over that way, and I’d appreciate it if you let the Sheriff know.”
“I will,” the man said. “I hope you catch up with Lowery. When you do I hope you stretch his neck; although I think it would be a waste of a good rope.”
“One more thing,” James said. “If you see a big black dog come through here in the next week or so, just let him be. He’ll be trying to catch up with me.”
James mounted and headed east out of town. Early on the morning of the next day, James pulled his horse up to a spear driven in the ground. It was a warning to go back and stay out of the Cherokee nation. James nudged the horse forward.
The first indication something was really wrong, was when he found the old man crucified upside down to a tree. Somebody had gone to a lot of trouble.
The corpse looked to be a Cherokee in his sixties who wore his graying hair in a single long braid. He was naked and his body was nailed to the tree trunk with the hands tied behind his back. His one leg was straight and the other leg bent at the knee and tied behind the straight leg.
He kind of looked like an upside down four James thought.
He got down from his horse and studied the dead Cherokee. The man appeared to have been shot at least a d
ay ago. Judging by the lack of blood on the tree he’d been killed somewhere else and brought here. He’d been shot once in the chest and once between the eyes. The prints on the ground showed the body was brought on a packhorse and then nailed to the tree. The killer had left in quite a hurry. It didn’t make much sense.
But why bring the body here in the first place James wondered? It must be a message, But to who?
James left the body where he found it and followed the prints for a while and turned back. There was one person who might know what was going on.
****
Charley Oaks was a full blooded Cherokee and a long time friend to the Colter family. When he was young, Charley had gotten into some difficulties over near Haven.
The Scroggins twins, friends of the Colters, happened to be sitting in an Eagle Rock bar when a ruckus in the street caught their attention. The two men walked out to see what was happening and saw a young Indian lying on the ground as three town toughs beat and kicked him.
“That’s enough,” Zeke said.
“Butt out you old coot,” the leader said, looking up at the two brothers. “We’re just teaching this Indian some manners.”
“Did you really just call me an old coot?” Zeke asked. “Tell you what boy. I think I’ll bust you up to teach you some manners. Your friends are welcome to join in. It makes no difference to my brother and me.”
Zeke stepped off the porch of the bar and started unbuttoning his shirt. He advanced to where the young Indian lay on the ground.
The smaller of the twins, Zeke was well over six foot with two hundred pounds of muscle. His gray hair was tied back in a ponytail. He circled to the left toward the middle of the street.
“I don’t want any trouble old man,” the leader of the toughs said backing away.
He glanced over to the Indian youth and saw him sit up, still groggy and bleeding from the beating.
“See the Indian is going to be alright,” the leader said.
Zeke continued circling toward the leader. The tough glanced at the knife strapped to his leg. He grinned at Zeke, filled his hand, and waved the knife menacingly in Zeke’s direction.
“Come on you fat old pig!” the leader said. “I’m going to slit your throat!”
“Okay,” Zeke said. “Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings.”
Zeke looked down at the boy on the ground.
“Are you alright?” Zeke asked.
The Indian youth shook his head yes. Zeke looked back at the thug with the knife. It was obvious to Zeke, like most bullies, this guy was a coward.
“Are you going to use that thing or talk me to death?” Zeke said.
He took three quick steps toward the knife. The leader took a wild stabbing swing. Zeke’s hand closed over the wrist holding the knife. He squeezed and the knife fell to the ground. The bully let out a squeal that was almost girlish.
Zeke squeezed harder and there was an audible snap like a small tree limb cracking. The bully’s face went ashen and his mouth formed an O as he fell to his knees holding his injured wrist.
“The rest of you heroes better get this tough guy to a doctor before the wrist swells up,” Zeke said.
Zeke watch as the two friends helped the now sobbing leader to his feet. They were careful not to make eye contact with the brothers. Zeke turned to the Indian on the ground.
“You got any kin around here?” Zeke asked.
The youth shook his head no.
“Well you better come with my brother Zack and me,” Zeke said. “You’re pretty busted up.”
****
The first time James saw Charley Oaks, his great Aunt Lily was cleaning the dirt and blood off his face. The brothers brought Charley back to get him fixed up. He didn’t leave Haven for three years. At the time of the beating, Charley was fifteen years old and small for his age. James was eight years younger and followed Charley around like he was his big brother.
Charley had been on his own since he was twelve. His parents died along with many others in a small pox epidemic. The children were left to fend for themselves.
Charley told James in confidence that when his parents died, he was the one who buried them. But being twelve, he wasn’t big enough to bury them deep and animals dug them up. He’d always felt bad about that.
After several years, Charley grew restless to return to his people. James, who was ten at the time, felt like crying over the loss of his friend.
Instead, he gave Charley a strand of beads he found on the other side of the valley near a shack. Charley weaved the strand into his long black hair and promised to wear it always.
Charley Oaks returned to Haven twice since that first goodbye. He and James went hunting the last time and managed to catch up on what was happening in their lives. They promised to always keep in contact. James decided now would be a good time.
Chapter 5
The little cabin sat in the clearing just as Charley had described. Smoke came from the chimney suggesting someone was cooking breakfast. The weather promised to be a warm day for mid April. Two horses looked up at James as he rode up to the cabin and tied his horse to the front porch post.
“Hello in there,” James called.
A short, stocky man came on to the porch, a rifle pointed at the ground. He had long flowing black hair braided with beads and leather. He wore a brown shirt with leather leggings and was barefoot. When he saw James he broke into a big smile.
“James my boy!” Charley said. “How are you doing?”
Charley Oaks jumped from the porch and hugged James, lifting him easily off the ground.
“Put me down and I’ll tell you, you horse thief!” James said.
“You steal one horse and you’re a horse thief for life.” Charley said, releasing James from his grip. “What are you doing here? This is not a good time to be roaming through Cherokee land my friend.”
“Any chance I could get some breakfast around here?” James asked.
Charley Oaks had never looked stronger to James. He seemed as wide as he was tall and heavily muscled. It looked to James like he’d also added several tattoos since he’d last seen him.
“Sure,” Charley said, “The little woman is cooking something right now. Put your horse in the corral and come on in.”
“Little woman?” James asked. “You went and got married and didn’t even invite me?”
“I never said I married her,” Charley said. “There’s a pump out back, if you want to wash up. You seem a little gamey to me.”
“Oh, like you would notice,” James said.
The ‘little woman’ turned out to be a five foot, three hundred pound, full blooded Cherokee named Flower. Charley made the introductions and they sat down to devour plates of ham and eggs. The coffee was terrible since it was mostly walnut shells and hickory bark.
After they finished, Charley and James went out to the chairs on the front porch. Charley lit an old pipe and blew some smoke rings.
“You’re here for a reason James,” Charley said. “What is it?”
“I’m hunting Mason Lowery,” James said. “He’s slipped me three times, and it won’t happen again if I can help it.”
“What makes you think he’s here?” Charley asked.
“Sheriff over in New Port chased him over this way,” James said. “He turned back at the border with the Cherokees. Then I found some old guy nailed to a tree upside down. I think he’s Cherokee. He was killed someplace else and brought here for display. Is any of your tribe missing?”
“No one is missing,” Charley said. “They must have killed one of Little Owl’s people. It sounds like Lowery to me, James. It’s the kind of gruesome display he likes. Nailed to a tree you say? Was there anything else special about the old man?”
“He was naked,” James said. “He looked, I don’t know, like the number four, but upside down. His one leg was straight, the other bent, and his hands were tied together behind his back.”
“The hanged man,” Charley said. “I
t’s a tarot card used by Gypsies in fortune telling.”
“What’s it supposed to mean?” James asked.
“Tarot cards have a bunch of meanings,” Charley said. “Near as I can remember, the hanging man card is a warning. It says something is about to change. You never know if it’s for the good or bad. It is definitely a warning though. Which way was the body facing?”
“It faced east towards the Cherokees,” James said.
“It sounds like it’s a warning to the Cherokees,” Charley said. “All that Gypsy stuff gives us the willies. We won’t touch it. It could be someone trying to cause trouble between the Cherokees and the Gypsies.”
Charley sat and thought for a moment, the smoke from his pipe circling his head.
“It looks like we’re going to go for a ride James,” Charley said.
“Fine with me as long as I don’t end up nailed to a tree someplace,” James said. “Where are we going?”
“We’ll go see Waya,” Charley said.
“Who or what is Waya?” James asked.
“Waya is Cherokee for ‘Wolf’,” Charley said. “He’s the leader of our council. He likes me… I think.”
“You think he likes you?” James said. “It seems like an important point Charley. It’s really important if I’m going to ride in there with you.”
“We might have a little misunderstanding,” Charley said. “It’s just that, how do I say it? Flower used to be his woman.”
“Okay,” James said. “I’m starting to get a bad feeling. It seems like a major problem Charley.”
“It will be alright,” Charley said. “Waya is a good and fair man. I’m sure he’s forgotten all about it by now.”
Two hours later the two friends rode into the main village for the district. There were a total of thirty four independent districts in Cherokee country. This was one of the larger groups.
The village was laid out very well. It had a wide main street down the middle. The houses were well built log cabins set in clusters of four. Each of the housing clusters shared a common sweat lodge. There appeared to be over a hundred cabins in this village.
