“Six months!” Bear and Stephen said in unison.
“In total, more like a year,” Sam said, disgusted. “How can we get homes built before winter?”
“I don’t make the rules gentlemen; I’m just here to sell land. You’ll have to argue with the Kentucky General Assembly and the Land Office about the merits of the system, although I admit, it does pose difficulties for those who need land quickly.”
While Wolf spoke, Sam wandered over to the crude fireplace, impatient with Kentucky’s bureaucracy. A shelf over the stone fireplace held several books. He noted among them the Bible, an almanac, The Pilgrim’s Progress, and Shakespeare. The playwright’s book seemed out of place in this wilderness town. Shakespeare was his mother’s favorite writer. On winter evenings when the snows were deep, she would read passages aloud to her sons, in her nearly musical voice. Sometimes she was so animated it was more like watching the plays rather than just listening to them. He grinned at the pleasant memory and picked up the volume. As he flipped through the pages, he wondered what verses Shakespeare would have written about Kentucky, this ‘Land of Tomorrow.’ Undoubtedly, this remarkable land would have inspired the poet. It almost seemed as if it had. Here, men clashed with both nature and natives and definitely suffered ‘the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.’ He feared that the ‘Dark and Bloody Ground,’ as some called Kentucky, would require their taking ‘arms against a sea of troubles.’ Had those troubles already begun? Would they be able to, as Shakespeare wrote, ‘by opposing end them’?
“Do you enjoy Shakespeare, Captain Wyllie? Wolf asked.
“It’s been an exceedingly long time since I have,” Sam answered.
“Then you must borrow my book sometime,” Wolf suggested.
“What do most folks do then?” Bear asked. “Sounds like yer land system will keep lawyers busy for many moons but it will na put land in the hands of folks that need it for some time.”
“You may buy land that someone else received as a patent. These are simply a county responsibility and are known as a ‘deed.’ These are much easier to come by,” Wolf explained.
“But that means buying the land, not receiving a grant,” Stephen said.
“Yes, that’s right. Land sells for between a dollar and two dollars an acre this way—the better the pasture land the more it costs.”
“Two dollars, that’s outrageous,” Stephen bellowed.
Sam stepped to the window. As the others talked, he found himself thinking about Catherine. He wondered again, what it would feel like to hold her. Sometime around midnight, when he was finally able to fall asleep, he dreamt of her. Every time she reached for him in the dream, he stepped away before she touched him. And every time he did, he grew more annoyed and disgusted with himself.
Scowling, he tried to push thoughts of her from his mind. He turned around and did his best to concentrate on the conversation going on behind him. But after just a minute or two, he decided he would leave the tedious details of the land process to Stephen. Stephen had more patience than he did. He turned back to the window.
He noted the sky clouding up even more than when they arrived. Might have a thunderstorm tonight. Then he noticed them.
The same scruffy bunch of hunters they’d encountered before were waiting across the street. Their vulgar leader seemed to be eyeing Sam’s horse, tied just outside Wolf’s office.
His eyes narrowed as he studied the big man. Wariness crossed his mind before he turned back toward the others.
“Time to go,” he said.
Chapter 13
“Wait just a moment longer, Sam. Mr. Wolf, what do you recommend we do?” Stephen asked.
“Apply for your patents as soon as you can arrange. In the meantime, pool your money and buy something you can build on now. You can always sell it later, probably for a nice profit.”
Sam continued to study the men across the street. The large–caliber rifles they carried and their manner of dress confirmed that the fresh skins he’d seen were their kills and that they were indeed buffalo hunters. He had little respect for hunters who massacred defenseless animals by the hundreds just for the profit their hides would bring. It was pure slaughter and a waste of the precious meat.
“Do you know of any good sites available?” Stephen asked.
“Indeed I do, Sir. Fifty acres near here just became available, half wooded and half cleared with a young orchard. The cleared land is in good fence. The title is indisputable. The previous owner, John Marshall, relocated to Louisiana. I just bought it from him. It’s got a nice dwelling on it—not much more than one large room and a hearth, but it’s snug and will keep your women and children warm and dry while you men add on to it or get a bigger house built.”
“We appreciate your time, Sir, and we’ll let you know if we want to look at that land,” Stephen said. He stood and shook Mr. Wolf’s hand. The rest of the men followed Stephen’s lead and bid Mr. Wolf good day.
Sam stepped out of Wolf’s office first. As he untied his horse, out of the corner of his eye, he looked across the street. The wide-shouldered leader of the hunters stared directly at him with cold, hard eyes.
Trouble, he decided immediately.
They mounted and turned their horses toward camp.
“Hey, new settlers,” the man yelled, striding directly toward him, carrying a heavy rifle in the crook of his arm. His five other men, still looking disheveled and menacing, followed behind the man. “I want to buy that horse mister. I’m partial to buckskins, always was.” The man grabbed the gelding by his bridle and turned the horse’s head toward him, eyeing Alex with sinister envy. “Buckskins are as tough as wet leather.”
Alex shied away from the stranger. Sam felt his horse’s muscles bristle beneath him. The gelding didn’t like this man any more than he did.
“Keep your grubby paws off my horse,” he warned through gritted teeth. “My horse is not for sale.”
The man stepped back and blatantly appraised Sam, then said to his grungy companions, “I bet he’s a good horseman. Can’t wait to have him between my legs.”
It was a threat couched in an insult. A disgusting insult.
Sam said nothing but he glared with disgust upon a man already his enemy.
The fellow’s five companions, all wearing whiskey induced grins, came closer.
Their leader strolled around Sam’s horse. “Yup, this horse will suit me just fine,” the hunter said, his mouth curled in a mirthless smile. He spat a brown stream of tobacco, some of it dripping into his oily beard. “Get this man a couple of cases of whiskey. I’m about to trade for a horse,” he instructed one of his men.
“Forget the damn whiskey,” Sam snarled. The only thing he would trade with this snake would be punches.
“If you men are looking for a fight, we’ll oblige you, but I’d advise you to move on. My brother here is slow to anger but once riled, watch out. He won’t be stopped,” Stephen warned, his voice smooth as silk, but his eyes full of threat.
The man gave Stephen a mocking smirk and said, “He doesn’t worry me none. I have more muscles in my cock than he has in both arms.” He wrapped a hand on his manhood and thrust out his hips.
Sam’s lip curled at the revolting gesture.
“I want this horse and I’ll have him by God,” the man continued to insist.
“I doubt God has anything to do with the deals you make,” Sam growled. “More likely, they are made with the Devil. I’ve told you once the horse is not for sale and I am not accustomed to having to repeat myself. Move on, now.”
He motioned for Stephen and Bear to leave too as he turned his back on the man. He tapped Alex’s sides with his heels and started down the road.
“Hey coward, running off again? Afraid of a little brawl with real Kentucky men? Come on, let’s settle this. I’ll fight you for the horse,” the man taunted.
Sam leaned forward and looked over at Stephen and Bear. Bear’s nostrils flared with fury and Stephen’s face was a ma
sk of rage. They exchanged a long deep look with him, their eyes as angry and dark as thunderclouds.
“You three cockteasers are running off like virgin hens,” the man said mockingly.
“Boc, boc, booccc,” the other hunters cackled and then broke out into raucous laughter.
The man’s words seemed worn, used too often, by the shallow petty man and the others with him. But his contemptuous tone, the insolence in his voice, singed the tinder of Sam’s anger. Sam struggled to quench the spark threatening to erupt, clenching his teeth together so hard they threatened to crack.
“Is that pretty young blonde a virgin too?” the leader drawled.
That was it. Sam’s control blew apart like a volcano. His blood began to boil. His throat grew hot and inflamed. Mumbled curses spewed from his hardened mouth. He shoved his boots against the stirrups and tugged back on the reins bringing Alex to an abrupt halt. Seething, he whirled the horse around, back toward the laughing men. He pushed the big gelding right up to the man.
Alex seemed perfectly willing to trample the hunter, who took a big step back to avoid being stepped on.
His eyes blazing, Sam glared down at the man. “Apologize. Now!”
The hunter just stood there, tall and insolent, but silent.
“Good Lord, you are a stupid fellow,” Stephen told the man, as he pulled up next to Sam.
Stephen was wrong. There was nothing stupid about this man. He was cunning and calculating. Sam could see it in the man’s dark eyes. He was after something more than this horse and he was deliberately provoking this fight. Carefully controlling his hardened voice, he said, “I don’t know your name Sir, but apparently you need to learn mine. My name is Captain Sam Wyllie, and these gentlemen are Stephen Wyllie and Bear McKee. And now that you know who we are, we will teach you not to insult our family again.”
With a face that would make a grizzly look friendly, the leader stood in the middle of the six men.
Sam took each man’s measure with battle experienced eyes.
Then he, Stephen, and Bear regarded each other, each silently recognizing what the others had to do.
They dismounted slowly and, in unison, advanced toward the six men.
Always protective of Stephen, Bear took a position in front of the biggest hunter, who appeared to be the most menacing. “Don’t want to take away from your fun,” Bear told Stephen, “but let me take this wee one here in front.”
Each heavily armed with knives, axes, and pistols, the six large grubby men continued to taunt them.
“The bugger’s proud of his ‘good’ name,” one shouted, “Let’s show him what pride buys here in Kentuck’.”
“A ‘good’ beating,” said another, “that’s what.”
Wearing vests made of buffalo hide, the hunters gave the appearance of a small herd of mangy buffalo themselves. But unlike buffalo, these men would not be easy prey. The whiskey the hunters had obviously been drinking would make them even more dangerous. Intoxicated men were not as quick, but the liquor would make them wilder and rasher.
They narrowly avoided fighting these men the first time. But this time they were in for a serious fight. They would each have to fight two. But neither he nor Stephen would back down now. And Bear always enjoyed being in the middle of a good fight.
“Lay down your rifles men, we wouldn’t want to miss these bastards and kill one these good townspeople now would we?” the leader asked with a contemptuous half-smile.
“We’ll just give ‘em a good beating before we skin ‘em,” the biggest man replied.
“I will give you but one more opportunity to apologize for your ill manners and insults,” Sam informed them. He pulled his shoulders back and waited.
“You pilgrims know there are three of you and six of us?” the big man asked haughtily.
Bear answered before Sam could. “Aye, we do. And if ye think ye’ll be needin’ more help, we’ll be pleased to wait while ye go and get what ye think ye will need.”
The leader’s face turned red as he said, “You son-of-a-…”
The hunter never had a chance to finish his sentence as Sam’s fist took the word out of the man’s filthy mouth. Then he ducked to avoid the leader’s fist before shoving a right hook upward into the fellow’s bearded chin, causing the man to stumble. Spinning around easily on his moccasin-clad feet, he kicked a second hunter in the stomach, sending the man flying to the ground, gasping for air.
Bear had taken on the giant of a man he had singled out, who was nearly as large as Bear. Sam could hear the two standing there growling at each other while the hunter on the far left came at Bear. Using his left arm and fist like a giant club, Bear whacked the forehead of the man coming at him, knocking the hunter down with one blow, all the while continuing to snarl at the man swaggering menacingly in front of him.
Sam grinned to himself as he detected a Scottish burr in Bear’s deep growl.
The fight was dirty from the beginning. As he expected, the hunters fought for the chance to bully, rather than the honor in it. These men were not to be trusted. He would keep one eye on Stephen and Bear. If they needed help, he would make sure they got it.
As the leader pushed himself up from his knees, Sam’s fist slammed into the jaw of the man. He felt the skin of his knuckle tear open. Despite the force of his powerful blow, the hunter still stood upright. The two exchanged blow after blow, both refusing to show any sign of weakening. He tasted blood as his lip split open but he would take punches from here to eternity if he had to. He wasn’t going down. He put all his weight behind his next punch and the man finally went crashing to the ground, landing on a fresh pile of Alex’s dung.
“That’s as close as you’ll ever get to owning my horse,” Sam swore.
The second man regained his breath and came at Sam, trying to knee him in the gut. He stepped aside just in time, grabbed the man’s elevated foot, and twisted the ankle backward and to the side. The hunter bellowed in pain before collapsing to the ground, unable to stand.
Swiping at the horse shit on his face and baring brown teeth, the leader came at him again. Sam charged and rammed his head into the man’s ample stomach. Gasping for breath, the big fellow fell backwards onto his back.
One of the other men tried to knee Stephen in the groin. Stephen shuffled to the right just in time, turned in a tight circle, and kicked the man on his ass, which sent the hunter sprawling to the ground face down in the mud and muck.
Sam glanced at the leader, now on his knees, who was still trying to wipe manure off his face with his shirt sleeve. A corner of Sam’s mouth twitched with mirth.
The hunter stood, nostrils flaring, and charged, grabbing Sam’s shoulders. Sam threw his arms up between the leader’s arms and grinding his teeth, grabbed the man’s throat. He could feel veins pulsing and twitching on his own neck as he considered whether to strangle the fellow.
Then the man thrust a powerful blow, hot and weighty, into his stomach. It momentarily sucked his breath away. Panting for air, he shoved the leader violently and the hunter fell to the ground face down. Sam roughly turned the man over and sat on the leader’s soft ample belly, using both legs to pin the man’s arms. The man glared back at Sam with burning, ruthless eyes, the stench of rotten teeth and whiskey heavy on his hot breaths.
Sam was about to ask him if he was ready to end the fight when the worm spat in his face.
“Hell!” Fury almost choked Sam. As slimy spittle dripped off his jaw, he hissed, “Nobody spits on me.” His mouth twisted in wrath and he began pounding the bastard’s face with both fists.
Somehow, the man mustered the strength to use his legs to throw Sam off. The hunter turned, jumped up, and quickly scrambled away. Had the repulsive fellow given up?
Sam sprang to his feet, about to go after the leader again, when he saw Stephen gasping for breath. As his brother sucked in air, he charged Stephen’s attacker, using his shoulder and elbow to knock the brute to the ground. Then Sam lifted the rascal by his shirt
and bashed his fist into the man’s face.
Stephen appeared to regain his breath, and then graciously said, “Thank you, my Captain,” before returning to the fight.
The hunter whose ankle he had twisted was now hopping toward him on one leg. As Sam drew his right fist back to strike the man, he remembered how painful his knuckles felt when he threw the last punch. So, instead, he simply swept his foot against the man’s leg, knocking him down again. “I believe, if I was you, I’d stay down,” Sam said in his most threatening voice.
The remaining boorish men fought like the wild animals they were. Scanning the rest of the fight, he saw one man claw his black fingernails into Bear’s face as another took a vicious bite out of Bear’s ear.
Bear let out a particularly potent Gaelic curse. Then he roared deafeningly, doing a fine imitation of a real bear, and the two men suddenly seemed intimidated. The two hunters would soon regret their ungentlemanly like behavior, especially the one with Bear’s blood on his mouth.
“These fellers fight like wee lassies,” he heard Bear yell. Bear used sarcastic humor whenever he was truly vexed.
“Indeed, like bad-mannered little girls,” he drawled with distinct ridicule, looking at the man on the ground.
Romancing the Wilderness: American Wilderness Series Boxed Bundle Books 1 - 3 Page 39
