Romancing the Wilderness: American Wilderness Series Boxed Bundle Books 1 - 3

by Dorothy Wiley

  Sam quickly located the leader again, who had retrieved his rifle and was checking the powder.

  “I’ll show you how a little girl fights,” the leader yelled, focusing his battered eyes and the heavy weapon on Stephen’s gut.

  Sam’s horror and anger instantly flared. But he was too far away to reach the whoreson before the man could fire. He heaved out his long knife. In a heartbeat, it flew across the fight and sliced into the man’s arm, making a grisly sound as it cut through bone and flesh. The knife’s impact knocked the rifle out of the hunter’s hand and caused the weapon to fire. The explosive sound momentarily stopped the fight.

  Sam’s huge knife protruded grotesquely through the other side of the man’s arm as he screamed and dropped to his knees. Dark blood sputtered out both sides of the long blade and trailed down the dangling hand.

  Springing toward the man, Sam swiftly retrieved his knife. Giving the leader a look of pure contempt, he pushed the hunter to his back and yanked the blade free as the man continued to yell in horrible agony. He ignored the terrible cries, which brought even more people, running from all directions, to watch the fight.

  He wiped the bloody blade on the man’s vest, causing the fellow to cringe, and then sheathed the weapon.

  Sam heard Stephen groaning and snapped his head in his brother’s direction. Two burly men were still attacking Stephen. One held his youngest brother while the other repeatedly thrust his fists into Stephen’s stomach.

  Despicable bastards!

  Sam leapt close to the three and grabbed the man’s wrist before he could throw the next punch. Using both hands, he twisted the hand and wrist in opposite directions, bringing the hunter instantly to his knees. The man’s face would soon become unrecognizable, even to his own mother.

  Stephen stomped his boot heel onto the foot of the man holding him. His brother’s wiry strength and quickness on his feet served him well. Stephen turned and began punching the hunter in the stomach, returning the belly punches he had just received.

  Sam spun toward one of the men attacking Bear. At the sight of Sam hurrying toward him, fear burst into the man’s eyes. The man jerked out his skinning knife. Before the hunter could use it, Sam grabbed the wrist holding the knife with both hands. He twisted with all his strength until the knife pointed away from him and toward the buffalo hunter, but the man’s other hand grabbed his throat. He felt the big hand pressuring his windpipe. His throat hurt more with each breath he tried to take. He felt himself losing strength in his arms.

  The hunter’s eyes blazed with ferocity as the knife came closer to Sam’s face. The scent of death seemed to emanate from the man but Sam refused to breathe it in.

  With renewed determination, the blade just inches from his face, he managed to pry the knife out of the man’s hand. Then, grabbing a good chunk of the man’s hair, he wrenched the hunter to the ground and pressed his foot against the man’s back. He tossed the man’s knife aside and had his own knife at the man’s throat in half a second.

  “Sam don’t,” Stephen yelled, scrambling up and darting over to him.

  He gaped at Stephen, his pulse speeding and chest heaving.

  “Don’t!” Stephen repeated.

  He hesitated long enough to calm his killing rage, but he couldn’t resist slicing through the man’s hair held in his hand, cutting so close to the scalp it shaved the top of the man’s head. He stood and then threw the dirty hair onto the now pink sheared head. Then he rolled the man over and with a brutal stare said, “Bother us again and next time your scalp comes off too.”

  Bear’s foe did not fare much better. Holding the hunter by the throat until the fellow’s face turned blue and both eyes were bulging, Bear finally let go, dropping the limp man on top of the one with the fresh haircut. “This is for me ear,” Bear said, punching the man in the face as the hunter sucked in air. Blood ran from the broken nose, now angled toward the hunter’s left eye.

  Bear stepped away. The two men sprawled on the ground evidently did not possess the will to fight further.

  By the time the fight was over, Sam saw five buffalo hunters scattered across the road, bleeding and groaning. The sixth could only bleed. Dead, he was the unlucky recipient of his leader’s gun’s discharge.

  Pointing the long knife, all thirteen inches, at the leader’s face and then the other hunters, he said, “If you, or any of your men, ever again point a weapon at one of my brothers, I swear I’ll plant this blade in that man’s chest.”

  Breathing heavily, he sheathed his knife, and then wiped at his face and hair dampened by sweat. Taking slow steady breaths, he surveyed the people standing in front of the shops and other buildings surrounding them and then noticed the darkening sky and thunder rolling in the distance.

  Under the gloomy grey clouds, the townspeople, including Tom Wolf, stared in stunned disbelief. Sam suspected it was the first time anyone had answered a challenge from the unruly and insolent hunters.

  “Someone needs to take care of that weasel’s arm. He’s not far from bleeding to death,” Sam declared, then spit out some of his own blood.

  None of the town’s people even budged to help. Nearly in unison, they took a step or turned away.

  Finally, one of the buffalo hunters, who could still move, crawled over to his suffering leader and tied a belt tightly around what was left of the arm.

  Although obviously in tremendous pain, the man struggled to prop himself up on his good arm. The hunter’s face turned white but he still managed a vicious stare.

  Sam filled his eyes with menace, as he swiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand.

  Hatred oozed from the eyes that glared back at him as readily as the blood seeped from the man’s hemorrhaging arm.

  As Sam kept a wary eye on the five hunters, he, Stephen, and Bear remounted their waiting horses. All three horses were trained to remain standing wherever their rider dismounted, even when weapons were being fired.

  Sam glowered at the hunters’ leader as he settled into his saddle. “Like I said, the horse is not for sale.”

  Chapter 14

  That ill-bred man bought trouble just as soon as he called us chicken,” Bear said, as they rode back to camp. “It was an unfortunate choice of words. In fact, I canna think of a worse choice.”

  “He should have listened to Sam,” Stephen said.

  Sam ignored them.

  “Clearly, he should have been a bit more courteous,” Stephen added.

  “Aye. I bet he doesna make that mistake again,” Bear said, raising his bushy eyebrows. “His biggest mistake was pointin’ that rifle at you with Sam and his big knife anywhere around.”

  Stephen scratched his stomach. “I feel itchy. I swear those mongrels had lice or fleas.”

  “Aye, probably plenty of both,” Bear said. “Most dogs do.”

  Sam heard the two trying to suppress their mirth.

  Swallowing his chuckle, Stephen said, “We’ll need a good bath in the river later with some of Jane’s lye soap.”

  “D’ye think we can scrub that disagreeable look off of Sam’s face?” Bear asked. “Those quarrelsome fellas did not improve his disposition any.”

  He did feel surly and didn’t see the humor in the situation that Bear and Stephen obviously did. He stewed in silence, rubbing his sore jaw, the only noise coming from their saddle leather and the horses’ movements. After several minutes he said, “That’s not the end of this. It’s just the beginning. Men like that don’t turn the other cheek. We’ll fight them again. We’d best get ready.”

  Something about the hunter’s leader bothered Sam. It was more than the foul man’s rude and drunken behavior—it was something in his eyes…

  “Maybe that Mr. Marshall had the right idea moving to Louisiana,” Stephen said, interrupting Sam’s thoughts.

  “We’ve been travelin’ for months, we’re here a few days, and already ye’re ready to move on?” Bear asked.

  “So far I’m not much impressed with Bo
onesborough,” Stephen said. “Between their abundant and convoluted land laws and the kind of people living here, I’m not feeling particularly friendly towards the place.”

  “Kentucky is a hard place. Hard places bring out the best or the worst in men. That bunch is an example of the worst. They’ve been made savage by the wilderness,” Sam said.

  “Let’s see what happens at the Land Bank. Things could look different in the morn,” Bear said. “Maybe that’s why they call it ‘Land of Tomorrow’.”

  Sam glanced over at Bear, not appreciating Bear’s cavalier attitude nor his humor. Normally he would, but just now, he was in no mood for levity.

  They rode into camp and tied their horses as Jane, Catherine, and the others walked up.

  “How did it go with the land specula…? What happened? You’ve had trouble,” Jane said.

  Kelly and the children stood behind her.

  “Looks like Boonesborough is not very hospitable,” John said, still carrying his rifle.

  “They insulted our family,” Sam said, scowling as he loosened the cinch on Alex. “I do not insult others,” he said, and then glanced up, “unless they deserve it.”

  “This is a fine start. We’re not here a week and already you’re fighting. How many were there, four?” John asked.

  “No, six,” Bear corrected. “The same six bastards who gave us such a warm welcome on the other side of the Fort.”

  “It’s a miracle one of you wasn’t killed!” Catherine said, looking directly at Sam.

  He detected true concern in her voice and saw distress in her eyes. It felt strange having a woman be concerned about him. But it was somewhat comforting too.

  “One of us nearly was,” Bear said. “It didn’t get serious until their leader, a brute of a fellow, ugly as a hog and about as dirty as one, nearly made Stephen’s first week in Boonesborough his last.”

  Jane gasped. “How?” she sputtered.

  “When we started getting the better of them, their leader decided he needed his big buffalo rifle. But Sam made him drop it,” Bear said, smiling at Sam.

  “How?” Catherine asked, glancing from Bear to Sam and back again.

  “Divided the man’s arm nearly in two. Sam threw his knife nearly thirty feet across the fight right into the fellow’s arm, about here,” Bear said, pointing to the spot on his own arm. “The fleabag dropped his rifle and it discharged. Killed his own man.”

  “Mercy’s sake,” Jane said, appalled. “It could have been Stephen.”

  “Nay, not with Sam within striking distance,” Bear said. “And I had an eye on the wicked man too. I had me hand on this hatchet until I saw Sam releasing his blade.”

  “A man was killed?” William asked, looking worried.

  “We didn’t kill him,” Sam said simply.

  Catherine wanted to weep with relief that the fight did not result in getting Sam or the others hurt or killed, but there would be time to think about that later. For now, she needed to help Jane see to their wounds. “I’ll heat some water and get some bandages. Every one of them is bleeding in at least one spot or another,” she said.

  “Kelly get my medicine kit from the wagon,” Jane ordered. “John, please help get some food warmed before this storm that’s brewing puts out our fire.”

  “What happened to your face and your ear Bear?” Little John asked.

  “A couple of those buffalo hunters did na think they could win fightin’ fair, like a man, so they did what comes naturally to an animal—bitin’ and clawin’. But the dogs know how real men fight now,” Bear said. “And I bet his nose looks a sight worse than me ear.”

  After Catherine and Jane got the four patched up, Sam and the others gathered around the cook fire and ate quickly, keeping an eye to the sky, while they discussed Mr. Wolf’s suggestion.

  “It makes sense,” John said. “I don’t see that we have another choice. We could build a permanent home for either William or me since both of us want to be close to town. We could make it big enough to hold all of us until the rest of you get your land.”

  “Let’s see what happens at the Land Office before we decide. If it still makes sense, we’ll find out what Mr. Wolf wants for that place and go see it,” Stephen said. “But, I’m not expecting much. He’s out to make a quick profit at our expense.”

  “Mr. Wyllie, why are you always so suspicious of people?” Kelly asked. She sat next to William, listening to the conversation.

  “I am,” Stephen said, as though that was all the explanation needed.

  “With four older brothers he learned to be distrustful to survive,” Sam explained.

  “I can vouch for that,” Bear said. “Every day at least one of them, and sometimes all four, gave their youngest brother a hard time or played some prank on him. Made him ornery and wary of other’s motives. Their father used to say Stephen didn’t even trust the preacher.”

  “I didn’t. Still don’t,” Stephen said. “They're only human too.”

  “Bet that’s why Stephen befriended you so early on Bear,” William said. “You were so big we didn’t dare pick on Stephen when you were anywhere around.”

  “Still true,” Sam said.

  “Whenever Bear came into our house, he would give Mother a big hug. She always said, ‘Daniel you hug like a big bear.’ That’s when we started calling him Bear. The name fit him perfectly,” William told Kelly. “Every time Mother saw him coming we knew she was going to the flour to make a cake. As far as Mother was concerned, his surname wasn’t McKee, it was Wyllie.”

  “I loved that good woman,” Bear said.

  “So did I,” Sam added wistfully.

  As the first drops of rain kissed Catherine’s face, she saw a sad faraway look fill Sam’s eyes. She suspected that he was remembering their boyhood home as well as their beloved mother. Some time ago, Jane had explained to her that a massive mountain slide of rock and mud buried the stately Wyllie home and the vast majority of the family land, along with Sam Wyllie Senior, their mother, and sister. Sam not only lost his inheritance, in one day he lost three of the most important people in his life.

  No wonder he had a hard time loving.

  A bolt of lightning, followed immediately by a loud clap of thunder, sent them all scurrying for cover. But as Catherine climbed into her wagon, wishing Sam would follow her inside, she looked back. Sam sat alone and still, letting the rain wash over him.

  Just before sunset, the rain stopped and soon afterward, a rider came up the muddy road to their camp. “Heard you gentlemen had some trouble today,” the man said. He dismounted as they gathered around him. “I’m Constable Mitchell, currently the only law officer in Boonesborough. I must get your version of the incident.”

  They introduced themselves to Mitchell. A gangly young man of perhaps 20 years, he looked to Sam like his only experience at fighting might have been with his brothers and sisters. The boy was clearly nervous but seemed determined to exercise all the authority he had and then some.

  As usual, Stephen spoke first and succinctly explained the incident.

  “That nearly matches their version. So, you started the fight by dismounting from your horses and advancing towards them?” Mitchell asked.

  “Only after considerable provocation,” Sam said.

  “And, Captain Wyllie, you threw your knife into Foley’s arm, causing him to drop the weapon and kill one of his men, even though Foley had not fired his gun?” Mitchell stared wide-eyed at the knife sheathed at Sam’s waist.

  Sam gripped his weapon’s deer horn handle. “I don’t know what kind of a place this is, but back where we were raised a man didn’t wait till a ball did its damage before he defended himself or his family.” His hot tone reflected the ample annoyance he felt.

  Mitchell tore his eyes away from the knife and turned toward Bear. “And I understand that you, Sir, nearly strangled a man and then broke his nose,” Mitchell said, his voice nearly shaking.

  Bear towered over the constable who had to tilt h
is head back and look up to see Bear’s eyes.

  Sam felt his mouth curl in a half-grin when Bear took a step forward and the young man quickly took a step back.

  “Sir, I’m rather fond of me ears and that son of a dog had some of mine for his supper. He’s lucky I did na kick him where he deserved, although I doubt there’s enough manhood there for it to have mattered,” Bear growled.

  Sam heard both William and Little John snicker.

  “My apologies ladies,” Bear said to the women before he continued. “Next time, I…”

  “Constable Mitchell,” William interrupted before Bear could finish. “I held the position of Sheriff in our home town in New Hampshire, and I assure you I understand your important responsibilities here. Speaking as a former officer of the law, I can tell you those bullies had it coming. They provoked a fight. My brothers were simply riding down the street when they grabbed Captain Wyllie’s horse wanting to buy it. He told them the horse was not for sale, but they acted as though that didn’t matter. They were impertinent, called my bothers cowards, and insulted our women for the second time. The first was when we arrived at the Fort. This time, their leader drew a rifle on Stephen intending to use it. Sam threw the knife defending our brother. You cannot blame him for that. We desire no further trouble with these men.”

  Sam’s shoulders tipped back. Whether they desired it or not, trouble was coming.

  Mitchell swallowed hard and appeared to gather his courage before he reluctantly continued. “Your former occupation Mr. Wyllie is irrelevant in this matter. As for the insult, the law does not provide justification for fighting because a man is insulted or because a horse is simply touched. Foley claims that he was just trying to buy the horse and that he picked up his weapon intending to leave the fight fearing that Stephen Wyllie was about to kill him. The man’s eyes are swollen shut and from the looks of him, it does look like someone tried to kill him. The doc is amputating the man’s hand, just above where the knife hit, right now.”