Eyes of Eagles

Fourteen

Jamie packed up his supplies and left that afternoon, first heading west, then cutting north when he was a few miles out of the settlement. He still wasn’t sure why Smith and Fontaine had been so quick to help him, only that he was glad they did. But he trusted the men. He had told them his story, and neither man had pressed him as to where he lived. They had simply accepted him for what he was.

One thing Jamie was sure of: he could not return to the Big Thicket until he dealt with the dead bounty hunter’s friends. He could not lead his enemies back to home territory and risk Kate and the babies getting hurt.

He knew what he had to do, and just the thought of it was disturbing to him, leaving a bitter, coppery taste in his mouth.

He was going to have to find and kill those other bounty hunters. Or let them find him.

In the 1820s East Texas was virtually an unbroken sea of forests, dotted only by a few meadows where the soil wasn’t quite right for trees. The Caddoan Indians had cleared small patches of land for farming, and the few white settlers living there had done the same. But in the mid-1820s, East Texas was a magnificent forested sight, with game abounding, from deer to wolf. Jamie knew the woods, and could survive in them even should he be faced with no supplies nor weapons. Here, one could eat one’s fill of persimmons and pawpaws, make tea of the sassafras root, lotions of witch hazel, and fragrant candles of the bayberries.

Jamie, not yet wishing for a campfire, breakfasted on a handful of chinquapin nuts, those tasty morsels enclosed in prickly burrs, then followed that treat with berries and a drink of cold spring water. He checked his guns, then climbed a tall hardwood tree and carefully looked in all directions. One lone finger of smoke drifted upward, from a few miles to the east, the direction he must travel. He had no doubts as to what the smoke represented: the bounty hunters.

Jamie climbed down and saddled up. He booted his long-barreled rifle and chose the shorter-barreled Army carbine. It was of a heavier caliber and carried a fearsome recoil, but the big ball was a man-stopper, capable of inflicting grievous wounds.

Fontaine had told him of a little settlement north of his present location, where whites were settling around an old Spanish mission, and where a sawmill had been operating since 1819. The settlement was called Nacogdoches, after a local Indian tribe. Fontaine had said that for his next supply run, Jamie should go there and make contact with a man; Fontaine said he would send word for the man to be expecting Jamie in a few months.

But for now, Jamie had a more pressing matter to deal with. The bounty hunter had not said how many friends he had with him; but in this day and time, no one but the most foolhardy, adventurous, or skilled traveled the frontier alone, and Jamie did not think the bounty hunter was very skilled. Three or four more, he guessed.

He traveled a couple of miles, following a game path, until coming to a place his eyes had been seeking: a tiny glen where his horses and supplies would be safe. It was a natural corral. There was a small creek and graze enough for what he had to do. Should he fail, the horses would eventually break free and wander.

From a hardened leather case, he removed his bow and strung it. He did not have to inspect his arrows. He had made them and knew they would fly true. He spoke softly to his horses and comforted them, petting each one and allowing them to nuzzle him. Then the boy/man slipped into the lush and quiet forest, his moccasins making no sound as he set about his deadly business.

He did not like what he was about to do, but felt he had no choice in the matter. He would have preferred to live and let live. But Olmstead and Jackson had now made that impossible by sending armed men after him, with orders to bring him back alive, or kill him and bring back his head in a sack.

So be it.

The Shawnees had trained Jamie brutally hard, but well. He was the consummate guerrilla fighter. It had been said of the Shawnees, that when it came to camouflage, the only way you could tell a Shawnee from a tree or bush was to look closely to see if the tree or bush had eyes. Jamie had muddied his face and leafed and vined his person with green. He was death, making his way slowly through the lushness of forest.

He could now smell the woodsmoke and taste the odor of food cooking. With each step, he moved no more than a few inches, stopping, the only movement his eyes. He was surprised at the number of men. He counted six. Then he smiled. Olmstead must be very afraid of him to send so many. If these men were really after him. Of that, he must be sure. He moved closer, taking twenty minutes to cover a hundred feet and another half hour to come within easy hearing distance of the dirty and loutish-looking lot.

“Hankins should have been back by now,” the voice drifted to him. “Somethin’s gone awry.”

“Aye,” another said. “Or else he’s killed the boy and taken the head back alone, to claim the bounty for himself.”

The men were silent for a moment. “Yeah, Clarence,” one finally spoke. “He might just do that.”

“I think the kid got him,” another one said.

“I say nay to that, Cabot. This kid don’t have the sand to take Hankins.”

Jamie was sure now that he would not be ambushing pioneers on their way west to settle a new land. These men had come to take him back or kill him and cut off his head. Jamie moved closer, the sounds of their talking and arguing covering any slight noise he might make.

When he was in easy pistol range, he cocked the pistols, one at a time, covering the sound with a hand, and then leveled them. He had recharged his guns before leaving the glen, double shotting each pistol.

“Me and Kate just wanted to be left alone,” he muttered, then pulled the triggers.

The double report was enormous and when the smoke had cleared, three of the brigands were down by the fire. One had been shot in the center of the face and he was dead. The other two had taken a ball or two in the chest and stomach and were thrashing around, making fearsome noises.

Jamie shifted positions quickly, not taking the time to reload just yet. He still had his short-barreled rifle fully charged, but Jamie figured from this point on, it would be arrow or blade. But he planned on discharging his rifle against one of the bounty hunters before settling down with bow and arrow. Jamie knew it would be useless to even think about wounding those hunting him. That would accomplish nothing. He had to finish this, here and now.

One of those back at the campsite had ceased his moaning, but the other one was shrieking hideously. Jamie ignored the sound and concentrated on the woods all around him. He silently cocked his rifle and waited motionless in the tangle of brush and tall virgin trees.

“Do you think it’s Injuns, Clarence?” the call sprang out of the forest to Jamie’s right.

“No, Cabot, I don’t. I think it’s that damn MacCallister kid.”

“Then...” The third voice trailed off.

“That’s right, Dick. He got Hankins.”

The one called Dick cursed Jamie, very loud, long, and violently. He had some terrible things to say about Jamie. Dick was on the other side of the small clearing. Jamie shifted ever so slowly, until he was facing where the sound of Dick’s voice had come. He slowly pulled the rifle to his shoulder and waited. One of them would move first; he was sure of that. He knew he wouldn’t.

“Kid?” the call came from the position where the one called Clarence had last spoken. “Kid, I know you ain’t goin’ to answer, but listen to me. What’s done is done. There don’t have to be no more killin’. Let us go and you’ll not see us again.”

Jamie wanted to believe the man meant it, but he knew in his heart that could not be. He could not let them go back to Olmstead and Jackson and tell of them finding him. Olmstead’s hate ran deep as any dark river, and just about as unstoppable.

“What say you, MacCallister?” Clarence called.

Jamie remained silent.

When Clarence called again, Jamie knew the man had been lying. For his position had changed; he was working closer to where he’d seen the smoke from Jamie’s pistols.

But Jamie was far away from that spot. Jamie sighed silently and waited. The third man in the clearing had fallen silent, either dead or unconscious.

Then the man called Dick got careless. He shifted slightly and exposed part of one dirty pant leg. He was behind a thick flowering bush that Jamie had seen before but did not know what it was called. Jamie studied the bush for a long moment, finally being able to make out Dick’s shape. The fool was squatting instead of lying belly down. Jamie sighted him in, slowly took up slack on the trigger, and his rifle boomed.

Jamie instantly changed position, having already worked that move out in his mind. Two rifles roared, the balls slamming into the area where Jamie had just vacated. Jamie quickly reloaded his rifle and pistols, again double-shotting the pistols. He thought about his bow, and then rejected that idea. The brush was just too thick. This would be settled with guns.

There was no sound from Dick. The man was either unconscious or dead, probably the latter.

“Pretty good, kid,” Clarence called softly, the whisper deceptive as to his location. “Olmstead and Jackson said you’d be easy. But I kinda doubted that right off. I figure you got Hankins, so that makes you a dangerous one. Hankins was a manhunter, and a good one.”

He kept talking, and Jamie sensed that the other one, Cabot, was circling while Clarence rattled on. Jamie slithered away on his belly, crawling under bushes and low foliage, hoping he would not come nose to nose with a big rattlesnake. Once his quiver of arrows caught on a vine and the leaves shook softly. Jamie lay still for a thirty count, but no shots came his way. He moved on, working in a half circle. Then he saw Cabot just ahead of him, squatting at the edge of a tiny clearing. Jamie slowly drew himself up on one knee, his bow in his hands, arrow notched. He pulled back and let fly, the arrow driving deep into the man’s chest. Cabot’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He toppled over, dead, the arrow through his heart.

Jamie whirled as the bushes rattled behind him. Clarence was rushing at him, both hands filled with pistols, but the bushes prevented a clear shot. Jamie rolled to one side and jammed out with his bow. The brigand’s legs got all tangled up in the bow and down he came, landing heavily on his belly. One pistol discharged, the ball digging up dirt inches from Jamie’s face. Jamie thrust his bow again with all his considerable strength and a horrible, gurgling sound filled the soft forest air. The second pistol discharged harmlessly into the air. He pulled his bow back and looked at it. One end, about six inches up the wood, was slick with blood.

He jerked out a pistol and cocked it, but it was not needed. Clarence lay on his back, both hands holding onto his neck, trying to stop the gushing blood. The tip of Jamie’s bow had entered the man’s throat at the soft hollow and rammed all the way through the back of his neck.

The bounty hunter tried to speak, but could not. Jamie looked down at him, no pity in his eyes. “You should have left me alone,” he said.

Clarence gurgled at him.

“I’ll bury you all,” Jamie said. “I shouldn’t, but I will. But I won’t ask the Lord for any favors on your behalf.”

Clarence pulled out a knife and tried to throw it at Jamie. Jamie kicked it out of the man’s hand before he could hurl it.

Jamie shook his head and walked away, after picking up the man’s weapons and removing his powder horn and shot pouch. From the amount of blood the man was losing, he would be dead in a little while.

Jamie inspected all the dead, remembering what Preacher had told him. “Don’t leave nothin’ behind that’s valuable, Jamie. They’re dead and you ain’t. You and yours can use it, and they cain’t. So take it.”

Jamie didn’t like doing it, but he saw the practicality in it. He took all the money on the men, and it was a surprising tidy sum after all was counted. He found their horses and was delighted, for they were fine mounts, and one of them had not been cut and the lone mare among them was a beautiful animal. And, to his surprise, he found several pack horses with their loads already racked and ready to toss on and cinch up. They must have just resupplied at the trading post to the north. Added to what he’d bought, they now had supplies to last for months.

Jamie took the brand new shovel he’d just purchased at the trading post and dug a large common grave, dragging the bodies over and toppling them in; there was no respectful way to do it. He covered the dead, jammed a crude cross he’d made into the earth, and turned to walk away. Then, with a sigh, he returned to the mound of earth and took off his battered hat. “Lord, I give them to You. I don’t know what else to say.”

Then he set about packing up all the guns and supplies and getting the horses ready for the trail. He had a long way to go, and was anxious to get there. He would tell Kate everything that happened, for they had vowed never to hide anything from the other.

In the saddle, he looked back at the mound of earth for a moment. “I just wanted to be left alone. That’s all.”

* * *

Kate and Liza and Sally oohhed and aahhed and carried on so much about the stuff Jamie had bought it got embarrassing for him. He finally went out to sit in the dogtrot with Moses.

“Gonna tell Miss Kate about your troubles on the trail, Jamie?”

“What do you mean?”

“You got blood on your shirt and britches, Jamie. How many set upon you?”

“Seven, all told.”

Moses stiffened in the wood-and-hide chair. “Seven!”

“They’re dead. I doubt anyone will ever find the bodies. But I did bury them and speak words over the grave.”

“Seven!”

Moses was astonished and could not hide that emotion. While the runaway slave liked and trusted the young man, no more than a boy, really, he found his calmness in discussing his killing of seven men disquieting and disturbing.

Jamie’s eyes were cool and calm on Moses. “They came after me, Moses. They were to bring me back alive, if possible, or kill me and cut off my head and bring it back in a sack as proof. I could not wound them and let them return to Olmstead and Jackson. They would have sent more men after me. They probably will anyway, but this way they don’t know where I am. So what choice did I have, Moses?”

The ex-slave thought about that for a moment or two. He slowly nodded his head in agreement. “None, young Jamie. But... let me ask you this: do you feel anything about the deaths of those men?”

“No,” Jamie was quick to reply. “They came after me, Moses. I’m not going to drape myself in sackcloth and ashes and flay myself over the deaths of hired killers. You’ve got to overcome your natural, and understandable, fear of the white man, Moses. If not your distrust; for which I certainly can’t fault you. We both have a chance to start over here. I think we can have a fresh start and live out our lives here, and prosper, to some degree. I have no desire for great wealth, and I know you don’t, either. We both want basically the same things: a roof over our heads that doesn’t leak, a warm snug cabin, clothing for our backs, food for our families, and peace. You can probably attain the latter. I think that will never come for me.”

Moses was silent. He cut his eyes to Jamie, waiting for an explanation.

“Texas will fight for independence someday, and I think I shall be a part of that fight. I believe that is why Smith and Fontaine befriended me at the trading post. At least part of the reason.”

Moses said nothing. His own life as a slave had been brutal and sometimes savage, but he could clearly remember having a childhood, even though he had to work. He still had time to play, go fishing, swimming, attend worship services, and listen to the old people tell stories in the cool of the evening after the work in the fields was over. Jamie had missed all that. One day he was a boy, the next day he was thrown into adulthood, forced to use all his wits to survive. Moses had never been savagely beaten; he’d seen very little of that on the Virginia plantation where he’d been worked and played. Only a very foolish white man would pay hundreds of dollars for a strong slave and then mistreat him to the point where the slave could not work. Moses Washington, ex-slave who would be hanged or horsewhipped to death if ever found, suddenly realized that he felt sorry for Jamie Ian MacCallister. Moses realized that, in an odd way, he was more free than Jamie.

Kate and Liza and Sally came out to join the men. They brought coffee and cups and little cakes just baked. Robert and Jed were over at Moses’s place, seeing to chores. Before Jamie could tell them what had happened on his journey, Kate unexpectedly said, “Someday, Jamie, you might have to kill my father and probably my brothers, as well. It does not matter. For they are all long dead in my mind. My own brothers tried to rape me during your absence, Jamie,” she finally admitted something that Jamie had suspected all along. “Several times I had to run away from them and stay gone for days. Twice I slept in the woods with the beasts. I assure you, I much preferred their company to the company of my family. Now I’m sure my father has disowned me. They are all vile, evil people. We won’t talk of this again.”

Jamie had brought back some real sugar, and they all savored the sweetness in their coffee, sitting quietly together, enjoying each other’s company, amid the beauty and silent grandeur of the Big Thicket.

All around them, events were slowly taking place that would lead to, in less than ten years time, thirteen days of a standoff in an old mission that would become a part of world history. But the fugitives in the dark reaches of the Big Thicket knew nothing of that now. They were cognizant only of the day-to-day survival that faced them. Of them all, only Jamie really knew in his heart that Olmstead and Jackson would never give up. Kate thought that he might, someday, have to kill her father and brothers. Jamie knew that just as surely as the sun rose in the east that day faced him. There was no “might” or “perhaps” about it.

One of the twins began to cry for attention and Kate and Sally rose to see to the child. Moses looked at Jamie. “Another slave family come into the area while you were gone, Master Jamie,” he said.

“Stop calling me master, Moses. I’m not your master. Have you met them?”

“Yes. They’re of high color. They ran away because neither world would accept them.”

“That’s stupid. People are people. We all bleed the same color. You’re telling me they have white blood in them.”

“A lot of white blood.”

“Is that supposed to make a difference to me?”

“I didn’t know how you felt on the subject.”

Jamie really didn’t either. He knew only that if two people of different color wanted to marry, that was their business. But he knew that both those people had better understand what kind of price their children would have to pay in a world that frowned on such things. He said as much.

“Then we think alike,” Liza said. “It ain’t fair to saddle the children with such a burden. Not now and probably won’t never be.”

“Woman...” Moses said.

“Don’t woman me,” his wife warned him. “Eagles don’t mate with sparrows and bears don’t mate with bobcats. God made it that way. White man takes up with an Indian woman, given time, most whites will accept it. Won’t never accept black and white. Not now, not never. Only a foolish or uppity nigger thinks otherwise. Them poor children over yonder has got a terrible burden to bear.”

“What am I missing here?” Jamie asked.

“Two of the kids is more white than black,” Moses said. “They gonna have to try to pass later on.”

Jamie looked more confused than ever.

“They’ll try to enter the white world as white,” Liza cleared it up.

Jamie could surely understand why they would want to try. Blacks received terrible treatment at the hands of many whites. Jamie suddenly looked up, as the faint sounds of hooves reached his ears. One horse. Since he always took different trails to his cabin, and he knew he had never been followed, he had no idea who the person might be.

He looked at Moses. The man nodded his head, but did not seem at all alarmed. “Egg comes,” he said.

“Egg?”

“Head of the Cherokee police. He is Chief Diwali’s right-hand man. He is also called the Enforcer.”

“Is he coming to try to arrest me?”

Moses smiled. “The Egg, or The Hawk, as he is sometimes called, does not try to do anything, Young Jamie. But no, I do not think he comes to arrest you. For killing seven bad white men he probably might try to give you some award.”

“I gather he knew all along that Kate and me were here?”

“The Cherokee police miss very little, Jamie.”

“The Mexican government allows this?”

“The Mexican government made Chief Diwali a colonel in their army. That answer your question?”

“Yes.” Jamie watched the lone rider exit the timber and ride slowly toward the cabin. “That’s the biggest damn horse I think I’ve ever seen!”

“Wait until you see the man riding it,” Liza spoke.

He was the biggest Indian Jamie had ever seen. Egg, or Hawk, must have weighed two hundred and seventy-five pounds if he weighed an ounce. The horse he rode was a dray animal, and Jamie wondered where he got it. Kate and Sally came out, both with a baby in their arms.

Jamie stood up and made the sign for peace. The huge Indian gave no indication that he understood or gave a damn if he did understand . . . and since the sign was almost universal, Jamie was certain he did. Egg carried a rifle in his left hand, and pistols stuck behind a wide belt. He sat his horse and stared at Jamie. His eyes were unreadable.

“Would you like to dismount and have something to eat and drink with us?” Jamie asked in English.

Egg cocked his rifle and raised it, the muzzle pointed straight at Jamie’s chest.