Eyes of Eagles (14 page)

“No more, lad!” Fontaine called from the porch. “You'll kill the man.”

Jamie turned, his blue eyes cold. “And that would be a loss to this community?”

“Nay, lad,” Smith called. “But the man is down now. He can't get up.”

Jamie looked at the battered and bloody man lying in the dust of the street. Bradford was near unconsciousness. Jamie turned his back to him and walked to the porch and then into the store.

Smith turned to Bradford's shocked friends. “Get him out of the street and see to him. And don't return here until you can conduct yourselves with some degree of civility.” He followed Jamie into the store and set about filling the young man's shopping list.

“The lad is a cool one,” Fontaine remarked, as he watched Bradford's friends drag the man off to the shade of a tree.

“Aye,” a man agreed. “The kind we need in this country... when the time comes.”

“Curb your tongue,” Fontaine said, cutting his eyes all about him. “Words of Texas independence falling on the wrong ears means death in the night. I shall befriend this young man and sound him out.”

A few buildings away, the lone rider had slapped the dust from his clothing and was walking toward the huge general store. He carried two pistols behind his waistband. That in itself was not unusual, for most men carried at least one pistol and oftentimes several of them. It was the way this man carried them: the butt of each pistol facing forward and slanted toward the other, enabling the man to draw with either hand.

And the placement of the pistols did not escape the attention of Jamie as the man walked into the store. He had learned long ago to miss nothing. Jamie put some tobacco on the counter for Moses — the ex-slave made his own pipes — and watched as the pile of articles began to grow.

“You must really live a long way off, lad?” Smith said with a smile.

Jamie returned the smile. If he was a bit ruffled by the savage fight he'd just been in — savage for Bradford, not for him — he did not show it. Fact is, he wasn't. “A very long way,” he said.

And Smith knew he was not about to get more out of the lad. But he did know by what Jamie was purchasing that he was buying for several women and babies. And for several men, judging by the clothing sizes.

Smith noticed the stranger edging closer to Jamie, pretending to be looking at goods. And he knew that Jamie was very aware of the man. The lad's eyes had lost their friendliness and had taken on that cold frosty look once more.

“Quite a fight out there,” the stranger spoke from just behind Jamie. “Where'd you learn to fight like that?”

“From my father and his friends,” Jamie replied. Not exactly a lie, for Tall Bull had adopted him.

“Queer way of fightin'. Don't see many white men fight like that.”

“Whatever it takes to win.”

“You know a mite of Injun wrestlin,' I'd say.”

“Could be.” Jamie tensed as the man moved closer.

The ladies had not reentered the store after the fight, choosing to be escorted back to their homes, and the place was empty except for Smith, who owned it, and Fontaine, who was one of Austin's men and who, back when he was working openly for the U.S. government, had been one of those instrumental in persuading the pirate, Lafitte, to leave Galveztown, as it was then called, only a few years back.

Smith said, “Can I help you, Mister?”

“No. But Jamie here can.”

Jamie smiled. This did not come as a surprise; he knew he'd be found eventually, for Kate's father was a vengeful man, and hate ran strong in him. And Caddo Indians had told Jamie that while visiting over across the river in Louisiana they'd heard that Jamie had a price on his head.

He lifted his eyes to Smith. “I'm no highwayman, sir. And I killed in self-defense. Killed one of the men who beat and raped a dear friend of mine. I suspect that my wife's father has placed a bounty on my head for running off with his daughter. Is that not true, Mr. Whoever-You-Are?”

“You're comin' back to Kaintuck with me, Jamie Ian MacCallister,” the man said.

“I doubt it,” Jamie said calmly. Jamie's right hand was hidden from the bounty hunter by his body and from Smith by the rough counter. Only Fontaine saw him slip the razor-sharp knife from the sheath. “How much is Olmstead paying you for this travesty of justice?”

“That ain't none of your concern.”

“How about Kate, my wife?”

“Mr. Olmstead don't want no more to do with that slut. She's on her own.”

Smith and Fontaine both shook their heads at the callousness of the father.

“But you're goin' back, one way or 'tother, MacCallister. Alive, or with your stinkin' head in a sack for proof.”

The man's hand flew to the butt of a pistol and Jamie whirled, his knife flashing, cutting the man from side to side, the blade sinking deep.

The bounty hunter screamed hideously and fell to the floor, the blood gushing from him. He put both hands to his stomach in a futile attempt to stop the blood. He looked up at Jamie. “Damn your eyes! You've killed me!”

Jamie wiped his blade clean and sheathed his knife. “I didn't start this. You did.”

“You... You won't get away. There are others with me. They'll...” The man fell back, stretching out on the floor. Jamie's knife had cut deep, ripping vital organs.

“I'd have done the same, lad,” Fontaine was the first to speak. “You had no choice.”

“None at all,” Smith agreed. “He's fair done for. We don't have a doctor anyway.”

“No doctor would do this one any good,” Fontaine said.

“Goddamn you, MacCallister!” the dying man cursed.

“Here now!” Smith admonished. “That's no way to depart this life to stand before your Maker.”

The bounty hunter mouthed a terrible oath.

“I didn't want this,” Jamie said. “I'll stand before the court of law and plead my case.”

Fontaine gave a short humorless bark and Smith chuckled grimly. “
What
courts of law, Jamie?,” the store owner said. “We have no law here. Not to speak of. I'll have my people carry the body out and bury it. No one need ever know of this. I'll fetch my manservants. Close and bar the front door, Louis. Then Jamie can tell us his story.” Smith walked to the rear of the store and called out, then returned to the counter.

Jamie looked down at the now dead man. “I just wanted to be left alone with Kate and the babies.”

“And you shall be, Jamie,” Fontaine said, walking back from barring the door. “We need men like you in this country. Your secret is safe with us. I promise you that.”

“Why?” Jamie asked.

Smith threw a ragged blanket over the dead man. “Because men like you are going to have to settle this land. Strong men, brave men, men who will stand and fight for what they believe in. Not human vultures like this wretch on the floor, who feed off the misery and misfortune of others. No bad man buys candy and foofaraws and geegaws for kids and women. No bad person lays in supplies for others first and buys nothing for himself. That's why.”

Two Indians came silently in from the back and Jamie signed with them. Their eyes shone their approval and they spoke silently with their hands for a moment.

“Man Who Is Not Afraid,” one finally said in English. “Man Who Tames Wolves and Panthers. We heard you were here.”

“What?” Fontaine said, his eyes holding a puzzled look. “What's this?”

“It's a long story,” Jamie said, as the Indians picked up the body and walked out the rear of the store.

“They'll bury him deep in the woods,” Smith said, working at the blood stains with a wet mop. “His horse has already been taken outside of town.”

How many more dead men lie before me? Jamie questioned his mind. How many more before I can live in peace?

“Do you be careful on the ride back to hearth and home, Jamie,” Smith said. “For he said he had others with him.”

“I'll be careful,” Jamie said. “Kate's waiting for me.”

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.”