Eyes of Eagles (5 page)

The man with the arrow in one buttock cried out. “I been grievously wounded, Mr. Montgomery. Will you see to it that I come under a doctor's care?”

The pounding of hooves stopped any further words. Armed men jumped off their mounts and rushed to the scene. They looked at the arrow-punctured bandits and then at Jamie.

“I think you done well by takin' this lad under your roof, Sam,” one said. “These are the Saxon brothers from down Tennessee way. My oldest boy said he thought he seen them a-skulkin' around your place the other afternoon. I was raised up with their oldest brother over in Virginia. He's a good man, but these two is nothing but white trash.”

“Where'd you stand to put the points in them, boy?” another man asked.

“Over there by the overhang,” Jamie said, slipping the sinew bow string off to save both string and bow. “They were talking about knocking you in the head, Mr. Sam, and then... well, doing things to your wife.”

“That's a filthy calumny!” one of the Saxon brothers yelled. “We done no such thing. He's just tryin' to get us hanged!”

“I do not lie,” Jamie said. “There is no reason for me to lie. If I had wanted you both dead, I could have easily done so.”

One of the men who had ridden to the scene said, “That's a good twenty-five/thirty yards over yonder, boy. You right sure you didn't just luck out these shots?”

Jamie looked at the man. Without changing expression, he restrung his bow and notched an arrow. The barn door was fifty yards from where he stood. “The dark spot just above the latch,” he said, and lifted the bow. The arrow flew to the dark spot with a thud. “This one will go beside the first one.” The arrow landed within an inch of the first arrow.

The men laughed. One said, “You got any more questions about the boy's skill, Luke?”

Luke good-naturedly joined in the laughter and replied, “Nope. My wife always said I beat all for puttin' my foot in my mouth. Looks like I done it again.” When the laughter had once more subsided, he smiled down at Jamie. “You're all right, son. You're all right.”

“I got me a arrey in my arse and y'all's havin' a arrey shoot!” the rump-shot brigand yelled. “How about givin' me some relief?”

Luke spat on the ground. “When the jury hears the boy's testimony about what you wanted to do with Mrs. Montgomery, you'll get some relief, Saxon. Thirteen steps and a rope.”

The men were trussed up and tossed, not too gently, into the back of a wagon and since it was only a couple of hours until dawn, they were taken into town to the jail, escorted by several of Sam's neighbors.

“Stay here and protect Sarah, Jamie,” Sam told him.

The boy nodded his head, a solemn expression on his face. “I will do that, sir. You do not have to worry while I am here.”

“I do believe he means it, too,” a man muttered. “I shore do.”

On the way into town, one of the neighbors said, “The boy don't smile much, do he, Sam?”

“I guess if you're raised as a captive by Shawnees,” Sam replied, “you wouldn't have a lot to smile about.”

“Raised by Shawnees!” one of the Saxon brothers hollered, lying on his stomach in the bed of the wagon. “Why, that's got to be the Wolf-boy that there Cherokee told us about a couple of months ago, brother. The one that was taken captive as a tadpole.”

“Wolf-boy?” a neighbor said.

And the conversation was lively on the ride into town, with Sam telling the story — he still wasn't sure he believed it — about Jamie facing down the pack of wolves and gaining the Shawnee name of Man Who Is Not Afraid.

“Damn!” Luke said. “You shore nuff got you a ring-tailed-tooter, Sam.”

“Yes, I sure did,” Sam replied. “I don't believe anyone would argue that.”

“I damn sure won't,” a Saxon said. “Oh, Lordy, my arse is on fire!”

The news of Jamie's felling two horse thieves with arrows was all over the small community by breakfast time. Most of the people applauded the boy's actions and most of them lamented that Jamie did not aim higher and once and for all rid the land of the worthless Saxon Brothers.

“Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,” the Reverend Callaway told a gathering of men.

“The Lord also works in mysterious ways,” one of Jamie's supporters countered.

But a few were on the other side.

“I told them at the meetin' hall that damn boy was nothin' but a savage,” John Jackson said to Hart Olmstead, the only man in the community with a worse disposition and attitude than John. Hart was an ignorant, opinionated, overbearing, crude, hulking lout. And his four sons were just like him, one of whom was Jamie's age.

“Oncest them damn Shawnees git holt of a person, that person ain't never fitten to live in a white society agin,” Hart said. “I'll not have my boys rubbin' elbows with no damn red nigger. He ain't white no more. He's Injun, through and through.”

Very few in the community agreed with that opinion, but it only takes a few.

“And I don't believe that wench's story about her bein' off in the head, neither,” Hart opined. “Some stinkin' buck bedded her down first night in that Shawnee town and that's that.” He shuddered at the thought. “That's almost as bad as bein' had by a nigger. Let's go see Sheriff Marwick. I know them Saxon boys. They ain't bad people. I don't believe they was tryin' to steal Montgomery's hosses.”

The sheriff, a large pus-gutted man named Burl Harwick, was about as qualified to uphold and enforce the law as he was to be pope. But when elections were held, no one else wanted the job so he got it, more by default than popularity. Burl was even more ignorant than Hart Olmstead, and on top of that, he was a coward. He was also inherently lazy. Few really liked the man, so it was only natural he would be friends with John Jackson and Hart Olmstead.

“I ain't met the boy as yet,” Burl said to his two friends. Just about his only friends. “But ever'body says he's a right nice boy. Big for his age and sol-emnlike.”

“Well, you got to talk to him, Burl,” John said. “And since we're your duly sworn deputies, we'll ride along with you out to the Montgomery place. I think once you talk to him, you'll see what me and Hart already know: he's an Injun. And we don't want no damn Injuns around here.”

John and Hart were sworn deputies, albeit unpaid ones. However, they both knew that few in the community took them very seriously.

Burl checked on his prisoners before he locked up the sturdy log jail. Both men were in leg irons and behind bars, and that, coupled with their wounds, insured that they were not going anywhere. The “doctor,” actually a barber and bartender by profession, had to dig and cut the arrowheads out of the rump and leg of the Saxon brothers. Not a very pleasant experience. The brothers lay on their bunks and suffered with a great deal of loud complaining.

“Be a relief just to get away from those two,” Sheriff Marwick said, as he locked the outer door. It was a long ride out to the Montgomery place, and Burl was not a good horseman. By the time he arrived, his “deputies” with him, the sheriff was not in a good mood.

And John had been right: Burl took an immediate dislike to Jamie. The boy was big for his age, and there was cold defiance in those pale eyes. And something else, too: the boy was not afraid of him. That was unsettling to Burl. He'd never met a boy who wasn't afraid of, if not the man, as least the badge pinned on the outside of his black coat. But not this boy. And Burl had never been comfortable in the Montgomery home. It was too fancy for his tastes.

Burl questioned the boy, and got the same story as he had earlier from Sam Montgomery.

“Let fly them arrows a bit quick, I'd say,” Hart Olmstead said.

“You weren't here,” Jamie said, meeting the man's gaze. “So how would you know?”

“Don't you sass me, you smart-mouthed half Injun pup!” Hart said.

“That'll do, Hart!” Sam stepped between them. “You're forgetting that you are in my home. I'll not permit you to browbeat this boy.”

“I'm an officer of the law, Sam. You interfere with my questionin' of this boy and I'll put you behind bars.”

“I'd like to see you try that, Hart,” Sam's words were quietly offered. But they were edged with tempered steel. “As far as you being an officer of the law, you're nothing but a joke. You and John both. Now get out of my house.”

Hart Olmstead marched to the front door of the fine home near the edge of wilderness, his boots thudding heavily. At the door, he turned and pointed a blunt finger at Sam. “I'll thrash no man in front of a good woman, Sam Montgomery, and your Sarah is a good woman. But I give you warnin' now, first time I see you alone in town, I'd challenge you to fists, by God.”

Sam stiffened in anger. He was not as big as Hart Olmstead, but was very strong. And Jamie suspected, from looking at Sam's big, flat-knuckled hands, the man knew how to fight.

“Sam ...” Sarah said.

“Stay out of this, Sarah. I'll have no man throw down a challenge and expect me to stand by and do nothing. Get outside, Olmstead. I am going to teach you a lesson you will never forget.” Sam had no way of knowing how prophetic his words would turn out to be.

Hart Olmstead's face turned first chalk white and then beet red. He very nearly tore the door down getting out of the home. Sam Montgomery removed his coat and took off his shirt. His muscles fairly rippled as he flexed his arms. He winked at Jamie. “I don't hold with fighting, lad. But there comes a time when a man must fight for what he believes in. Sarah, would you be so kind as to grind some beans and have a fresh pot of coffee for me. And also have some hot water to bathe my cuts and bruises. Mr. Olmstead is a brute, and I shall not come out of this unscathed.”

Sarah waited until the heavy bell stopped ringing in the front yard.

“Certainly,” Sarah said, her face pale. She cut her eyes to Jamie. “The boy...”

“The boy has been a man for some time, I suspect. He will be outside, with me.”

“Why the bell, Sam?” Sarah asked.

“Olmstead wants everyone in our community to be here to see me receive a thrashing at his hands. I am afraid he is to be sorely disappointed. Sorely, in more ways than one,” he added with a small smile.

Sam and Jamie walked out of the house while the neighbors were gathering. The women hurried into the house. In the front yard, Sam said, “Get away from Sarah's flowers. I don't want them trampled on.” Sam walked out of the yard and to the side of the road. “Get over here, Olmstead, and toe the mark.”

Jamie looked back at the home. All the women had gathered at the windows and thrown open the shutters. He turned to look at Hart Olmstead. Sam had been right; the man was a brute, with massive shoulders and arms. And Jamie could tell he was spoiling for a fight.

Olmstead spat on the ground and lifted his fists. “Now, rich boy, you'll get your comeuppance. I intend to knock you off that ivory tower you sit on like a king.”

Jamie had been right in guessing that Sam Montgomery was a man of substance. And people like John Jackson and Hart Olmstead always resented those with money.

Jamie's pa had told him that.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Jamie had taken a pistol from Sam's holster that hung from a peg in the hallway and shoved it behind his belt and pulled out his shirttail to cover the butt. He didn't trust the sheriff or John Jackson. He believed neither of them to be honorable men.

Hart walked up to Sam and Sam hit him twice in the face before Hart could blink. The blows were powerful ones that rocked Hart's head back and bloodied the bigger man's lips and nose.

Hart cursed Sam and took a wild swing that, had it connected, would have done some damage. Sam ducked under the whistling fist and struck Hart a terrible blow to the stomach. The air wheezed out of Olmstead and before he could recover, Sam had knocked him down in the mud with a hard left.

“I'm probably making a bad mistake, but I'll not put the boots to you, Olmstead,” Sam told him, backing up and giving the man room. “Although if the position were reversed, I believe you would not hesitate to kick me.”

Hart Olmstead rose slowly to his feet, hate and fury in his eyes and on his bloody face. “No man does this to me,” he panted the words. “No man!”

“I just did,” Sam spoke calmly. “But it need not continue. Whether it does or not, depends entirely on you.”

With a roar of rage and a wild obscenity on his lips, Hart charged Sam, hoping to get him in a bear hug and crush some ribs. But Sam had anticipated that and merely stepped to one side and tripped the bigger and heavier man, sending him crashing to the ground, sliding in the mud for a few feet, on his belly, chest, and face.

The men all laughed and that made Hart Olmstead even angrier. “Damn you all!” he screamed, getting to his knees and squatting there in the mud and the blood. “I'm an officer of the law in this county. I demand respect. And I command the whole damn lot of you to stop laughing.”

That brought even more laughter and hoots and catcalls of derision from the crowd of men. Over it all, Jamie could faintly hear giggling coming from the house. Jamie cut his eyes to Sheriff Marwick. The man looked embarrassed.

Hart got to his feet and the man was a mess, mud and blood dripping from him. Sam stood nonchalantly, still neat as a pin. He had not even broken a sweat.

“Give this up, Hart,” Sam said. “We'll call it a draw and shake hands and you can clean up over yonder at the rain barrel. What say you, Hart?”

“I'll kill you!” Hart screamed, and rushed at Sam.

Hart was swinging both fists and they both connected against Sam, knocking the man backward and bloodying his lips. Sam regained his balance and clubbed the maddened Olmstead hard on the back of the neck, knocking him down. Olmstead was up on his feet fast and rushed Sam. For a moment, the two men stood toe to toe and slugged it out, both of them landing hard punches.

But soon Sam's blows began to have an effect on Olmstead, backing the man up, blood streaming from the man's mouth and nose. Olmstead's lips were pulped and his nose was nearly flat.

Hart back-heeled Sam and sent him crashing to the ground. Hart tried to put the boots to the smaller man and Sam rolled away, jumping to his feet. Hart rushed him and Sam stopped the man cold in his tracks with a solid left and right to both sides of the man's jaw. Hart's knees wobbled and Sam bored in relentlessly, hammering hard with blows to the head and the body.

Hart covered up his face and backed away, trying to clear his head and recover his waning strength. But Sam pressed him, hitting hard with body blows. Hart lowered his fists to protect his bruised and aching belly and Sam wound up a right and blasted the big man flush in the mouth, following that with a left that when it landed sounded like someone hit a watermelon with the flat side of an axe. Hart's eyes rolled back and he went down to his knees in the churned-up mud. He stayed on his knees for a few seconds, then slowly toppled over, face first in the rutted road.

The crowd stood silent, but every man there had a smile on his lips. And that did not go unnoticed by Sheriff Marwick and John Jackson. It was at that point when Jackson realized just how much he and Marwick and Olmstead were disliked by the members of the community.

“Is anybody gonna help me get Hart to his feet?” Marwick said, walking over to the unconscious Olmstead.

No one in the crowd made a move.

Jamie felt eyes on him and turned his head. John Jackson was staring straight at him, the hate shining bright and hard. Jamie knew then, but did not know why, that he had made a terrible enemy of the man.

Sheriff Marwick dragged Hart Olmstead off the road while Jackson fetched a bucket of water from the well. Sam was drying his face and upper body with a rag one of the neighbors had handed him. Jackson poured the bucket of well water on Olmstead's head and the man groaned and rolled over. Jamie had never before witnessed such a beating as this one — and he was not alone, neither had most of the others present.

Hart Olmstead's face was cut, battered, bruised, and bloody. One eye was completely closed and one ear swollen nearly three times its normal size. His lips were swollen and his nose was mashed all over the center of his face. On his bare torso, there were huge splotches of red and blue/green where Sam's fists had landed.

Olmstead moaned and sat up, with a little help from Marwick. Through his one good eye, he glared balefully first at Sam Montgomery then at Jamie. He didn't have to say a word. The eye spoke silent hatred.

“This is not over, Montgomery,” Hart pushed the words past swollen lips.

“It is as far as I am concerned,” Sam told him, slipping into his shirt he'd hung on the split-rail fence.

“I'll kill you someday,” Hart said.

“Shut up, Hart,” Sheriff Marwick told him. “Don't talk like that.”

“Son of a bitch!” Hart said to Sam.

Sam stiffened, for that was an insult that warranted killing.

“He didn't necessarily say that to you, Sam!” John Jackson said hurriedly. “Just take it easy, Sam. Your name wasn't connected with that oath.”

“That's true, Sam,” a neighbor said. He looked at Hart, now standing on his feet, leaning against the sheriff. “You best clear this up, Olmstead. Did you hurl that insult at Sam?”

Hart stood for a few seconds, then slowly shook his head. He was in no shape for a pistol affair, and he knew it. “No. Of course not.”