Spake As a Dragon Read online

  “Wasn’t she the oldest Mama? What happened to her?”

  “Yes, she was hon, she was my firstborn. Baby Paul was the second. A couple of years after we left Scarlettsville she and Lester both died,” Malinda said with tears streaming down her face. “In the 1830’s the Federal government moved all the Indians from their homes in South Carolina, but a lot of the Indians hid in the mountains and did not go on the “Trail of Tears” march to Oklahoma. It was said, but never proven, that the government sent Indian traders in among the remaining tribes with smallpox-infected blankets. The government wanted to remove all remaining Indians left in the East by trading the infected blankets to the Indians. Your older sister Cecelia June and her husband Lester ran a small store in Scarlettsville. The government sent the smallpox blankets to their store before moving them out to the Indians. Cecelia and Lester both came down with the ‘pox and died soon after.”

  “Mama, did the ‘pox kill little Paul too?”

  “No darling, he just got sick and did not recover, he was just a few months old. I always thought he caught pneumonia.”

  For the first few weeks, the small wagon train moved east from Albertville, which is located on a plateau known as Sand Mountain, into the valley to the small military outpost at Fort Payne, Alabama. This route skirted the mighty Tennessee River, which was much too wide and swift for them to attempt a crossing, and the only close ferry would take them in the wrong direction. The small fort lay in a narrow valley on Big Wills Creek immediately west of Lookout Mountain with Sand Mountain somewhat more removed to the southwest. Fort Payne was a good safe place to rest for a few days.

  Once their animals had rested, the family got their two-wagon wagon train back on the trail to South Carolina. Their next obstacle was the wilderness surrounding the area of the Tallulah River of northern Georgia. The area was dense and the view to their front was severely limited by the growth of hardwood trees and a considerable amount of undergrowth.

  They had been out of the fort for about a week; it was late afternoon Malinda is looking for a suitable spot to make camp for the night. She stops the two wagons in an open grassy area next to a cool, running creek, which apparently flows from a spring somewhere up the mountainside.

  “Stephen you and Thomas Henry get the fishing poles and see if you might catch a couple of trout for supper. William you and Isaac get the campfire started while Sary and I get the stew going.” Speaking to Mattie Ann and Lizzie, “You two just make yourselves useful.”

  Stephen and Thomas are gleefully whooping as they landed a couple of large Rainbows. Thomas proudly rushes back into camp with a twelve-inch whopper. Stephen has that downcast look of dejection, but his ten-inch trout is nothing to sneeze at. Malinda brags and Sary oohs and awes at their catch. “Boys get over there on that log and clean those two beauties, they are going to make some fine eating for supper.”

  Stephen and Thomas are laughing and slapping each other on the back as they find a place to begin cleaning their fish. “What was that?” Stephen quietly asks.

  “Don’t know, didn’t hear nothin’.”

  “There, hear that? That was the whinny of a horse coming through the woods. Mama,” Stephen said to his mother in a loud whisper, “someone’s coming!”

  “Sary, get the gun out of the wagon.”

  Malinda had the 12-gauge in her hands as a couple of men on horseback came out of the woods into the light of the fire. They appeared to be dressed in uniform, but not blue or grey. What they wore was more of the Forest Green color. Their faces were tanned from months of exposure to the sun, in fact their skin had more the appearance of leather than skin. Their eyes were sunken deep within their eye sockets and appeared as though they had seen many unhappy events in the past. Both had shaggy beards that had grown to the top of their green collars. The closest man had a chew of tobacco so large Malinda wondered how he ever got it into his mouth. Both had cavalry sabers hanging from their belts and bedrolls tied to their saddles. The saddles, from where Malinda stands, appear to be military – but whose? Yankee or Confed?

  The one closest spits tobacco juice on the ground beside his horse, “Howdy Ma’am, we smelt yer fire from way off and thought we might need to reconnoiter the situation. What’s two wimmen like yerselfs doing out here in this wilderness? I sees you have three or four boys with you, where’s your men folk?”

  “The three men with us are out in the woods gathering up firewood!” Malinda says, thinking that might forestall any bad intentions the two vagabonds might have.

  “Seems to me,” said the second man, “you’ve got plenty wood piled up there already.” Dismounting from his horse, “What’s we havin’ fer supper? I sees a big pot of somethin’ biling there over that far, and them two over by the logs got a couple of nice fryin’ fish. Thanks fer invitin’ us for supper.”

  Malinda raises the shotgun, “You hit that saddle on your horse and the two of you get back to wherever you came from, I mean it!”

  “Now,” said man number one, “you don’t have to git so bossy we’s just tryin’ to be friendly, and thought you might be neighborly and let us have some hot food. We ain’t et no hot vittles in quite a spell, and youse for shore the first wimmen we’ve seen up close in a mighty long spell too. White or black, right Herman?”

  Looking at the two women he smiled, “Yo’re right Jimbo, and that honey-haired one is shore purty.”

  Herman had not made any attempt to get back upon his horse. He unbuttoned his jacket to expose a large Colt pistol buckled to his hip in a manner that made it easy to get to, and placed his right hand on the handle. “What you say about them vittles little lady?” Glancing toward their wagons, he said, “What about them wagons? What ya got in them? Whatcha say me and you have a little fun after we done et?”

  Malinda has made up her mind, although she isn’t happy about the situation, he wants fun then she’s going to let him have some fun – from the business end of her 12 gauge. She is going to kill these two before they get the upper hand on her. She pulls the two rabbit-eared hammers back on the shotgun, she takes up the tension on the trigger, she’s within a fraction of a second ready to fire when suddenly another green clad rider emerges from the woods, “What’s goin’ on here Sergeant!” Announces the latest newcomer.

  Malinda releases the tension on the shotgun trigger. Looks toward the tree line, but cannot plainly see the man speaking. The sun is directly at his back and all she can see is the outline of a man with the sunrays seemingly radiating from his body.

  “Well sir,” said Jimbo, “these here kind ladies was jest about to ask us to have supper with them, ain’t that right ma’am?”

  Assessing the situation, it was two armed riders against only one lone horseman, she figured the odds were on the side of the two with the pistols so she replied, “Yes, that is right, we were just going to invite these two gentlemen to sup with us.”

  “Sergeant! You and the corporal get back to our camp and get your supper there like the rest of the men, now git!”

  “Yessir, Captain, we’s goin’!” said Jimbo saluting.

  Stepping from his horse, the rider removes his hat. Malinda could plainly see him now but couldn’t help notice his hat adorned with a large black ostrich feather. “I’m sorry ladies if my men were a nuisance to you. Those were two of my scouts Sergeant Guthrey and Corporal Gullion. Sometimes, living in the woods months on end as we do, they overstep their bounds and forget their manners. Let me introduce myself, and apologize for their actions, I will deal with them later. Ladies I am Captain Francis Angel Marion, some call me the Swamp Fox.”

  Malinda responds, “Francis Marion, I seem to remember there was a Swamp Fox named Francis Marion in the Revolutionary War?”

  “Your memory is totally accurate Madam that was my grandfather. I am Francis Angel Marion, his grandson. I lead as my grandfather did before me, an outfit of Confederate rangers who operate behind the enemy lines. We wear the green uniforms to blend in with the green of the fores
t. All my men are volunteers and are as skilled woodsmen as they are excellent soldiers. That is, excepting their manners.”

  Malinda introduces herself and her family. She explains that they are on their way to South Carolina and her husband and two sons are fighting for the Confederacy, where exactly, she does not know. She explains about losing the farm for back taxes and the need to move to a place where she has relatives.

  “Obviously by leaving your home in Alabama to the tax collector you are limited in funds,” taking a leather pouch from his saddlebag he tosses it to Malinda. “Take this, you will need provisions along the way and tolls will have to be paid to ferrymen to cross some of the rivers you will encounter.”

  “No! Sir,” responds Malinda, “we cannot take your money, you and your men will have need of it!”

  “Not to worry Mrs. Scarburg, it once belonged to the Union army, anyway we can all ways get more where that came from. It has been a pleasure meeting you all, and I wish you a safe journey to your destination in Carolina. My men will insure you safe passage until you reach the thundering water of Anna Ruby Falls. This unique double waterfall cascades off of Tray Mountain in a spectacular 153-foot drop, you will be safe until you reach that area. From there to the Carolina border be on the lookout not only for Yankees, but deserters of both armies and of course run-away slaves. I suggest you camp at the base of the waterfall for a couple of weeks until the Yankee command garrisoned on the Georgia and South Carolina border move out and return back up north. Post a guard at night and in the daytime always be on the alert. Until we meet again, I bid you adieu.” Tipping his hat, he mounts his horse, turns and disappears into the forest as quickly as he had arrived.

  “Quick Miss Malinda open that poke...how much money did he’s gave us?”

  “Lordy, Sary! What am I to do with you?” Malinda said smiling. She may be smiling and making jest with Sary, but she is also very interested in the money too. Exploring the contents of the pouch she sees it is only a couple of small gold pieces and a few silver coins that total nearly ten dollars, but ten dollars is ten dollars more money than they had before!

  It was then Malinda realized Sary’s prayer as they were about to board the wagons and leave Alabama, “Keep us always mindful of Your presence and love. May God in heaven ride with us on this dangerous journey… and may you sends one of your angels to protect us and give us a helping hand, if the need comes.”

  ‘Well, I’ll be,’ thought Malinda, ‘Francis Angel Marion!’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  WHAT’S YOUR BUSINESS?

  The late summer air was stifling and hot as Luke sat on the front porch cleaning the guns he and Sam had gotten off the dead outlaws after they killed the bear. They had salvaged three Colt handguns, two Henry .44 caliber carbine rifles and three skinning knifes. He had just finished cleaning one of the Henrys as he noticed four riders approaching from the direction of Knoxville. He assumed they were heading over the mountain to Lexington, Kentucky, he assumed wrong.

  Once the riders reach the gate leading up to the farmhouse they stop. They do not nudge their horses forward up the mountain they turn and enter through the gate. From the gate to the house, a distance of about five hundred yards, the riders spur their mounts into a slow gallop.

  As they approach Luke stands up and walks to the railing of the porch carrying one of the Henrys, fully loaded. As the four men near he can see, they are not locals, they each are riding double hitched, Texas quarter horses, the type of horse used to rope and herd cattle. The man riding in front wears a pair of black, boot length chaps. His Mexican roping saddle is glissining, solid black leather, inlaid with silver. His spurs are so large Luke can hear them jingling as he rides. All four wear leather vests and tall, ten-gallon Texas Stetsons. Colt .44 six-shooters are strapped to the leg of each. They each have lassos tied to the right side of their saddles. The bullets in their holsters glint in the sunlight as they approach.

  “Howdy, friend,” the leader says to Luke as he reins his horse to a stop.

  Before answering Luke looks the strangers over closely; however, the one with the black chaps has a .45 on each hip with the butts turned forward. Luke assumes this is to necessitate a faster draw. Luke recognizes a gunfighter when he sees one. He didn’t know about the other three, but this one dude is not only the leader he is also the fast draw of the bunch. Setting the Henry butt end down upon the porch railing, finger on the trigger, hammer back Luke replies, “What’s your business?”

  “Now,” says the gunslinger, “that don’t sound very neighborly, friend.”

  “Two things wrong with that,” said Luke.

  “What you trying to say friend?”

  “I ain’t your neighbor and I sure ain’t your friend, now turn them horses of yours around and mosey, yeah that what you say in Texas ain’t it, ‘mosey’ on back to the gate and keep on going.”

  The gunslinger sits up in his saddle and asks, “Where’d you get that Henry carbine? It’s got the initials “B.T.” carved in the stock. That rifle belongs to Buck Thornhill. How’d you get it?”

  “Buck must’a lost it and I found it, guess it rightly belongs to me now,” said Luke.

  As Luke talks the gunfighter rises up on his right leg and begins to throw his left leg over his horse’s flank as if going to dismount. Luke grabs the Henry and pulls the trigger, the gunfighter falls headfirst to the ground. The .45 he had slipped into his right hand to ambush Luke falls to the ground also.

  The other three pull their pistols and begin to fire, Luke ducks behind a porch post as slivers of wood begin to rain down around him. The outlaws are firing so fast he cannot stick his head out to get another shot, suddenly he hears the crack of the old Spencer repeater, opening up from the barn.

  Nate knocks one of the riders from his horse with the first shot. Luke now has time to begin emptying his Henry toward the remaining two gunmen. One breaks toward the road in an attempt to escape to the front gate, Luke hears the belching of fire coming from a Colt .44 from behind the big old oak tree beside the barn. It is Sam. Sam fires again and headfirst the rider crumbles from the saddle onto the dirt. Number four hollers, “Don’t shoot,” while sticking his arms into the air. “I give up!” He no sooner said the word ‘up’ when another Spencer round caught him squarely in the chest knocking him from the saddle. He lands flat on his back with a thud onto the dirt of the yard.

  Luke runs out into the yard to check on the men. The gunslinger never knew what hit him, and the one Nate popped from the barn was done for too, so was the one Sam hit who broke and ran for the gate; however, the last one Nate nailed as he was surrendering was alive, just barely. Just in case these outlaws are interested, and this one obviously is, a .56 caliber Spencer makes a mighty big hole going in and an even larger one coming out.

  Luke bends down and cradles the dying man’s head in his lap, blood oozed from the front and back of his shirt, “Why? Why did y’all come here looking for trouble?” Luke earnestly asked.

  “Me and Cimarron wuz up at the Gap (gasp)... the day Buck comes running in (gasp)... telling about Old Bill and his gold mine. When spring come (gasp)... we found that old cabin and what was left of Buck and the other fellows, so Cimarron (gasp)... just...just figured you all was the nearest place, so you must a knowed where (gasp)... the...the... gold wuz or had the map. He said y’all would be (gasp)... easy...easy... pickin’s. We come here to get... it....,” and he exhaled deeply, once then twice and died. Luke used his hand and closed his open eyes.

  Up runs Nate, “Why’d you shoot him Nate, he was givin’ up?”

  “Shucks, I wuz done two-fer two couldn’t ruint my shootin’ record!”

  As the smoke is settling Catherine runs from the house and throws her arms around Luke, “Are you hurt, my darling?”

  “No, no I’m fine, I wasn’t hit anywhere.”

  “Jest in case anybody’s interested I’s fine too!” Said Nate.

  “Speaking of being interested,” Nate says, �
��Sam, where’s Sam?”

  “Last I seen of him,” said Luke, “he was firing that old Colt pistol from behind the big oak.”

  All three look at the oak, all they can see is Sam’s legs lying prostrate on the ground – he has been hit! He isn’t moving. Sam drops the Spencer to the ground and runs toward the tree, Catherine and Nate follow.

  “Sam! Sam where you been hit?”

  “My leg Luke, it’s my left leg!”

  Removing his bandana Luke made a tourniquet and he and Nate carried Sam into the house. Luke worked on him for a while and called Catherine and Nate to the bedroom and said, “Well, I’ve got good news and bad. The good is Sam’s goin’ to be fine, the bullet missed all the major arteries, but the bad is he’s going to be laid up for at least a month or so.”

  “Nah, Luke gimme a couple of weeks and I be fit as a fiddle. We’ll load up them wagons and be gone before the first snow.”

  “I’m sorry Sam, but leaving this fall is out now, you’ll have to recover and get back on your feet. We’ll leave for Alabama in the spring.”

  “I’m sorry Luke for putting us behind schedule, but what was them fellers after anyhow?”

  “Gold, they knew about the gold. Listen up, all of you, these four may not be all that knows our gold secret, so until we leave this place we need to have someone on guard at all times. Since you’re gonna be off your feet for a while, Sam you can sit on the front porch and do that job. Nate get some planks and go down to the front gate and nail it shut, but before you do let’s bury those dead fellers out there in the yard. What about up yonder on the hill where your Ma and Pa are buried?”

  “No way!” Said Catherine, “I’m not having no murdering outlaws lying next to my mother and father, bury them out yonder in the pasture, or haul’em off and throw them off the bluff. That’s good enough for them.”

  “Wow, she a tough one huh Nate?”

  “Tough as rawhide, Luke, I believe you’s done met yer match,” Nate said grinning.