boy walked out of them woods looking about as bedraggled as I have ever seen a human look. His clothes were tattered, and he had a lot of Mississippi River mud on him.
“I got my hands up mister. See?”
“What you doing sneaking around out there boy?”
“I’m awful hungry. I was hoping you would leave some leavings.”
“You would starve to death on what I would leave boy…well come on over to the fire, and get some grub in you before you fall down.”
The boy came to the fire and grabbed a piece of deer meat, and began wolfing it down, “If you don’t slow down you’re going to have a sore mouth later today.”
“I ain’t had a bite in four days.” The boy said between swallows.
“Where’d you come from? How did you get across the River?”
“I swum over on a log from up the river a ways, I run away from my Pa. I got tired of him beating on me all the time, an I ain’t going back neither. Can I have a swallow of water?”
“Sure.” I handed him over the canteen. He took more than a swallow, but I didn’t hold that agin him. I fastened my eyes on him, “Can’t you take a little switching boy? My Pa gave me a fair amount, but it done me no real harm.”
He turned around and pulled up his shirt. His back was scared and scars on top of them scars. Tears came to my eyes, and I tell you I was some put out at whoever his Pa was.
“I’m sorry boy, I reckon that is more than a switch, what did he whup you with?”
“Mostly the plow lines. Can I go with you mister?”
“I hadn’t planned on taking anyone with me. Its going to be rough where I’m going and a man has an almighty good chance of leaving his hair on the lodge pole of some tee pee.”
“Can’t be no rougher than a man flailing the hide off me every day.”
Right then I began thinking about this God stuff. About how I come across an extra horse, and now here was a young man who needed him. I had to kill a man to get him though. I tell you it was enough to turn a mans head inside out just trying to see past a mans nose. Here was providence staring me right in the face. It was the killing part that I couldn’t figure out. I threw another piece of wood on the fire, listened to it crackle, and snap the way fires do. A fire has a way of comforting.
“I reckon you can ride the spotted horse. I was just going to use him for a pack horse anyhow. But boy, I am liable to have to bury you someplace along a lonely trail.”
“It’s ok if you have to bury me, seems like I’m all twisted up inside anyhow.”
“Whats your name boy?”
“Rafe…Rafe Weston, what’s your name?”
“Jason Allen, of the Clinch Mountain clan.”
“How old are you Rafe?”
“I’m fifteen goin’ on sixteen. How old are you?”
“My Ma said I was fifteen goin’ on thirty, that was about three years ago I reckon, cause she up and died that year, so I reckon I am near to nineteen years old or thereabouts.”
We sat by the fire eating deer meat and getting acquainted. I decided I liked the boy right off.
I looked over at the boys haunted face in the fire light, and I tell you, I felt lower than a snake, him being whupped like a dog like that, “Well, let’s turn in boy, we got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
I wondered how the boy would react to danger. He probably didn’t know himself. I tossed him one of the heavy blankets Thomas had given me, “Ain’t much, but it will keep you warm until we get to Fort Smith.”
The next day we jerked what was left of the deer meat, and the morning after that we were up at dawn, and in the saddle. We were following the north side of the Arkansas River, staying out of the breaks until we found a well traveled wagon road that meandered toward Fort Smith. Rafe rode up beside me, “Ain’t many people favor a mule over a horse, I would gladly ride the mule, and let you have your horse.”
“I prefer riding him, he’s used to me, and he would probably reach around and take a chunk out of your knee. This mule is meaner than a bear, and faster than a bolt of lighting, he is.”
“You don’t say? He is really fast?”
“And mean to folks he don’t trust, and he don’t trust anybody but me. He was bred to race, and I raised him from a colt.”
“Jason, I lied to you, and I got to get it straight.”
“What about?”
“My Pa, I kilt him, then I run away.”
“You kilt him?”
“I didn’t mean too, I was in the dog run in the barn. I had a pitch fork in my hand, and he was all liquored up. The pitch fork handle caught between the barn wall, and him. It ran him through in four places. It was one of those four tine pitch forks. I lit a shuck out of there thinking they might want to hang me. I’m sorry I lied Jason, I won’t do it again.”
“Well…you didn’t zactly lie, you just didn’t tell me everything. You don’t need to tell me everything Rafe. I don’t hold it against you for killing him no how, no matter how it happened. We ain’t made to be whupped like that.”
Rafe looked over at me and smiled, “You see that big old tree up yonder? Lets see if that mule can run.” He spurred the spotted, and I spurred the mule. I was a full horse length ahead of him when we pulled even with the tree. He laughed delightedly when we pulled the horse and mule to a walk again. It was good to see him laugh, yet the haunted look of him lay behind those eyes still. I thought in time, and with a kind hand, he would heal. My Pap found a dog that had been beaten and mistreated like that, and in time he made the best coon dog in them Mountains, as friendly a dog as a man would want to meet. Kindness heals inner wounds my Ma said.
We made good time to Fort Smith. There were many folks going about their business on the main street. There were men unloading barrels and bails that had been barged up the Arkansas. Fort Smith was shaping up to be quite a town, but I weren’t interested in no town. We went into a large general store, and I purchased salt, sugar, and lead, along with a lead bullet mold for the .36 caliber Colt Navy pistol. I had been practicing drawing that pistol, and dry firing it, and I was getting to where I could handle getting the pistol out of its holster well, but if a man couldn’t hit with it, it would do him no good. I aimed to practice with live ammunition when we got west of Fort Smith a way.
Lead was cheaper by the bulk, and I bought twenty pounds of it, and two pounds of powder. I was able to buy a pack mule from the stables to pack our goods into Wyoming territory. By the time I got done buying, I had but four dollars to my name. We packed our belongings.
I had bought Rafe a suit of cloths, and new boots, and he was strutting like a barn rooster. I don’t reckon he had him some new cloths his whole life time.
My linsey-woolsey shirt was getting tired, but I wanted the boy to have him some clothes beside the rags he had on. I figured mine would do until we came across some more cash money…if we ever did, or maybe we could trade for buckskins with the Indians, provided they didn’t scalp us and take the linsey-woolsey.
We rode west for a day into the Oklahoma territory, then turned northwest toward the Colorado foot hills. There weren’t no roads to speak of in the territories, and we rode for days just living off the land until we found some Cherokee camped beside a creek bank when we were almost into the Colorado territory. The Indians seemed friendly enough as I could speak their language. It was of a slightly different dialect than what I was used too. The Indians seemed impressed, as there weren’t many white men bothered to learn their language, but running with the Cherokee as boys was part of our schooling. Learning to track, to hunt, and fight as they did stood us in good stead in the Clinch Mountains.
I traded a spot of sugar for a buckskin shirt. It had fringes running down the bottoms of the sleeves to shed water in the rain. On cold days I would wear that over my linsey-woolsy shirt, and it could get almighty cold in them Mountains.
The trading took almost half a day as I doled out sugar a half teaspoon at a time on a blanket spread between us. Indians take to a tr
ade like an Englishman takes to the Queen of England, prolonging it as long as possible until they figure they got the best of you. Having traded with them many times, I started out with just a pinch of sugar on that blanket, and by the time the trading and arguing was done, he had maybe a cup full of my sugar. He handed me the shirt, and shook the sugar off the blanket into a small deerskin bag. It furnished the rest of the clan some enjoyment just watching the trade.
I had bought some beads and foofaraw in Fort Smith, but I was holding on to that in case we needed it to trade in the Wyoming territory.
We rode due north from there, and began the long trek up the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. We met a trapper coming back down with some furs on a pack mule, and we stopped and camped with him a day and night.
“Where you boys headed?” The trapper asked as we sat at camp.
“Going to Wyoming territory I reckon.” I said.
“Yer liable to get scalped up there, I was in the Grand Tetons once, a wilder country as you have ever seen.”
“I heard they were beginning to run cattle around Cheyenne, so my uncle Edward said.”
“That be right, but they is having a hard go of that too. I