William Johnstone - Eyes of Eagles

“Hey, there’s the Injun boy,” Jubal Olmstead said.

“Yeah,” Abel Jackson said. “Let’s go over and see if he wants to fight.”

“You better leave him alone,” the third boy said. “My pa said if I called him names or caused him any trouble, he’d take a piss-elm branch to my butt. And he will, too.”

“Then you just stand aside and stay out of this,” Abel said. He was built like his father, and had just about as much sense. The three boys were all thirteen years old and as boys were prone to be during that hard and brutal time, they were strong from long hours of chopping wood, clearing timber, moving huge rocks, and putting in back-breaking hours in the fields.

Jamie sucked on his peppermint stick and watched the trio move toward him. One of the boys left the group and walked over to sit on the edge of a watering trough.

“Hey, you!” Abel called to Jamie. “Red nigger. Why don’t you leave town. Nobody wants you here.”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed slightly but other than that his expression did not change. He said nothing.

“Maybe he’s forgot how to talk English,” Jubal said. “I bet that’s it.”

“Let’s learn him,” Abel suggested. “Hey, Injun-boy, can you say, ’I’m ’bout to get a heap big butt-kickin’?”

The two boys thought that was hysterically funny. The third boy sat on the edge of the trough and did not laugh. He watched Jamie. He thought that maybe Abel and Jubal were about to make a big mistake. His pa had been among those who’d met Jamie, and his pa had been plenty impressed by the boy. More man than boy, his pa had said. And added that his son had best walk light around the Shawnee-raised young fellow. There was a mean glint to the lad’s eyes.

I will witness this, Reverend Callaway thought. And when the dust settles, I will testify that the two young scalawags egged this on.

“Get off that porch, Injun-nigger,” Abel said. “And take your whopping, ’cause you’re sure gonna get one.” He added a most disgusting phrase concerning Jamie’s mother.

Jamie left the porch like a mainspring that had been wound too tight. His moccasins hit Abel flush in the face and Reverend Callaway winced as the sound of Abel’s nose breaking crunched its way to him. Jamie whirled and kicked out, his foot striking Jubal behind one knee and bringing the boy down in the dirt. Then Jamie was all over him and had drawn first blood before Sam and Abe could rush out of the store and separate the boys. From the look on Jubal’s face, the older and bigger boy was mightily relieved that somebody had broken up the fight.

Reverend Callaway stepped out. “Jamie didn’t start this, Sam, Abe. And the Jefferson boy didn’t have anything to do with it.” He told the merchant and the farmer what had happened just about the time Sheriff Marwick came puffing up.

“You again!” he shouted to Jamie. “Damn little half Injun troublemaker.” He started toward Jamie and Sam stepped in front of him.

“I’d suggest you hear what Reverend Callaway has to say about it, Sheriff. And don’t you ever call Jamie that again. Or I’ll call you out and we’ll settle this with pistols or blade. Your choice.”

Marwick sputtered for a few seconds, but he really wanted no trouble with Sam Montgomery. Sam was rich — to Marwick’s mind — and wielded considerable power in the community. Besides that, after he’d witnessed the beating Sam had administered to Hart Olmstead, he was more than a little afraid of him.

The sheriff listened to the preacher and shook his head. “Them boy’s daddies ain’t gonna like this none, Reverend. They’s gonna be trouble and it’s gonna be bad. One boy’s nose is busted and the other got kicked in the privates and can’t even get up. Lord God, where’d that kid learn to fight?”

Sam looked at Jamie. The boy stood expressionless, his arms folded across his chest. There did not appear to be a mark on him. Sam looked at Reverend Callaway, who was also staring at Jamie. The preacher lifted one eyebrow in silent questioning.

Marwick helped Jubal to his feet. The boy stood half bent over, both hands holding his aching groin and tears of pain and rage streaming down his face. “I’ll kill you!” he shouted to Jamie.

Jamie shrugged his shoulders in reply.

“You boys get on home,” Marwick told the two agitators. “Move!” He looked at Robert Jefferson, still sitting on the edge of the trough. “What’s your part in all this, boy?”

“Nothing, Sheriff. I didn’t do nothin’.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Jamie spoke. He walked over to the boy and stuck out his hand.

Robert looked at the hand for a few seconds, then stood up with a grin and shook the hand.

Sheriff Marwick snorted in disgust and stalked off. Sam and Abe walked back into the store, Reverend Callaway with them. Jamie sat down on the edge of the watering trough with his new friend. He hesitated for a second, then gave Robert his last piece of peppermint candy.

“Hey, thanks! Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“At the Shawnee town — warrior training.”

“You really took Injun warrior training?”

“Since I was nine. I think,” he added. “I’m not really sure how old I am.”

“You look like you’re about fifteen.”

Jamie shook his head. “Eleven or twelve. One or the other. I’m sure of that. You going to be at the to-do this Saturday?”

“Plan to be. Pa says it’s gonna be a whing-ding of an affair. Ma’s got her party dress from the trunk and letting the wrinkles fall out. Pa’s gonna cut my hair this week.” He looked at Jamie’s long blond, shoulder-length hair, with all the berry dye washed out. “I wish I could grow my hair that way. You gonna cut it off?”

“I see no reason to.”

“Jamie? You made some bad enemies today. Them two won’t forget it. They’ll be lookin’ to waylay you. You best walk careful from now on.”

“I always do,” Jamie said softly. And probably always will, he added silently.

* * *

The ladies began bringing food over Saturday morning. Jamie had never seen so much food — pies, cakes, cookies, roasts, and the like.

Jamie wondered if the families of Olmstead and Jackson would come to the party?

“Doubtful,” Sam told him. “We both made bad enemies, Jamie. Those two are spiteful, revengeful men. And their children are just like them.” He smiled. “All except Kate.”

“Kate who?”

“Kate Olmstead. Prettiest girl in this part of the state. Just about your age. And she’s as sweet as honey. She spends a lot of time with Reverend Callaway’s daughter, Judith. More time with them than she does at home. I don’t think she likes her home life very much. She might be here for the party. She’s a very sweet girl, Jamie. You’ll like her.”

Sarah looked up from her kitchen work and smiled. “I’m glad you made a friend with Robert Jefferson, Jamie. He comes from a good Christian family.”

“We get along fine,” Jamie said.

Jamie scrubbed himself until he shone, bathing in the creek that ran not far from the house. During the summer months, Sam, too, bathed in the creek — it was a common practice on the frontier. When the first folks began arriving at the house, Sam and Jamie were all decked out in clean clothes, and in Jamie’s case, new store-bought clothes. Hannah came out with Reverend and Mrs. Callaway . . . and Kate Olmstead. Hannah was escorted by a huge young man everybody called Swede. But even though Hannah was beautiful, Jamie only had eyes for Kate. He thought she was just about the prettiest thing he had ever seen. She had hair the color of wheat and dark blue eyes. All the young boys followed her around. But Kate had eyes only for Jamie. Jamie got so discombobulated looking at her he walked right into a tree and put a knot on his forehead.