CHAPTER EIGHT
Mistaken for Outlaws
Two weeks had passed since they crossed the Tennessee River. Zeb hadn’t been able to buy any oats or other grain, and it was often difficult to find grass in the forest. Christmas slowed to a walk, his head down. Zeb knew that the big horse couldn’t keep up this pace much longer, carrying two riders.
They decided to travel separately for a while, one walking and one riding. Zeb walked and Hannah rode ahead for a mile. With Zeb’s knife, she left a blaze on a tree as high as she could reach while sitting on Christmas. She then led the horse deep into the forest and left him tied to a tree. She returned to the road and headed south, carrying her club and ready to run up into the woods if she heard anyone coming.
As he walked, Zeb watched for the blaze. When he found the horse, he rode until he reached Hannah. She handed him the knife, and he continued riding for another mile. There he left a blaze, tied the horse in the forest, and walked on. Hannah was never more than fifteen minutes behind him.
They had been traveling this way most of the morning. It was Zeb’s turn to walk. He had just left the horse and started back down the road when he stopped and sniffed the air. Someone was cooking meat! Maybe they would be willing to share. He walked quietly back into the forest along the side of the trail to see who was doing the cooking, outlaws or flatboaters. He hoped he would be able to tell the difference.
Just ahead he could see the smoke and hear the men talking quietly among themselves. He pushed a branch gently aside to observe several men around the campfire. Dressed in homespun pants and shirts, they looked as if they could be flatboaters or farmers coming up the Natchez Road. Kaintucks for sure. One of them stood head and shoulders above the rest. His black hair was plastered to his head with some kind of grease. Black stubble covered his face as if he had only recently decided to grow a beard.
There wasn’t a pistol or a rifle in sight. These men are surely not outlaws, he thought. He was about to call out to them when he noticed their horses. Six horses saddled and bridled, their lead lines tied to tree branches. Blankets had been thrown over the saddles.
Zeb felt as if some one had punched him in the stomach.
Those were his grampa’s horses! He recognized Cleo immediately, jet black with four white stockings and a white blaze down her nose. She had her head over Harlequin’s neck. He’d know that piebald anywhere.
There was no doubt about it! Those were the six horses that his grampa had taken to Natchez to sell to the army. Zeb closed his eyes hard and ground his teeth together to keep from groaning out loud. Tate McPhee had been telling the truth after all! These men must have killed his grampa and taken the horses. He gulped, rubbing the tears from his eyes. Grampa dead!
Zeb wished he hadn’t left the rifle with Hannah. He pulled the pistols out of his belt, cocking the flintlocks, ready to fire. Even though he had been able to replace the gunpowder, he wasn’t sure that the pistols would work. They might not fire or they might blow up in his hands. He felt so sick thinking about his grampa and what these men had done that he really didn’t care. Thank God, he thought, Hannah is a safe distance back on the trail.
Zeb groaned with pain, thinking about his grampa. The men looked up and Zeb knew that they had heard him. He stepped from behind the tree and held the two pistols out in front of him, pointed at the men. His arms shook. “You there!” he shouted. “You dirty, murdering horse thieves! Put up your hands!”
The four men turned around and raised their hands. They didn’t seem to be afraid of him. “I’ve only got two pistols here,” he shouted. “But I can kill two of you before you get me!”
The biggest man of the four looked at Zeb and then looked into the trees behind him. “We unarmed men, sir. We don’t got no weapons. We just poor folk, mindin’ our own business. Where be the rest of your gang?”
Zeb ignored his question and snarled at him, “I’m gonna hold you murdering thieves till an army patrol comes, and if they don’t come, then I’m gonna kill you myself!”
The big black-haired man, who seemed to be in charge, sneered. “Looks like we got us a one-man gang. Don’t seem likely, do it?”
Zeb glared at the man. “I know a liar and a thief when I see one. Now, get down on the ground till I figure out what to do with you.”
The big man just grinned, looking over Zeb’s shoulder. Zeb suddenly realized that there were four men in front of him but six saddled horses! He heard a voice behind him. “Put down those pistols real careful. You make one move and you’re dead.”
Zeb cursed himself for being such a fool and put the pistols on the ground. All four men lifted their pant legs and took pistols out of leg holsters. The man behind Zeb, joined the others, holding his gun on Zeb and looking around at the forest beyond him. The big man walked over to Zeb and slapped him hard on the face. Zeb fell to the ground. The big man stood over him. “Now who’s a liar and a thief?”
Zeb raised himself to his knees. “You are! You murdered my grampa for those horses! You’re a yellow-bellied coward!”
The big man smiled. He swung his boot back and kicked Zeb in the stomach. Zeb fell to the ground, doubled over with pain. He started to get up again, knowing that the big man could easily kill him, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore.
As he struggled to get his breath, his tear-filled eyes focused on a horse emerging from the woods. There was Christmas being ridden by a man dressed in shabby clothes. He was holding Hannah on the saddle in front of him. Just as the big man was about to kick Zeb again, the man on Christmas said, “Hold it a minute, Sergeant Scruggs. Look what I found!”
All five men turned around. The big man laughed. “What’s this, a gang of children?”
The man riding Christmas shook his head. “I don’t know. This ragamuffin says she’s riding alone.” He held up Hannah’s club. “She gave me a hard whack with this. Feisty little thing.”
The big man reached up and yanked Hannah off the horse. “Don’t matter none. We’ll make short work of the two of ’em ‘less they tells us where the rest of the gang be.”
Zeb staggered to his feet, holding his stomach. “You cowards!” he shouted. “You kill old men for their horses!”
He looked over at Hannah. She was watching him. She was frightened, but she seemed to believe that he knew what he was doing. After his stupid remark about half-breeds, it was a relief to see that she trusted him. Maybe he could focus their attention on him long enough for her to escape.
The man sitting on Christmas leaned over and looked at Zeb. “Aren’t you talking rather brave for someone we’re about to hang?”
Zeb spat on the ground. “What difference does it make. You’re gonna kill us anyhow.”
He looked over at Hannah. “At least let my little sister go. She didn’t do anything.”
The man on Christmas looked at him and then at Hannah. “Why do you call us murderers and horse thieves? It’s our job to mete out summary justice. You know what that means? To find and to punish outlaws on the Natchez Road, without benefit of a trial. We catch them and we hang them.”
Zeb shook his head. “That’s for the army to do, not for a gang of murderers.”
“We are the U.S. Army. This is an army patrol, out to catch outlaws like you and bring them to justice.”
The big man was standing behind Zeb with his arm loosely around his neck. Zeb shook himself free. The big man reached out to grab him, but the man seated on Christmas raised his hand. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”
“You call yourselves U.S. Army?” Zeb said with contempt. Anyone can see you’re not army.”
The man on Christmas leaned back and smiled. “All right,” he said. “Show me!”
Zeb knew that it didn’t make much difference. Whatever he said, he was sure these men were determined to kill them both. Hannah moved over and stood next to Christmas as if the horse might somehow protect her from these men. Zeb hoped to keep their attention on him. Run, Hannah, he thought. You know how to survive in the forest. You can make it. He hoped she could read his mind.
Zeb moved over to Harlequin. “In the first place,” he said, “if you were army you would take better care of your horses. Look at the mouth on this piebald. You’ve been using one of those curb bits with the long shanks and the rollers, haven’t you?”
The sergeant turned on Zeb as if he wanted to hit him again. “I ride that horse!” he shouted. “It’s a worthless nag!” He looked up at the man sitting on Christmas, as if he had explained all of this before. “That animal’s gonna need a lot of discipline before it’s any use to me.” He turned to Zeb, “Besides, the army don’t issue nothin’ but curb bits. Look, Captain, let us take care of these varmints.”
The captain shook his head. “No, Sergeant, let him have his say. I’m interested in what he comes up with.”
Zeb ran his hand along the horse’s muzzle, pulling the curb bit away from his sore mouth. Harlequin turned his head as Zeb moved to run his hand along the horse’s ribs. “You better watch out!” the sergeant jeered. “That horse would rather bite ya than look at ya.”
Zeb ignored him. “Spur marks!” he shouted. “You don’t need to use sharp spurs on a horse like this one!”
Hannah caught his eye and shook her head. She seemed to be trying to tell him that he was going too far.
Zeb felt he had to keep their attention focused on him. Maybe she would realize what he was doing and slip away. He pulled the blanket off and took a closer look at the saddle. This was a Light Dragoon saddle all right. Hussar-type with the higher pommel and cantle, heavy pads under the seat, and rings for securing equipment. Could these men be army? There was one way to find out. He loosened the girth and put his hands under the saddle blanket. “Saddle sores!” he shouted.
Zeb looked at the men defiantly. “No U.S. Army Light-Dragoons officer would allow a man to ride a horse in that condition.”
The captain looked down at the sergeant and nodded.
Zeb turned and looked at the other men. “And these are the sorriest looking men I ever saw. Army! The army doesn’t allow mustaches and beards! And look at their gear! We deal with the army all the time. These men wouldn’t be accepted as recruits!”
The big man looked as if he was going to hit Zeb again. The captain said, “Hold it, Sergeant. Let’s find out some more about our little friends.”
He looked down at Zeb. “Why did you call us horse thieves and murderers?” he demanded.
Zeb glared up at him. “These horses all belong to my grampa,” he said. “You murdered him! You shot him and stole these horses!”
Zeb hated to let these men see him cry, but he felt tears wind down his face as he thought about what they had done to his grampa.
The captain looked down at Hannah and then at Zeb. “Who is your grampa, boy?” he said in a quiet voice.
Zeb stood as tall as he could. “My grampa’s name is Daniel Ryan and I’m Zebulon D’Evereux!” he shouted.
The sergeant stepped forward and grabbed him around the throat. “C’mon, Captain,” he said. “Let’s take care of these little varmints and get on our way.”
“Let him go, Sergeant. It may be that he’s telling the truth, but I’m not yet convinced.”
Zeb frowned. “I ain’t convinced you’re U.S. Army.”
“I’ll prove we’re army,” the captain said, “and you prove you’re Dan Ryan’s grandson.”