Tim Murphy, Rifleman by Chandler Roy F

Author:Chandler, Roy F. [Chandler, Roy F.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-01-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Niagara

They were late starting their journey. Corn planting ate into the spring, a wet spring that bogged the fields and delayed plowing.

When they met, Rob Shatto was contemptuous. "Whites should plant like Indians. The squaws punch a hole using a sharpened stick, drop in a few seeds and a piece of fish, and stomp it shut with their heel. Corn comes up fast and strong."

"Your planters plow the ground, Rob."

"Yep, they do. My people don't listen either."

The rivers rose, and the forest dripped. It was not a propitious time to travel. The wedding was put off until the groom returned from retouching his Indian side.

In June the skies cleared, and a warm sun appeared, hungry to make up for lost time. Rob Shatto arrived at the Ellis farm ready to go.

Shatto's equipment was carried in a compact deerskin backpack and his possibles pouch that lay on a hip. Unlike some, Rob's longrifle did not wear a leather sling for carrying. Shatto's gun was always in a hand.

Tim Murphy supplied their horses and tried to lean his own possessions into a Shatto-like pack. Too long had he been away from the deep woods. He would use their journey to relearn.

Traveling with the frontiersman was itself a revelation. When he had wandered with Caraway, they had more or less walked along, conversing, or just as often dreaming the hours away.

Not Rob Shatto. His head and eyes turned constantly, searching the black forests, looking for . . . Tim was not sure.

Rob was off his horse repeatedly, studying sign along the broad traveling path. He knelt at old fires, fingering ashes and touching imprints.

"Delaware camped here, Tim, maybe two days past. Small family, traveling light, going hungry too often."

"You sure of all that?" Tim saw little sign.

Shatto was mildly surprised at Murphy's doubt. "Easy enough, fire's not fresh but it hasn't seen more than a night or two of dew. Tracks are Delaware moccasin, man, woman, three smaller. Look at what was left behind. Rabbit and a snake. Marrow cracked out of the rabbit bones. People with full bellies don't do that."

Tim was convinced. "I wonder where they are going?"

"Up to Buffalo Town . . . along the Buffalo Creek."

"Now how do you know that?"

"Cause there's Delaware there, and these people need some help. Had a hard winter most likely."

Shatto also walked a lot. He claimed the horses held them back. Rob scouted off the trail now and then, looking for what . . . again Tim was not sure.

They camped early and moved in the dark to another sleeping place. Tim asked, "You expecting hostiles, Rob? I never saw anyone do all this working and worrying."

"Not hostiles, Tim, but maybe someone that would like a pair of rifles and whatever else we've got."

Rob paused for a moment thinking about it. "Once when the tribes were in place and their societies were strong, a man did not worry about getting tomahawked while he slept. Honor was big back then, and vengeance for a foul deed could be swift.

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