Savage Horizons Page 11

  Tom prepared a map of Saint Louis showing Terrence Sax’s home, and he wrote a letter for his brother. Sarah and Caleb never saw the contents of the sealed document.

  “Treat her well, or you will regret the day you were born,” it read. “She’s a wonderful child, and my little girl deserves the best. I admit you can give her that, and although I hold no brotherly love for you, I am grateful that you will take the child, and trust that you will give her everything she so rightfully deserves.

  Above all things, give her love. She has much to give in return, just like Cora did. But Cora is gone now, and I cannot raise such a beautiful girl alone. Sarah needs a woman’s touch and all the fine things Saint Louis can give her. I know that your wife can have no children, and you have asked that I send her to you now that Cora is gone. I agree, only because I love my Sarah so much and want the best for her, not because I care to satisfy your own whims.

  Take good care of her, and never tell her the reason for the bad feelings between us, brother, or it will be bad for you. I enclose some money which I ask that you set aside for Sarah in your bank in Saint Louis. In spite of our hatred for one another, I know I can trust you with the money, that you will see that Sarah gets it at the proper time.

  I don’t know when or if I will come for her. Perhaps it is best, once she gets settled, that I do not come at all. We will see.

  Thank you for your offer and give my best to your wife.

  Tom.”

  The parting was sad indeed, and a few people stared when Sarah hugged Caleb tightly. They whispered about the Indian boy who lived with Tom Sax and had been accepted as a son, and how they would never let a half-breed hug their daughter that way. But Sarah and Caleb were oblivious to their whispers. Caleb suddenly did not want to let her go. The feeling of protectiveness and manliness returned as he held her, and the thought of not seeing Sarah for months tore at his heart and brought back the loneliness he had felt after his village had been attacked.

  “I’ll pray for you, Caleb,” she told him.

  “And I will pray for you.” She seemed so small. He towered over her now, for he was a full six feet tall, taller, even, than Tom Sax.

  Caleb reluctantly let go of her then, and Sarah turned to hug Tom, who was much thinner, his face drawn and tired.

  He looked at her strangely, as though to tell her something very important. But then he just hugged her, not caring that he was crying in front of others. “God bless you, sweet Sarah,” he said quietly. “I am so sorry that you must go alone, but these people will take good care of you.” He kissed her hair. “I love you, Sarah darling. One of these men is to bring back a message letting me know you arrived safely. I’ll be praying for you, girl. Make your mother proud now.”

  “I will, Father.”

  She pulled back and he kissed her cheek. “You’ve surely made this old man proud, Sarah. It’s a brave thing you’re doing, and a wise one.”

  “We’ve got to get going, Sax,” one of the men said.

  Tom nodded, then lifted Sarah onto the flatboat that would carry them south to the Mississippi River, where they would get on one of the steamboats that had been so much talked about lately. The steamboat would carry Sarah and the others downstream to Saint Louis.

  Caleb’s chest ached. How many ways were there to say good-bye? It must simply be done. He watched with the old, haunting realization that life was a succession of losses and good-byes. Now still another loved one was leaving him. Sarah had been his best friend during the hard years of being an Indian boy among whites, a stranger in a new land. He remembered how she had giggled that first day when he sat down on the floor to eat. Seven years had gone by since then, swiftly, too swiftly. He waved and watched until the flatboat was out of sight, then turned to Tom Sax, walking up to the man and putting an arm around his waist.

  “Come on, Father.”

  “Let’s go to the tavern. I need a drink.”

  Caleb sighed and helped the man walk, amazed at how so much strength seemed to have gone out of Tom Sax.

  “You’ve got to start eating and quit drinking so much,” Caleb told him. “Mother would be angry if she saw you this way, and the day will come when Sarah needs you again.”

  The man nodded. “I know, son. I’ll get back on my feet soon. It’s just so hard… How can a man explain what a woman has meant to him? She sacrificed so much to come here so I could live my life as I damn well pleased. She put up with so many months of loneliness while I was out tramping the forest. She knew I needed that kind of life, that it was in my blood. Now I wish I had done more for her.” They walked arm in arm. “The best thing I can do now is what I’ve just done, give Sarah the kind of life I could never give Cora. Saint Louis will be good for her, and she’ll be the prettiest girl in that whole city, won’t she?”

  Caleb smiled sadly. He missed her already. “She will, Father. But not just in Saint Louis. She’s the prettiest girl anywhere.”

  Sax nodded, his chest aching. “I’ll stop the drinking, but not today, son. Not today.”

  Caleb understood and walked with the man to the tavern. When they entered, the small saloon was crowded with excited men, their attention turned to one man. Caleb stiffened when he saw Kyle Wiggins. The man had been gone for months, and many thought him either dead or just gone forever from Fort Dearborn. But there he was, standing on a chair, holding a bottle of whiskey.

  “I tell you, we gotta be careful how far we let the Injuns go! The damn Shawnee are takin’ over practically the whole territory of Indiana. They got a leader called Tecumseh who’s roundin’ up the Creek, the Cherokee, Choctaw, you name it. They’re bandin’ together and claimin’ half the land from the Gulf of Mexico all the way up to Michigan.”

  He slugged some of the whiskey and several men joined in his concern and drank with him. Others only watched, waiting for more news, unsure exactly where Wiggins had been.

  Wiggins finally noticed Tom and Caleb. He slowly lowered the whiskey bottle, realizing Caleb Sax had grown considerably and was big enough, perhaps, to fight a grown man. He had not forgotten that as a boy Caleb had backed him down in front of others, nor had he forgotten his feud with Tom Sax. The room quieted as the others noticed Wiggins glaring at the two Sax men.

  “Well, if it ain’t Tom Sax and his scum-breed son,” Wiggins sneered. “You’re lookin’ poorly, Sax.”

  “Lay off, Wiggins,” one of the men in the crowd told him. “The man’s wife died.”

  Wiggins looked unaffected. “That so?” He drank more whiskey and moved his gaze to the crowd. “I’m tellin’ you men that war is comin’, and soon. We use some Injuns to help us, and the British use others. But there ain’t none can be trusted. You’d best be careful even trustin’ the Miami around here. They’ll turn on you, one day, that’s sure.” His eyes shifted to Caleb. “The best way to avoid problems is to get rid of every Injun we can.” He looked back at the other men. “Like it’s rumored the governor of Indiana Territory is aimin’ to do. Folks there is thinkin’ on attackin’ the city the Shawnee have built in Indiana. They call it Prophet’s Town, and they look to that there Tecumseh as their prophet—think he’s gonna lead them to power. I’m warnin’ everybody. This thing could spread if it ain’t stopped early on.”

  Tom and Caleb moved to a table to sit down, too involved at the moment in what Wiggins had to say to order whiskey. Caleb leaned back in his chair, his long legs sprawling away from it as he watched Wiggins, his hatred of the man stronger than ever. Caleb was a man now, his skills honed from his own determination and years of living and hunting in the wilderness with Tom Sax. He often practiced throwing a knife, and Tom sometimes sparred with the boy, teaching him how to fight with his fists, always eager to brag about how the Irish were the best fistfighters ever born.

  “How do you know all this?” somebody shouted.

  Wiggins took another drink, the whiskey making him feel more important, braver. “I was over in Indiana Territory, trappin’ along the Tippecanoe River. T
hat’s where I heard about Harrison plannin’ this big attack on Prophet’s Town.” His eyes moved to Caleb again. “I’m thinkin’ on goin’ back there to help. I can’t think of nothin’ more pleasurable than wipin’ out a bunch of Injuns that think they own more land than they got a right to. The best thing we can do is burn every damned house and out building they own—burn their crops and supplies, too—kill every last one of them savages.”

  Murmurs filled the room, and men nodded their agreement.

  “I’m sure a brave man like yourself will find it easy to kill the women and little children, won’t you, Wiggins,” a voice spoke up loudly.

  Everyone turned. The words had come from Tom Sax, and the room quieted. Wiggins stared at him a moment, then climbed down off his chair and set his whiskey bottle aside. He slowly walked over to Tom while people parted and backed away, letting him through. Wiggins took a stance in front of Sax, and Caleb shifted in his chair, sitting straighter and watching Wiggins carefully. His protective feelings for Tom Sax had never been keener, for he realized how much the man was suffering after Sarah’s departure.

  “You callin’ me a coward, Sax?” Wiggins asked.

  Tom Sax didn’t care anymore what happened to him. He had beat Wiggins before and he could do it again. Maybe he would kill him this time. The man deserved to die, and he couldn’t think of a better time to start a fight with him.

  “Everybody knows what you are, Wiggins. I know for a fact you’ve raped Indian women; and you’re only brave when you’ve got men standing behind you. Besides that you’re a damn thief and everybody knows it. You got no right mouthing off against men who are probably better than you. I’d trust those Indians a lot farther than I’d trust you.”

  Wiggins’ dark eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. “Stand up and call me a coward, you Injun lovin’ bastard,” he snarled.

  “Leave him alone,” Caleb spoke up. “He is not well enough to fight.”

  Wiggins’ gaze shifted to Caleb. “Well, then, how about you, boy? You look all growed up now, big enough to take on a man. You’re one Injun I wouldn’t mind killin’ for free.”

  Tom was out of his chair in an instant, pummeling into Wiggins. Tables, chairs and drinks went flying, and the crowd of men backed away as Tom, in his grief and defense of Caleb, reacted to Wiggins’ challenge. But he was considerably weaker than normal. Caleb jumped up, his heart pounding as Tom and Wiggins went crashing to the floor. Tom managed to land a couple of hard blows to Wiggins’ face with the old Irish steam, but then Wiggins threw him off. Both men got to their feet, and Wiggins landed a crashing blow to Tom’s jaw, sending the man flying across a table. It was then Wiggins pulled a knife.

  Caleb realized instantly that the blow to Tom had been hard enough to make him dizzy and confused. Tom was struggling just to rise. In a flash Caleb’s own hunting knife was drawn, and he climbed over a table and chair, stepping in front of Wiggins as the man approached Tom.

  “Get away from him,” Caleb hissed, waving the knife. He faced the man squarely, standing as tall as Wiggins.

  Wiggins backed up, then grinned. “Well, well. So you’re wavin’ a knife at me again, are you, boy?” Wiggins hunched over. “Well, this time nobody can blame me for pickin’ on a kid, can they?”

  “Caleb! God, no,” Tom groaned, struggling to his feet. Two men helped him up, then held on to him.

  “Leave it be, Tom,” one of them warned. “Let the boy concentrate. You’re in no shape to be gettin’ in on it.”

  Tom watched in quiet desperation, not even able to stand without the help of those who held on to him. Would he see the last precious thing left to him be killed before his eyes?

  There was no look of fear in Caleb Sax’s eyes. The boy was quick and sure, darting quickly out of Wiggins’ way at the last moment every time the man lunged or slashed with his knife. Again and again each man slashed out, then jumped back, knocking over tables and drinks. Darting in and out, Wiggins began to sweat and pant while Caleb appeared cool and collected, determined and confident. His long black hair flew out with every quick movement, and his finely tuned body was tense and ready, his blue eyes alert to Wiggins’ every move.

  Wiggins began slashing relentlessly, apparently deciding he could frighten the boy by his sudden onslaught of seemingly fearless jabs, but Caleb’s instincts told the boy that the man was slashing crazily, out of fear. Caleb backed up and fell over a table, but quickly rolled to his feet. It wasn’t quick enough. He felt a slight draft as Wiggins’ huge blade cut a long slash from Caleb’s left cheekbone down and back behind the boy’s left ear.

  Tom cried out, and it took three men to hold him back.

  “It’s his fight now, Tom. You’ve got to let it be.”

  Caleb was crouched and ready again in an instant, ignoring the hot sting and the blood that began flowing freely down over his neck. He backed up more, urging Wiggins out of the tavern and into the street, where he would be able to move more freely. The crowd quickly followed them out, and Tom went with them, his heart pounding from fear.

  Outside the two men circled one another, glaring, waiting for the right moment to slash again. Wiggins was panting harder now, and Caleb knew that if he held out long enough, the man would tire sooner than he would. And Wiggins had been drinking, making him slower than Caleb. Caleb was glad he had taken Black Antelope’s advice long ago to stay away from whiskey, for the fiery water took away a warrior’s ability to think, and took away his strength and speed.

  Wiggins began a new onslaught of relentless slashes, making Caleb back up again. But Caleb watched and gauged the thrusts, until with a speed that impressed the onlookers, he suddenly grabbed Wiggins’ wrist, stopping the thrust with a strength that amazed Wiggins. Caleb quickly pushed, slamming him to the ground so he lost his breath. Wiggins lay limp for a moment while Caleb held his big knife against the man’s Adam’s apple. He squeezed Wiggins’ wrist until the man released his own knife.

  “I didn’t want this fight, Wiggins,” Caleb said. “But you were going to kill Tom Sax.” He nicked Wiggins’ skin. “If we were among Indians, you would be a dead man.”

  He got up then, panting and glaring down at Wiggins. He would like nothing better than to kill the piece of filth before him, but he knew that would be too dangerous in this place. He looked down at Wiggins, victory in his eyes and his Indian pride showing. He had beaten Kyle Wiggins again.

  Caleb turned, walking toward Tom. “Let’s go home,” he said, still panting. But Tom’s eyes widened as he looked past Caleb.

  “Hey!” someone shouted.

  “Look out!” Tom yelled.

  Caleb whirled to see that Wiggins had found his breath and had yanked a pistol from the belt of a nearby man. The gun was already raised. Caleb quickly tossed the knife in his hand. It made a whirring sound as it zipped through the air, finding its mark a split second before Wiggins could fire the pistol. There was a thud, then Wiggins grunted.

  He stumbled backward, dropping the pistol and staring at Caleb as though he saw something horrible and frightening. The man clutched the knife in his chest and pulled on it frantically, but he knew it would make no difference. The look of horror on his face told others he knew he was dying. He looked down at the blood spurting from the wound and his face turned sickly white. Then his knees buckled and he went down, the life gone out of him. He fell forward, ramming the knife even deeper with the fall, then rolled to his side and lay lifeless.

  Caleb stared at his enemy, wanting to shout with exultation at his conquest. How proud Black Antelope would have been to see him kill such an experienced man at such a young age. His joy was great, and his pride swelled. He was glad Wiggins had pulled the gun; it gave him an excuse to do what he wanted to do in the first place. Wiggins was an evil white man and deserved to die. Caleb had no doubt the man had committed atrocious crimes, and the world would be better off without him. But when the boy moved his eyes to look at the others in the crowd, he knew that what he had just done would not s
et well with them. He held his chin up and looked at them defiantly before going over to Wiggins and yanking his knife from the man’s chest.

  Several volunteer soldiers who had overtaken the fort rushed into the crowd, the sergeant demanding to know what had happened.

  “The breed there just killed Wiggins,” someone shouted from the crowd.

  “It was self-defense,” someone else added.

  The soldier looked at Caleb, who stood panting, blood still pouring from the cut on his face. The soldier pulled a gun. “Hand over the knife, boy.”

  Caleb looked at Tom.

  “Hold up there,” Tom stormed, stepping closer. “The boy only got in this to protect me. Wiggins started the whole thing and was fixing to kill me. Caleb is my adopted son. He only did what he had to do, and he’s just a sixteen-year-old boy! Wiggins could have backed out of the fight, but he wouldn’t. Caleb let him go once—had him down and let him go! Then Wiggins tried to shoot him. The boy had no choice!”

  The soldier’s eyes scanned Caleb’s bloody, dirty face and clothes. “He looks older than sixteen,” he commented. “And he’s killed like a man. He’ll be responsible like a man.” He waved the pistol. “Now hand over that knife.”

  “Wait a minute,” one of the others spoke up. The man looked around at the others. “All of you know Tom here, know the quality of the man. And you know just as well the kind of man Kyle Wiggins was. Now Tom and Caleb are like father and son. The boy only reacted in defense of Tom, and only killed Wiggins in self-defense. Wiggins could have called a halt but he didn’t. We can’t stand here and let the boy hang for doing what any of us would have done. We’re all Tom’s friends.”

  The man stepped between Caleb and the sergeant, and then another settler from the fort stepped forward, joining the man who had spoken in Caleb’s defense. Then another and another stepped closer, surrounding the soldier.