Carter Holler, Kentucky

1860

Roseanna took a break from telling the story. She reached for the jug and smiled as she heard the sound of Nate’s ax biting into a chunk of wood.

Serves him right, interrupting my story tellin', she thought. Except she didn’t realize she’d said it too.

This drew a snicker from her middle son, Zachary.

“What’s so dad-gummed funny?” she asked.

“Nuthin, Ma.”

“I know I raised you better than to lie to your ma.”

Zachary hung his head down trying to avoid eye contact. He didn’t need to be a prophet to predict what was coming.

“Since you think it’s so dang funny you can join your brother choppin’ wood.”

“Yes’m.”

As Zack slinked off of the porch to join Nate. Roseanna began telling the story again.
*****
Clancy, Doo, and Mighty Beaver trod down the road towards Red Mike’s tavern, the Royal Boar. Clancy once asked Mike how he came up with the tavern name. Mike told him he named it after King George III right after the Sugar Act passed.
 

I thought of him as King Pig getting his snout into our trough,” said Mike.
 

“Three ales, Red Mike,” Clancy said as he dropped a dollar coin onto the bar.
 

Red Mike squinted at Clancy.
 

“Clancy you know good and well I can’t serve Mighty Beaver in here.”
 

“We have another gentlemen joining us, the third ale is for him.”
 

“If my presence is so much of a problem, Red Mike, I’ll wait outside.”
 

“It's not that, Mighty Beaver, you know I don't have no ill will t'wards Injuns but other folks do.”

Without another word Mighty Beaver turned away from the bar and strode over to a table and took a seat.
 

“That wasn’t very polite, Mike, especially after all the game he’s brought in for your kitchen,” Doo said.
 

“Now Doo this ain’t the Crowing Rooster. Mighty Beaver might get ale there but Smithers ain’t exactly a model citizen. I can’t afford that kind of attention.”
 

It was at that moment Godfrey Smyth made his entrance into the Royal Boar.
 

All conversation in the tavern stopped as all the frontiersman in the place gaped in awe at the outlandish getup Smythe was wearing.
 

Godfrey was wearing forest green breeches, the whitest shirt Clancy had ever seen, highly shined calf length riding boots, and a purple cloak. Sitting on top of his head was a cavalier hat with an ostrich plume.
 

Doo’s jaw dropped at the sight of Smythe. Clancy started to grin.
 

“Have you ever seen anything like that?” Doo asked Clancy.
 

“If you want to go to Ohio, Doo, you better hush up.”
 

Clancy stood up and waved Smythe over to their table. Seeing Clancy, Smythe made his way through the crowded tavern to the table.
 

“Good evening, gentlemen.”
 

“Have a seat, Smith,” Clancy said.
 

“I told you my name is Smythe, you bar…” Godfrey remembered the last time he’d called Clancy a name and let the word hang.
 

Doo picked up on the unfinished word and grinned.
 

“Clancy told me you wanted to meet with me, Smith, whut do you want?”
 

“Yes I did, Mr. Carter, I am in need of a guide who knows the lands west of the Ohio, I want to establish a trading post.”
 

“Whut’s that got to do with me?”
 

“It’s my understanding you’ve been there several times and have bested the Shawnees. I need a man who knows the land and isn’t afraid of the savages.”
 

Doo’s eyes narrowed at the word savage. He hadn’t been in Smythe’s company 10 minutes yet and he felt like he needed a bath, and it wasn’t even Saturday yet.
 

“I’ve been there and I ain’t scared of the Shawnee. But I have a healthy respect for them.”
 

“So if you’re not afraid of them you’ll guide me?”
 

“I didn’t say that.”
 

“I would think a man of your reputation wouldn’t hesitate to join this excursion."
 

“Where exactly do you need to go?
 

“I’m not sure, it’s something like Muskrat Creek.”
 

“Do you mean Raccoon Creek?”
 

“Yes that’s it.”
 

Doo started shaking his head from side to side, as he started to get up to leave. Clancy grasped Doo’s left forearm.
 

“Hold on there, Hoss, hear the man out.” Clancey said.
 

Godfrey sensing he was losing the fish changed bait. He pulled out a leather pouch heavy with coins, he started jingling it to get Doo’s attention.
 

“I’m not asking you to do this out of the goodness of your heart, you’ll be well compensated for your services.”
 

“How much compensatin' are we talkin’ about?”
 

“$100.”
 

Doo threw his head back and roared with laughter. This puzzled Smythe.
 

“What is so funny?”
 

“You expect me to fight Injuns? Because if you do, you’ll need to double that amount.”
 

Smythe started to choke on the drink of ale he had just taken when he heard that. His face grew red as he coughed and sputtered.

Once he caught his breath, Smythe settled himself with the thought that whatever he agreed to didn’t matter, price was no object. But the businessman in him couldn’t let him settle on a price without haggling.
 

“I’ll give you $125.”
 

“No you won’t, $200.”
 

He’s not playing fair, he isn't counter offering, Smythe thought.
 

“135.”
 

“Nope, 200 or I walk out right now.”
 

I believe he means it.
 

“$175.”
 

 If it had been anybody other than Smythe, Doo would have settled for $150, But he couldn’t resist one more little jab.
 

“$175, and you outfit me for the trip with everything I need a rifle, powder, lead, traps, and a horse.”
 

Smythe almost balked at that, he had to remind himself that the price was a small investment for getting where he needed to be.
 

“Done,” Godfrey held out his hand to shake with Doo to seal the deal. Doo eyed the proffered hand as if it was the most repulsive thing he'd ever seen, though it  may not have been, it was pretty durn close.
 

“Get this straight Smith, we ain’t friends and I don’t work for you. You try to give me an order and I’ll leave yore carcass in the middle of nowhere.”
 

Another insult, for that you will pay dearly for, you swine.
 

Doo snatched the money pouch off of the table.
 

“If I need more money where can I find You?”
 

“I have a room at the Crowing Rooster, Smithers, the owner, will know where to find me.”
 

“When do you reckon you want to leave?”
 

“Is two weeks too soon?”
 

“Are you sure? July gets downright hot. Oh, and one more thing.”
 

Smythe was obviously frustrated and Doo was trying to push him into a confrontation so he could finish what he started in the market square. Smythe took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
 

“And what would that be, Mr. Carter?”
 

“ My friends, Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Mighty Beaver, come along and are on the payroll too.”
 

“Why?”
 

“Because I don’t trust you and I want someone along to watch my backside.”
 

This may present a problem.
 

“I am not paying a savage to ….urkk”
 

This surprised Doo and Clancy, they both had been in quite a few scraps along side of Mighty Beaver, he was a joiner not a starter in a brawl.

Mighty Beaver’s hand had shot out across the table and gripped Smythe right behind the jaw. He pulled Smythe across the table until his face  was mere inches away from his own.
 

“Let me make something very clear to you, Smythe, I am NOT a savage and if you call me one again I will scalp you while you still live.”
 

He then pushed Smythe backward causing him to fall backward off of the bench.
 

Smythe pulled his knife as he jumped up to his feet to launch himself at Mighty Beaver. The audible click of a pistol hammer being locked back stopped him immediately. He glanced to where the sound had come from.

Clancy had a pocket Queen Anne pistol aimed at his chest. Smythe knew pistols were inaccurate, but not at this range. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Smythe decided to let the insult go- for now.
 

“I’m sorry, old chap, I meant no disrespect and you’re welcome to come along,” Smythe said. He then quickly added, “On the payroll of course.”
 

“I’ll see you gentlemen in two weeks,” Smythe said as he brushed himself off.
 

This lot is really running up a tab of sins they’ll need to answer for.
*****
Fox thought it was unusual that Godfrey wanted to meet him behind a vacant warehouse at the river docks after dark.
 

To each his own I guess, Fox thought.
 

 He heard someone approaching.
 

“Smythe, is that you?”
 

“Who else would it be, you buffoon?”
 

“Ain’t no need for name callin’.”
 

“Did you get it done?”
 

“I met with the Shawnees and they wuz tickled to hear your terms.”
 

“Excellent, things are beginning to fall into place."
 

“There’s one thing, in addition to the presents they want 50 rifles and enough powder, and lead to use them.”
 

“Good Lord, I hope you told them no. Giving the savages rifles could get me hung.”
 

“It wuzn’t negotiable.”
 

“Oh well, just the cost of doing business.”
 

“Speakin’ of business, we need to finish ours.”
 

“Oh dear, where are my manners, here you are.”
 

With his left hand, Smythe held out a jingling leather pouch. As Fox reached for it with his right hand he felt a burning sensation between two ribs, and then an overwhelming thudding in his chest.
 

Suddenly his legs couldn’t hold him on his feet and he pitched forward. The last thing he heard before he faded into eternity was Smythe’s voice.
 

“We can’t have you telling anyone my plans can we?”
 

Fox didn’t answer, he couldn’t.
 

Smythe pulled the knife from Fox’s lifeless form and wiped the blade on Fox’s shirt.
 

Smythe dragged Fox’s body to the edge of the pier and rolled him into the Ohio.
 

With any luck he’ll be in Mississippi before he’s found. Smythe then changed his train of thought, I wonder if I could convince Smithers to let me rent some company tonight.

To be continued........