Journey Home Chapter Eleven

            “Daniel?  Daniel, what are you thinking?”  Mingo shifted and looked at his friend.  They had not moved since Hawk had left them sitting on the grass shackled together, with the word that they must choose whether to save Daniel’s son –

            Or his own.

            “I’m thinkin’ we’ve been friends an awful long time, Mingo, for it to end like this.”

            “And what makes you think this will end our friendship?”

            “Well, I see it like this,” the frontiersman began, shifting a bit.  “If we choose to save Israel and Danny dies, you’ll never forgive me.  And if we choose to save Danny, and Israel dies, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

            “What if we choose for neither to die?”

            “Well, that’d be a welcome choice, Mingo, but I don’t see how it can happen.”  Dan lifted his leg and Mingo’s went with it.  “We’re runnin’ a three-legged race, and a three-legged man can’t cross both the start and finish line at the same time.”

            “How long did Hawk give us?”

            “Six hours – and two different directions.  Ain’t no way, Mingo.  For once, we’re beat.”

            “That doesn’t sound like the Daniel Boone I know.”

            His friend hesitated.  Then he said, “I don’t think I am that Daniel Boone anymore, Mingo.  That Daniel was a young man who thought he could conquer anythin’.  The one you’re shackled to is an old man, and a tired one.”

            Mingo shifted.  “I will accept the second part of that statement.  But not the first.”

            “What?  You think bein’ more than four-score ain’t old?”

            “Do you remember Daniel, the first time we met?”

            The frontiersman hesitated.  “Been a lot of water under the dam since then, Mingo.”

            “To me it seems like yesterday.”  Mingo shifted as if needing action to press his point.  “Was not our friendship impossible?”

            “Yad thought so,” his friend laughed.

            “A Cherokee warrior, the friend of the great Daniel Boone?  The standard bearer of white civilization pressing into the wilderness?”

            For a moment his friend said nothing.  Then, with a catch in his voice, he answered, “I just wanted to learn how to use that whip.”

            Mingo laughed.  “And I never did show you.”

            “That’s all right.  I did okay with a long rifle.”

            “Impossibilities, Daniel.  Like our becoming friends.  Like your family befriending me as well.  Like our people living in peace side by side.  Our lives are full of impossibilities.”
            “Like rescuin’ both Danny and Israel?”

            “Yes.  There has to be a way.  We just haven’t thought of it yet.”

            For a moment his friend was silent.  Finally, he said, “Well, I vote we go after your boy first.”

            “After Danny?  Why?  Why not after Israel?”

            “I look at it this way,” Israel’s father said, “my son is in prison. There’s bound to be someone there lookin’ out for him.  In this modern world you can’t just hang a man.  Your son ain’t got no one to look out for him.”

            “Daniel,” Mingo said quietly, “this is Boonesborough we are talking about.”

             “The old town ain’t what it was, Mingo.  There’s a constable there.  And a judge.”

            “And jury, no doubt, all wrapped up in one.”

            “That’s bitter, Mingo.”

            “Forgive me, Daniel,” he sighed.  “I do not have the trust in humanity overcoming its base tendencies that you seem to.”

            “It ain’t a trust in man, Mingo.  It’s a trust in Providence.”

            For a moment he could think of nothing to say.  Finally, when he found his voice, Mingo asked his old friend, “So what now?”

            Dan gave him a signal and together they rose to their feet.  His old bones ached as they did so, but it felt good to be up and headed –  where?

            “Daniel?”

            His friend had that look – the squinty-eyed ‘I have a plan’ one that had so often gotten them into deep water, and out of it again.  “I figure we can’t be too far outside of the settlement.  That right by you?”

            “We were close when we were taken, though Hawk bore us some distance away.  Why?  I thought you said you believed we should look for Danny.”

            “I do.  I ain’t headin’ for the settlement, but a little north and east of it.”

            Mingo followed his friend’s gaze.  That was the direction Hawk had indicated Danny was in.  “Why?”

            “Friend of mine lives there.”  Dan’s kicked out with his foot, nearly knocking them over.  “Sam’s a blacksmith by trade.”

            Mingo sighed.  “Daniel, you could have said something.”

            The old man’s face split with a wide lop-sided grin.

            “Now where’d be the fun in that?” 

~

           White Wolf turned to his companions.  They had arrived several hours before at the place where John Johnston’s wife told them her sons had been taken.  He had examined the ground and determined the direction the youngest boy’s abductors had chosen.  From the ground outside the inn, they had known which way the eldest had gone.  Since that time he and his men had been in pursuit of the two trails which had, as he expected, in time become one.  All the while White Wolf thought of his friend and chief.  Israel Boone was slated to die a dawn.

            It was soon to be upon them.

            Still, White Wolf had known what Israel would say if he chose his life over that of two young boys.  It would not be honorable.  He would not have been pleased.

            Now, as the dawning day’s fingers peeled back the black face of night, they paused.  They had found the place where the two boys had come together.  There were many footprints.  Hawk’s men had rested, eating and drinking, and then taken off again, carrying the boys south and west.  The curious thing was, that while they were in the camp, John Johnston’s sons had not been alone.  Along with the tracks of the boys, he found another’s.  It was a man, tall but light in weight.  He had been by the boy’s side and had also been borne away – in yet another direction.

            “What should we do?” one of his companion’s asked.  “If we run, there is still time to get to Boonesborough….”

            “No.  Two paths are before us, but one does not lead to our chief.”  The Great Spirit knew their friend’s need.  “Whitehair’s fate lies with Kiche Manetoa.”

            “So we part?” the other man asked.

            White Wolf turned his eyes to the tracks leading in opposite directions.  Something drew him to the ones made by the man.  He did not know what it was, but he had learned long before not to question the whisper of the Spirit.  There were five of them.  One would go with him and the other three would seek John Johnston’s boys.

            He nodded.  “We part.”

~

           The blacksmith wasn’t home, but his tools were.  As Daniel fingered one after the other, seeking the sharpest one, Mingo asked him, “Do you suppose Hawk is watching us?”

            “Don’t know that it matters,” Dan said putting down one and picking up another.

            “You think this is part of his game?”

            “I think he intends that both our sons die.”  Dan tried another tool and yelped.  Then, as he sucked the blood from his fingertip, he added, “It’s up to you and me to see that that don’t happen.”

            “There are John Johnston’s sons to consider as well,” he said quietly.  “And Johnston himself.”

            “He’s a grown man, Mingo.  He’ll have to look after himself.”  Dan started to look around for a mallet or hammer.  “The boys are a different matter.”

            “You think you know where they are?”

            “I’m bettin’ they ain’t too far from either Danny or Israel.  Hawk can only spread himself so thin.  Ah!  There’s what we need.”

            As Daniel lifted a good size hammer, used to pound iron nails, Mingo asked him, “So, once we are free of each other, what then?”

            “You ready to be rid of me so soon, Mingo?” the other man asked with a grin.

            “As much as I enjoy your company, Daniel, there are more pressing matters.”  He glanced at the sky.  The day was dawning.  “Israel’s fate for one.”

            Dan took hold of the shackles.  They were both balanced rather precariously on one leg with their shackled foot resting on a cut-off tree stump.  The frontiersman sized up the situation and then brought the hammer down with a resounding clang.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.

            “Could you hurry up, Daniel?  A broken hip is not the way I would like to go.”

            Dan glanced at him, grinned, and then brought the hammer down three more times.  As sparks flew, he spoke.  “Well, here’s how I see it.  You should go after Israel, and I’ll see what I can do for Danny.”

            “Why is that?”

            Another two blows indented the metal at last.  “Reachin’ Boonesborough in time is gonna take some fancy footwork, Mingo.  I imagine you could outrun me by a long shot in a foot race.”

            It was true.  He was still in excellent health – though it had been a long time since he had run any distance.

            “I can track as good as ever.  I’ve still got time to find Danny.”

            While he saw the logic in it, his heart was torn.  “Daniel, I….”

            Another half-dozen blows cut the iron in half.  Dan was getting winded.  “Here, Mingo, you have a go,” he said, handing over the hammer.  As he let it fall, his old friend asked quietly, “Don’t trust me to save him, eh?”

            Mingo stopped.  “Daniel, no!  It is just….  Well….”

            “Keep hammerin’, Mingo.  Times a wastin’.”  Dan hesitated.  “Truth to tell, Mingo.  I don’t know what I’ll say when I see Israel.  It’s been over twelve years.”

            “I’m sure he would have written if he could…”

            “I’m the one who stopped writin’, Mingo.”

            His hand stopped.  He was stunned.  “What?”

            “After Becky…passed, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.  I couldn’t say enough, and I couldn’t say anythin’.  Israel was always the most like his mother – stubborn, feisty, just plain pig-headed.  I love all my children – all my boys – but Israel….”

            “You fear losing him as well.”
            The old man slumped.  “To tell the truth, I figured he was dead already, livin’ the life of an Indian.”

            Mingo brought the hammer down again.  “Almost there….”  He glanced at his friend.  “You two never really reconciled over his choice.  Did you?”

            “Mingo, I got grandchildren I ain’t never seen. Ain’t never held.”  He laughed sadly.  “And they’re a mite too big now to hold.  I let him down.  I let all of them down.”

            “One…more…blow.”  Mingo hit the chain again and it broke in two.  “Freedom!” he exclaimed.

            Daniel stared at the broken bits of metal.  Then he nodded. 

            Time was of the essence, but Mingo couldn’t let such a deep pain go.  He reached out and placed his hand on his old friend’s shoulder.  “Daniel, you know now that Israel lives.  You must go to him.  Go now, before it is too late.”

            Dan was silent for a moment.  “What if I don’t make it?  What if I am too late?”

            Mingo’s answer was that of an old and dear friend.

            “At least you will know you tried your best.”

~

           Of the six of them, only two had military training, and so White Wolf put Steel Coat in charge of the three who would go looking for the Johnston boys.  Steel Coat was a Shawano who in the latter years of the war, just before it ended in 1815, had joined the American forces against the British.  White Wolf had done the same thing, but had been secretly employed throughout the war as a scout and interpreter, and at first for the British.  After the great chief Tecumseh was betrayed by the Englishmen he trusted, White Wolf had decided it was time to change sides.  Though Tecumseh was not Myaamia, his people near the White River knew the Shawano well.  His had been a vision of the red man’s triumph.

            With Tecumseh’s death that vision had dissipated and a new reality begun.  The Americans were not going anywhere.

            White Wolf had returned from the war a different man.  Though Whitehair had not approved of his taking part in the fighting, his chief had welcomed him home with joy and open arms.  Throughout the last five years they had both had occasion to be grateful for his experience and training – it had kept them and their small band alive.

            Taking only one man with him, White Wolf set out to find the mystery man who was held by Hawk’s men.  If he had been taken at this time – and held with the Johnston boys – it suggested he was someone of import, someone the renegade Wyandot would not want to lose.  It also suggested that his father, whoever that might be, must be someone important.  Hawk’s hatred at the moment seemed to be aimed at white man’s sons.

            Holding out a hand, White Wolf stopped and knelt.  His companion ceased running and waited by his side.  There were five sets of tracks – three boots and two moccasins.  Of the boots, two were cheaply made and one was fine and elegant with a high narrow heel.

            The shoes of a gentleman.

            “Who do you think it is?” his companion, Comes Flying, asked as he crouched beside him.

            White Wolf shrugged.  “The lawyer who comes to aid Whitehair would wear such boots.  Perhaps it is him.”

            “What would Hawk want with him?  Is he a white man?”

            Comes Flying was young.  He had not known Adohi, or his father, Copperhead.  “In part.  And he came to save Boone’s son.  Hawk hates Boone.”

            His companion examined the tracks.  “Five of them.  Two of us.  The odds are not good.”

            “I know,” White Wolf answered with a savage grin.  “They are far outnumbered.”

 ~

           Mingo watched his old friend go.  Daniel limped from the weight of the shackle still binding his ankle, but he would not wait to have it removed.  Once the frontiersman had made his mind up to save Israel, Heaven itself could not have stopped him.  Nor the gates of Hell.

            “See, Daniel,” he whispered, “I do remember the words of your Providence.”

            Now, if that Providence would just see him to his son.

            Hawk had told them clearly where each of their boys was.  Israel was, of course, in the jail at Boonesborough.  Danny, he told them, was being held north and east, near the spot where Chota had once been.  There was nothing there now but spirits and empty ground, but that was the place the renegade Wyandot had chosen.

            No doubt to bury Danny’s corpse in the sacred ground of his ancestors.

            Mingo shivered.  It seemed at times the past would never cease to haunt him.  He had only lived in Boonesborough for four years, but the ties that bound him to this place – to this land – were stronger than any he had formed in the decades he had lived in Europe or in Missouri where he was now.  His friendship with Daniel and Rebecca had been the best of it; the hatred of their enemies, the worst.

            He could only beg the Creator not to punish his son for the sins of his youth.

            Mingo turned his eyes skyward.  “I am an old man, my Father,” he whispered.  “Though I do not want to, I will gladly die to save my son.  Give my legs strength to bring me to him.  My heart, stamina.  And my head, knowledge.”

            And with that prayer on his lips, the old Cherokee began to run.