Toby’s Curse                                                                                Hank Hufnagel
 

-1-
Brady's Ambush
June 15, 1779

Jed Frolic smiled with grim relief when the tracks he had been following for three days finally brought him to the steep valley of the Allegheny. Now there was only one way they could have gone—down. The difficult days of tracking were over. At the bottom of this long, treacherous hill, he would find the Allegheny River and a path leading north. The raiding party and their pursuers would be on that path.
    The upland oak and chestnut thinned away as he slid down into the valley, replaced by huge, dark pines that shouldered past maple and beech to reach up and touch the sky. Halfway down the boulder-strewn hillside, he came to a vast confusion of laurel, where the noise of his passage startled a deer from its afternoon slumbers and sent it wriggling away through the twisting maze of dark green and brown. At the first flick of movement, Jed's gun snapped up to lie along his cheek, his finger on the trigger, poised and ready. But then his head mastered his hand, and he let the deer make its clumsy escape though the laurel tangle. There was danger enough without his announcing his presence by firing a shot that would echo for a mile up and down the quiet river valley.
    Five minutes later, Jed stepped from the dense forest to enter a land of sunlight and open spaces. He stood for a moment to admire the great Allegheny River flowing smooth and deep in its channel, and then turned to follow the well-worn trail running away to the north. The path ran under walnut trees and giant sycamores, where kingfishers swooped down to fish the waters of the river. He passed by chuckling eddies and glittering shallows alive with wading herons and paddling ducks. He saw signs of beaver, muskrat, fox and bear. And, he saw the signs of men. The path he walked was not broad, but it had been smoothed by many feet, and it would lead the Indians home. Up ahead, somewhere up ahead, he would find them. He prayed he might find Brady and his rangers first; a man alone could do nothing.
    Jed walked five miles in the next hour. It might have been a pleasant time spent enjoying the country or thinking of Mary and his boys, but instead, he brooded on the dangers he would find not far up the winding trail. The Indians had attacked the settlement three days before. Elmer Kribs had been gut-shot and scalped. John Cheny was shot in the back, and Sophie Frantz tomahawked. After the fighting, Jed had taken Mary and the boys over to the Myers place to stay. It was there they learned the Henry children had been taken, and Brady's Rangers had gone out to attempt a rescue. After talking it over with his wife, Jed had set out in pursuit. The tracking had been a challenge, but a familiar one. Up ahead though, there would likely be gunfire and blood, and that made him nervous. Jed was in no way an expert Indian fighter.
    Slowly, the sun sank to sit on the ridge top, and the summer day began to fade away. He came to a stream that cut the path. It was a quiet little thing, no more than a good jump wide, but its sandy banks told a tale. He saw the splashes of blood, the loose clumps of hair, the footprints of a dozen men, and the smaller tracks of a barefoot boy and girl—Peter and Alma Henry! It had to be.
An owl hooted softly from the river bank, and a great wave of relief passed through Jed. He knew that owl-sound. It was one Peter Parchment had used in the old days when they had hunted together along the Ohio. Jed swiveled around to watch as seven men left cover and came to join him. Parchment was in front, a smile on his tanned face. Jed almost laughed, with relief, but also at the similarities between himself and his old friend. Mary had made each of them a coonskin cap with the tail sewn up over the top, and Parchment was wearing his now, same as Jed. They both wore tasseled buckskins and had the same rangy build. Side-by-side, they might have been taken for middle-aged brothers.
They shook hands, and Parchment said, "You're a long way from home, Jed."
    "Aye, and in country I've never seen before, but anyway, I've caught you in time to maybe help rescue the Henrys."
"What do ya' make of the tracks?"
Jed smiled, "Same as you, I guess. The blood and hair are from a deer they killed. I expect they'll camp soon. The Henry children are with them, and they're not far off. There's muddy water in their tracks. It ain't had time to settle. The Indians figure they're safe, else they would've rubbed out the signs."
Parchment just nodded, but a tall man standing next to him grinned at the answer, showing strong, white, well-formed teeth in a large mouth. His pale, wide-set blue eyes were bright with amusement. He was thin as a rake and young, a good deal younger than Jed had supposed—in his early twenties by the look of him. Jed had never met Sam Brady before, but he surely had heard of him. Who had not? The whole of the frontier buzzed with news of Brady and of the band of rangers he had organized for the army. Mostly the War for Independence was being fought east of the mountains, but that didn't stop the British from encouraging their Indian allies to raid American settlements in the border country. Brady and his rangers answered in kind, moving fast, striking back at the tribes deep in their own territory.
    "Have you been following us since the attack?" Brady asked.
Jed nodded. "The Henrys are friends," he said. "When I heard you'd gone out to attempt a rescue, I figured you could maybe use another man."
    Brady looked questioningly at Parchment, who responded with a quick smile. "This here's Jed Frolic, Sam. He's a good 'un… shoots better than most… a decent tracker, too. Hell, he's been followin' us for three days, ain't he?"
    Brady nodded and shook Jed's hand hard, emphasizing his words, "Pleased to meet you, Jed. We can use you, but just you remember who's in charge here."
    "Yes, sir," said Jed, matching the grip. Brady might be young, but he had a fearsome reputation.
    The rest of the rangers slid forward to shake hands and introduce themselves, then Brady said, "We figure the savages are about an hour ahead. Peter and I are going up to the top of the mountain to see if we can spot their camp. Will you come with us?"
    "Sure," replied Jed, content to stay with his old friend, Peter Parchment, and maybe get to know Sam Brady a little better. He was, after all, betting his life on the man's abilities.
    It was a heart-thudding climb up out of the dusk, but Parchment's steps were swift and sure, and Jed suspected the hunter knew just exactly where he was going. The sun was long gone from the valley floor by the time they reached the ridge top, but up here, up on the bare summit of the hill, the sunshine would linger for another drowsy hour.
    They came to an overlook, and the three of them stood side-by-side staring off up a long valley to the north. The view was breathtaking, and suddenly Jed knew just exactly where he was.
Parchment looked over at him. "You ever been here?"
"No, but I guess we must be on top of the Great Bend. I've heard of it."
    "It's pretty country," said Brady.
It was that. The steep, rolling hills were painted with the greens of pines, hemlocks, maple and oak. Here and there, the creamy flowers of the chestnuts were so abundant they looked like patches of snow blanketing the treetops.
    In the far distance, the great Allegheny River flowed around a turn, wide and smooth, running fast in its deep channel. Then, as it came down toward them, for some reason known only to God, the river swung sharply to the west and made a great loop, like a snake pulling back to strike. Jed turned and followed with his eyes as the river came nearly back on itself before straightening again to continue its interrupted course to the south. Standing as they were, high up on the neck of the curve, it was a most curious thing to see. The valley below was deep and dark, and as they peered down into it, Jed felt like an eagle floating on high. It must have been about a mile across the neck, but the river itself flowed for seven or more to go around the great bend. How had such a thing come to be?
    "The Indian towns… they are up that way?" he asked, looking north.
    "Yes, but still a ways off. First comes Toby's Creek, Indian God Rock and Venango, then you come to the Indian towns," replied Parchment.
    As they stood on the quiet, twilit hilltop, straining eyes and ears for any hint of the war party, Jed wondered to himself about the first of the names Parchment had mentioned—Toby's Creek. Years before, he had known an Indian who called himself Toby, who had said he was from far up the Allegheny, up above the great bend. Could it be the creek was named for the man?
    Parchment gave a grunt and muttered, "I smell smoke."

End of Excerpt from Chapter 1