The Captive Witch

Dale Van Every

• Publisher: Borodino Books
• Year: 2017
• eBook ISBN: 9781787208025
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Social Science Biographies
• Index: Social Sciences

Dale Van Every's soaring adventure saga of the untamed Kentucky wilderness, a savage woman and the young frontiersman who set out to conquer them both…
They weathered the brutal winter of '79 in an isolated cave deep in the Kentucky wilderness: Adam Frane, backwoodsman, rifleman, soldier; and Nita, the proud, passionate woman who had rejected her civilized past for the life of a Cherokee squaw. They shred that cruel season knowing that, when the thaws came, Adam would return to Trace's Landing and to Cynthia, the faithful young widow who waited for him there; knowing, too, that Nita would try to keep him—with all the savage passion that had earned her the name…
One of Dale Van Every's most exciting historical novels…filled with the raw emotions and rich adventures of America's untamed past…
"Fascinating, vivid, real!"—The New York Times

THIRTEEN

PEOPLE were keeping right on with whatever they were doing, without paying any attention to the approaching party.

“Gate wide open and nobody looking,” grumbled Adam. “How do they know who’s coming?”

“The Wyeths do,” said Gilbert. “And if you know Joel you can guess the station’s never really off guard. They post sentries every night—at the gate and around the horse pasture—and every morning at daybreak Eli Skaggs takes three or four men and goes out to scour the edges of the woods. As soon as he can get around to it—maybe today—Joel’s going to organize a militia company. Practically every man here has seen service in the Continental Army or the Virginia militia.”

Cynthia and Nita rode on ahead, splashed through the ford and turned toward the gate. Several women on the nearer fringes of the crowd glanced around. It was only after a second look that they seemed to realize that Cynthia’s companion was a stranger. Had Nita been wearing the homespun and bonnet Cynthia might have slipped her into the stockade without any fuss at all. But Nita’s Indian-like deerskin and moccasins and braids were enough to make people suddenly curious. More and more of them were looking around. Then, as if timed to cover the two women’s entrance, a drum began to beat, drawing everybody’s attention the other way. Cynthia and Nita rode through the gate without attracting further notice.

One thing, at least, was already clear enough. The Wyeths, as usual, had closed ranks and adopted a plan. Cynthia and Gilbert’s coming to meet him, the homespun and bonnet, the drum—possibly even the barbecue—were parts of the plan. They’d told nobody Nita was coming or that she was a recently rescued captive. They hadn’t wanted anybody outside that close family circle to take a hand—not at first, at any rate. With Nita once safely in the stockade and in one of their houses they’d be free to deal with the situation any way they chose.

The pack train was crossing the ford. Three men were coming out to meet him. The rest of the crowd kept on toward the plank table under the big elm between the mill and the stockade where the drum was beating. He saw the three were Paul, Blake and Bert. Paul got to him first, seized his hand, punched him affectionately in the ribs.

“Adam—good to see you,” he roared. “Bert says you had a hard winter—but I knew you’d never let a little cold weather get you down.” He waved proudly toward the stockade, the mill and the cornfields. “Been a big change since you were here last, eh? Ever see a finer location?”

Blake was not as loud but his welcome was just as warm. “Big day for us,” he said. “Brought the station its first child and the company its last partner.”

“Big day for me, too,” said Adam. “Been a couple of times I wasn’t too sure I’d ever get here.”

“I’ll take the horses,” said Bert.

He gave Adam a broad wink that was apparently intended to be reassuring. Paul was pulling Adam toward the table under the elm where the men of the station were collecting.

“We’re having our first muster,” said Paul. “Joel wants to see you before it gets started.”

Joel came around the end of the table with outstretched hand. “Glad to see you, Adam,” he said. “And specially glad you got in today. We’re organizing a militia company and electing a captain for it and we can use your help.”

Adam glanced toward the gate through which Cynthia and Nita had disappeared. “First I better take a look to see how Nita’s getting along. I mean the white girl I took from the Cherokee. Cynthia must have told you about her. You could never guess the trouble she can get into.”

Joel didn’t seem to feel the problem one of great moment. “I can guess a little—from what Cynthia did tell me of what she had heard from Bert. But the women can look after her. It’s mainly their affair, anyway.” He kept hold of Adam’s arm and led him around the table to the side facing the assembling crowd. “Take a look at them,” he murmured. “You’ll see what I meant about maybe being able to use a little help.”

Adam looked, trying to take the interest it was no more than sensible for him to take. These men were likely to be his neighbors for some time to come. They’d be closer than neighbors, for that matter, as people were bound to become when they were crowded together within the walls of a station. Summoned from their various diversions by the drum, some had come running but others had only sauntered and there was a good deal of nudging and shoving and horseplay. Several were already drunk enough to be noisy. Adam was familiar with the difficulty of handling frontiersmen whenever any considerable number of them were gathered together. Each had to show himself to be as independent as the next. He could sense the restlessness in this gathering. Many were not happy at being called by a drum. Others were taking on either the humorous or the argumentative look normal to every frontier town meeting. Not that any of these were real frontiersmen yet. They were just farmers in butternut and linsey-woolsey. They came from a part of Virginia where not since their fathers were young had people had to hunt for their keep and fight off Indians to stay alive. But they were fast taking to the ornery behavior that went with the West. No matter how willing a man might have been to keep his place, back where he came from, the minute he got over the mountains he carried a chip on each shoulder. The drum stopped.

“Big circle,” called someone. “Down in front,” yelled others. “We can’t see the major,” added a voice.

The last complaint brought several laughs. The men in front began sitting on the ground. Behind them the nudging and shoving continued. Joel seemed to take no notice of any of this foolishness.

“Before we start,” said Joel, putting his hand on Adam’s shoulder, “this is Adam Frane. You’ve all heard enough about him to be as glad he’s joining us as those of us that know him are. He came to Kentucky before the first settlement was founded. He knows the country as few do—white or red. He was with Clark at Kaskaskia and Vincennes. He’s a man able to meet any Indian on his own ground. As an example of that—there’s what’s just happened to him. The Cherokee stole a horse from him. He followed the thieves right into the middle of the Cherokee country, and when he saw they were keeping the horse where he couldn’t get near it he took something away from them they valued much more. He stole a young white woman they’d held captive for years and brought her back with him. She’s in the stockade now.”

Adam stirred restlessly. The Wyeth plan was marching on. A number of women on the outskirts of the meeting turned and hurried toward the gate, immediately more interested in getting a look at the surprising new arrival than in the further proceedings of the muster. And leaving Nita to her own devices among strangers was about as safe as leaving your powder horn beside a fire.

“A captive white girl,” exclaimed a young man standing in the back row. “Ask him does he know where he could steal me one.”

Joel joined in the laugh, pressed Adam to a seat on the bench and himself sat informally on a corner of the plank table.

“Now, to our meeting,” he said, his manner as easy as if this were no more than a conversation among friends. “Since we’ve been here it’s been our way—whenever we’ve had to make up our minds about something—to talk it over first and give everybody his say. Somebody has to start the talking and maybe you’re used to my doing that.”

“We sure are,” said someone.

“But we like it,” said another, good-naturedly.

“What we’re here to talk about today,” Joel went on, “is the right way to defend ourselves. We’ve been working hard, building and planting. Everybody’s been doing his share and more than his share. But having enough to eat and a roof over our heads won’t do us much good if we let the Indians come and take both away from us.” The crowd was sobering. “Now the right way to defend ourselves is not something that can be left to each man’s separate judgment. I think we’re all agreed that we must organize ourselves into a military company to which every man and every boy over fifteen will belong.”

There was a general murmur of assent.

“The next thing I feel we must keep in mind is this,” Joel continued. “When we have differences of opinion on other matters we can discuss these differences until we reach an agreement—and talk as long as we need to, in order to reach one. But that can’t hold when it comes to defending ourselves. Once we’re attacked it’ll be too late to stop to talk. Therefore, it seems to me that the most satisfactory first step in organizing ourselves into a military company is to make up our minds who’s the man best fitted to command it. Does anyone have a different view?”

Adam could see the motion of one-man rule was none too welcome. But each man present was waiting for the other to raise the first open objection.

“I’m sure we’re all agreed on that,” Joel continued after the briefest pause. “However, the selection of a military commander is the most important decision we can make. We’d do well not to rush it. Whatever talking we have to do—let’s do it now and get it over with. I suggest we recess for two hours and come back with our minds made up on the man to whom we can all give our full support.”

Everybody was surprised by this postponement. They’d evidently expected Joel to push his program right through. The meeting broke up into groups which drifted away, the men arguing vigorously among themselves. Blake, Paul and Gilbert moved away, too, leaving Adam alone with Joel.

“We could have put our man over by bringing it to a head without any more fuss,” said Joel. “We have the votes. But we didn’t want to seem to force it. We want everybody willing to go along.”

“Who’s your man?”

“Gilbert Naylor. At first we thought of putting in Blake or Paul. Both have been Continental officers with plenty of command experience. But there’s some feeling the Wyeths are taking too much on themselves. That we own two thirds of the place and have paid for most of the rest only makes it worse. Gilbert’s got another advantage. He’s a doctor, not a soldier. A good many of the men here have served in the army and have had their fill of regular officers. On the other hand, the post is too important to let it go to just anybody that can get the votes. That’s what brought us around to Gilbert. He’s smart. And we can trust him.”

“Who’s against him?”

“Nobody, actually. Everybody likes him. But there’s a good many against giving any one man so much authority. There’s some talk of a committee of public safety, instead. Halponstall, the storekeeper—the fellow over there with the long nose that’s going around whispering his misgivings into everybody’s ear—is the one pushing the committee idea. Then there’s that heavy-set man in the black coat just now scuttling through the gate into the stockade. He’s Uriel Barr, the minister. He feels the church should be guidance enough to do us. Since we haven’t given him all the rope he wanted he’s set against anything he thinks we’re for.”

The pushing and elbowing Joel was concerned about came up in every new settlement. If anybody ever was able to handle this sort of thing these Wyeths were. And Adam would be glad to see Gilbert get the captaincy. A man could hardly take on more grief than that which went with the military command of a new settlement.

“I’ll vote for your doctor,” Adam said, getting up.

Joel laughed. “Now that you’re here we’re expecting a lot more than your vote. People will listen to you. You’re a stranger and haven’t yet taken sides. They all know you were with Clark, that you know Kentucky, that you know Indians and that you know what it takes to defend a station. They’ll take stock in your judgment. The sticking point is not Gilbert. It’s bringing themselves to give one man the authority he has to have. You can make them see that if there’s ever a place that needs one-man command it’s a new settlement.”

Adam nodded. But his eyes were still on the gate. All the Wyeth women, and very likely half the women of the station, could be swarming around Nita by now.

Joel’s eyes twinkled. “If you’re worried about building up a rival—don’t give it another thought. Cynthia has known Gilbert a long time. His getting command of half a company of farmers isn’t go...

Table of contents

• Title page
• TABLE OF CONTENTS
• ONE
• TWO
• THREE
• FOUR
• FIVE
• SIX
• SEVEN
• EIGHT
• NINE
• TEN
• ELEVEN
• TWELVE
• THIRTEEN
• FOURTEEN
• FIFTEEN
• SIXTEEN
• SEVENTEEN
• EIGHTEEN
• NINETEEN
• TWENTY
• TWENTY-ONE
• REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER