Eyes of Eagles by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page A

Sam’s neighbors.
    â€œStay here and protect Sarah, Jamie,” Sam told him.
    The boy nodded his head, a solemn expression on his face. “I will do that, sir. You do not have to worry while I am here.”
    â€œI do believe he means it, too,” a man muttered. “I shore do.”
    On the way into town, one of the neighbors said, “The boy don’t smile much, do he, Sam?”
    â€œI guess if you’re raised as a captive by Shawnees,” Sam replied, “you wouldn’t have a lot to smile about.”
    â€œRaised by Shawnees!” one of the Saxon brothers hollered, lying on his stomach in the bed of the wagon. “Why, that’s got to be the Wolf-boy that there Cherokee told us about a couple of months ago, brother. The one that was taken captive as a tadpole.”
    â€œWolf-boy?” a neighbor said.
    And the conversation was lively on the ride into town, with Sam telling the story — he still wasn’t sure he believed it — about Jamie facing down the pack of wolves and gaining the Shawnee name of Man Who Is Not Afraid.
    â€œDamn!” Luke said. “You shore nuff got you a ring-tailed-tooter, Sam.”
    â€œYes, I sure did,” Sam replied. “I don’t believe anyone would argue that.”
    â€œI damn sure won’t,” a Saxon said. “Oh, Lordy, my arse is on fire!”

Four
    The news of Jamie’s felling two horse thieves with arrows was all over the small community by breakfast time. Most of the people applauded the boy’s actions and most of them lamented that Jamie did not aim higher and once and for all rid the land of the worthless Saxon Brothers.
    â€œVengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,” the Reverend Callaway told a gathering of men.
    â€œThe Lord also works in mysterious ways,” one of Jamie’s supporters countered.
    But a few were on the other side.
    â€œI told them at the meetin’ hall that damn boy was nothin’ but a savage,” John Jackson said to Hart Olmstead, the only man in the community with a worse disposition and attitude than John. Hart was an ignorant, opinionated, overbearing, crude, hulking lout. And his four sons were just like him, one of whom was Jamie’s age.
    â€œOncest them damn Shawnees git holt of a person, that person ain’t never fitten to live in a white society agin,” Hart said. “I’ll not have my boys rubbin’ elbows with no damn red nigger. He ain’t white no more. He’s Injun, through and through.”
    Very few in the community agreed with that opinion, but it only takes a few.
    â€œAnd I don’t believe that wench’s story about her bein’ off in the head, neither,” Hart opined. “Some stinkin’ buck bedded her down first night in that Shawnee town and that’s that.” He shuddered at the thought. “That’s almost as bad as bein’ had by a nigger. Let’s go see Sheriff Marwick. I know them Saxon boys. They ain’t bad people. I don’t believe they was tryin’ to steal Montgomery’s hosses.”
    The sheriff, a large pus-gutted man named Burl Harwick, was about as qualified to uphold and enforce the law as he was to be pope. But when elections were held, no one else wanted the job so he got it, more by default than popularity. Burl was even more ignorant than Hart Olmstead, and on top of that, he was a coward. He was also inherently lazy. Few really liked the man, so it was only natural he would be friends with John Jackson and Hart Olmstead.
    â€œI ain’t met the boy as yet,” Burl said to his two friends. Just about his only friends. “But ever’body says he’s a right nice boy. Big for his age and sol-emnlike.”
    â€œWell, you got to talk to him, Burl,” John said. “And since we’re your duly sworn deputies, we’ll ride along with you out to the Montgomery place. I think once you talk to him, you’ll see