The Sword of the Banshee (44 page)

“Greetings! What news do you have from the Low Country?” called a farmer one evening from his field as they traveled down the road. India, Lucretia, and Algernon looked up, startled, so few residents greeted them heartily. The man dropped his spade and took long strides across the cornfield toward the gypsy wagon. He was a handsome middle aged man with long red hair tied back in a queue and a tanned, weathered face.

“Logan Campbell’s my name,” he said, holding out his hand. India could detect the hint of a Scottish brogue in his voice.

Algernon jumped down from the wagon and shook his hand. “How do you do?”

“What is this?” Campbell asked, stepping back, surveying the wagon.

“We are diviners,” explained Algernon. “Fortune tellers,” he added.

“Oh,” exclaimed Campbell. “You’re gypsies!”

“Well not exactly--” started Algernon.

“You come up from the coast?” the man interrupted.

Algernon nodded.

Suddenly, Campbell’s jovial demeanor changed. He narrowed his eyes and questioned, “You Whigs or Tories?”

India’s hand moved to her pistol.

“Whigs,” said Algernon. “We are Patriots.”

Campbell paused and studied Algernon’s face a moment then boomed, “Well good, good!” He slapped Algernon on the back and took his elbow.

India let go of her firearm and exchanged a look of relief with Lucretia.

“Come in and have supper. You must tell me all about what is happening in the Low Country. We’ve been so damned busy up here with the Indians that we haven’t had time to worry about the British.”

“No, thank you. We cannot stay. We have to be moving on,” said Algernon.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Campbell protested. “Do me the honor. I need filling in on what is happening in Charleston.”

Reluctantly, Algernon followed him toward the cabin. Algernon was a naturally shy person and almost always uncomfortable with strangers unless he was doing a psychic reading for them. Lucretia pulled the wagon up and crawled down from her seat stiffly. India dismounted and tied the horses. Spring nights in the mountains were cool, and the women were glad to get into the cabin where it was warm. It was a small one room enclosure with a porch, nestled up against a hill.

“Sit down,” Campbell said, gesturing to a rough-hewn table and chairs in front of the hearth. He bent down to bring up the fire. Algernon lowered his hood and looked around the room. There were dried herbs hanging from the ceiling along with some meat and onions. A butter churn and cradle were in the corner. Lucretia eased down on the edge of a chair next to Algernon, and India sat across the table.

The man looked at the women and said, “Welcome ladies.”

“Do you live here alone, Mr. Campbell?” Lucretia asked.

He nodded and said, “Yes, I am a single man.” He swung a trammel with a cast iron pot over the fire to warm their supper.

India felt her stomach rumble with hunger. She was stiff as well. She rolled her head from side to side to loosen her neck. She was cramped from riding all day.

“So tell me. How do we fare with the damned Lobster Backs?” Campbell asked, looking at Algernon.

“I believe their siege on Charleston will be successful.”

“So they have moved up the coast?”

“That is why we have come to the mountains,” Algernon explained.

“Why?” the man asked. “You scared?”

“No, that’s not it,” said Algernon, frowning.

Campbell laughed and said, “Oh, I’m just ribbin’ ya.”

India was not sure what to make of this Logan Campbell. He was a handsome man with a bit more polish than most of the folk she had seen here in the mountains. His clothing was dirty from digging, but his shoes were of fine leather. They even had silver buckles.

She wrinkled her brow.
Silver buckled shoes seem to be an unusual choice of footwear to be digging in the fields
. The men continued to talk as India thought back to Campbell in the fields. It was springtime and instead of plowing he was using a spade. She knew little about farming, but it did seem odd. Next she looked at the cradle by the fire.
Hadn’t Logan Campbell said he was a single man?

Her throat constricted.
Something is wrong
.

Then as if in slow motion, she watched Campbell get up from stirring the stew. Algernon rose to his feet at the same time. Algernon took a step forward, and India saw the flash of a blade. Then things happened fast. Algernon lunged on Campbell driving a knife deep into the man’s abdomen yanking it upward.

Campbell’s pistol clattered to the floor. It had been in his hand. He stared into Algernon’s eyes, with a look of surprise. He gasped, stumbled back, falling with a thud onto the hearth of the fireplace. He was dead.

India jumped to her feet, drew her pistol, and started for the door. Lucretia dove for Campbell’s gun, retrieved it, and stood up unsteadily. She was confused and alarmed.  India listened by the door with her weapon raised. Algernon yanked a rifle from the mantel and grabbed Lucretia’s arm. They flattened themselves against the wall of the cabin as India slowly eased the door open with her foot. She was taut as a bowstring and held her breath to listen. The horses were quiet. Algernon stepped forward cautiously with the rifle in his hands then stepped outside with India behind him. They scanned the woods quickly. All was quiet.

At top speed, Algernon readied the horses while India stood guard with the rifle. Algernon whisked Lucretia into the back of the wagon as India mounted her mare. They did not speak until they had put many miles behind them, driving the horses fast. A full moon rode high in the sky, illuminating the road in front of them. Gradually, they slowed their pace. Lucretia fell asleep in back of the wagon, and Algernon hunched over the reins with his hood up. He was cold and exhausted.

“How did you know he was a danger to us, Algernon?” India asked.

Slowly, he turned his face toward her. “No great mystery. He was too friendly for people in these parts.”

India rode on in silence.
So that was it
.

She had underestimated Algernon, his demeanor was so gentle and his frame so slight, but he was indeed a dangerous adversary. India smiled a crooked smile as she rode along in the moonlight.

After a while, Algernon said, “I think he was a Loyalist waiting to kill patriots as they fled from Charleston.”

India looked at him. “Pardon?” she said.

“He had done this before. He had already killed several patriots by the time we arrived. Campbell wasn’t working those fields for crops when we met him this afternoon.  He was burying bodies.”

*           *            *

The next day they took turns driving so they could sleep. After the confrontation with the Loyalist, the three were on guard and wanted to reach their destination quickly. Algernon told the women that sometime today they would reach Munroville.

By the time it was India’s turn to drive, it was drizzling. It started off as a mist then grew in intensity. There was an overhang above the driver’s seat, but her skirt was soaked, and there was run off from the roof onto her hat. She had on a dirty old tricorne, but the water still found a way to soak her hair and run down her back.

She turned around and looked through the little window at Lucretia and Algernon fast asleep on the bed. Even though she was tired, cold, and road weary, she pushed onward. She wanted to make it to Munroville before the trail became too muddy.

Suddenly, the horses jerked their heads up. A man on horseback stepped onto the trail from the underbrush. He was dressed in buckskin and carried a long rifle. He had a dark beard and black eyes. He moved his horse across the road casually and lifted a bottle to his lips, never taking his eyes from India. As soon as she reined in, four more men on horseback stepped out of the woods, gathering around the wagon. Some wore homespun, others wore buckskin, and they all had shot pouches strapped across their chests with powder horns. They carried long rifles. Except for one young man who had his hair in a queue, they all wore their tangled hair loose around their shoulders under tricornes and floppy hats.

India did not move, the water running off her hat in a steady stream. She wanted to reach for her weapon in the wagon but dared not.

“What’s your business here?” the first man growled.

India scanned the group and said, “We are wayfarers who tell fortunes.”

She heard movement in the back of the wagon and knew Algernon and Lucretia were awake. The leader jerked his head, directing two of the group to inspect the back of the wagon.

India heard the doors open and there was a loud cry. Her heart jumped, but she did not move, her eyes alert. She was certain someone was hurt.

“Well, I’ll be God damned!” one of the men shouted, trotting around to the front of wagon. “It’s that son of a bitch, MacBain! He’s back!”

The men exchanged looks as Algernon came around the side of the wagon, smiling. India looked from the men to Algernon and back again, completely dumbfounded.

“What the hell brings you back home after all these years?” the man with the dark beard asked, resting the bottle on his thigh.

“I was homesick for all of you, bastards,” Algernon said with a smirk.

They guffawed and pulled their horses away from the wagon as Algernon crawled up beside India and took the reins. The atmosphere had changed considerably.

“How long has it been?” one of them asked.

Algernon shrugged. “Maybe twenty years.”

“Well, hell. You haven’t changed. You still look like a ghost.”

Algernon smiled again.

“Come on you God damn fools,” said the man with the dark beard and bottle, “Let’s go have a drink and welcome this rascal back.”

  Algernon snapped the reins, and they followed the men down the trail. India looked over at him with surprise. “You didn’t tell me you were from here.”

Algernon shook the reins again. “How did you think I knew about Munroville? Did you think the spirits told me to come to this God forsaken place?”

India chuckled and looked back at Lucretia in the wagon who was sitting cross legged on the bed smiling at her.

“Welcome to Munroville, ladies,” Algernon said. “You have just met the Overmountain Men.”

Chapter 36

They rode over a rickety wooden bridge to a tavern by a stream, a large structure with hand hewn siding and two field stone fireplaces. The men talked and laughed with Algernon, shaking rain off their hats, stepping over benches and shouting orders at the barmaid. Several of them picked up the fabric on Algernon’s robe and exclaimed, “What the hell is this?”

India and Lucretia sat in a corner. Lucretia had worked in taverns all her life and knew that respectable female guests, if present at all, must remain quiet and unobtrusive. After the men had their refreshments, the innkeeper found them and returned with tankards of beer and helpings of chicken pudding.

India studied the Overmountain men. Most of her adult life, her companions had been men. She had instructed them, consulted with them, and led them, but this group was like nothing she had ever confronted. They were rugged, primitive backwoodsmen, so intertwined with the land and survival that they were only a few steps away from being indigenous people themselves.  As she looked at their light skin, blue eyes, and large frames, she reminded herself that they were Celts like her, but most of them were of Scotch Irish descent. This presented yet another barrier.
How could she gain the support and respect of an age old enemy?

India looked across the table at Lucretia who was watching her. “You are going to have your hands full,” she said.

“Aye,” said India, pursing her lips. “But they are our last hope.”

A tall thin older man with spectacles on his nose stood up, stepped over the bench, and walked over to them. He was smoking a clay pipe. He took it from his mouth and said, “Ladies, I am the Reverend Lamb. May I sit down?”

Without waiting for a reply, he pulled a chair out and sat down. He looked at India and said cryptically, “I have been expecting you.”

India’s expression did not change. “So you too are a diviner, Reverend Lamb?”

He said in a voice pinched high with advancing age, “No, but I know one. Prudence Hennessey informed me you were coming.”

A smile flickered on India’s lips.
I should have known the old gal’s powers were far reaching
.

Reverend Lamb jerked his head at the men, drinking and shouting. “They won't be easy.”

India said nothing.

“They don’t think much of females, you know,” he said.

“Do they know anything about me?”

“No, but they’ll hear Irish in your voice.”

“It could be an advantage,” said Lucretia, encouragingly.

“If I use my words carefully,” said India.

“Let’s cut our teeth right now,” said the Reverend standing up with his chair scraping the floor.  “Look here!” he announced, helping India her to her feet.