Eyes of Eagles by William W. Johnstone Page B

affair, and he knew it. “No. Of course not.”
    â€œI’ll accept that,” Sam said.
    Both Marwick and Jackson breathed a bit easier. Neither of them wanted to see a duel between Sam and Hart. Dueling was still very common. It had not been that many years back that Andrew Jackson and Thomas Hart Benton had gone at each other with pistol and dirk in a Nashville, Tennessee, hotel, with Jackson coming out on the short end of that fight.
    It took both Marwick and John Jackson to get Olmstead into the saddle, with Olmstead muttering fearful curses, carefully directed at no one in particular. Olmstead did not once look at Sam. John passed the reins to him and then the men climbed onto their mounts and started slowly up the road.
    â€œNo good will come of this,” Sam said to no one in particular. “I have just made a mortal enemy, for Hart Olmstead is a good hater.”
    â€œYou whipped him fair, Sam,” Luke said. “You did not use no boots on him nor bitin’ or eye-gougin’.”
    â€œThat’s the problem, Luke. I whipped him. And he’ll not forget it. Not ever.”
    â€œYou men gather over yonder under the shade tree,” Sarah called from the open door to the house. “We’ll bring coffee and bread and molasses out. I don’t want you stomping around in this house with your muddy boots.”
    â€œBy the Lord!” Mason said. “That was a good fight, it was. I don’t recall ever seein’ none better.”
    While the men laughed and gathered under the huge old tree by the side of the house, Jamie slipped inside and put Sam’s pistol back into the holster, then quickly rejoined the men as Sarah and the other ladies were bringing out refreshments.
    Sam sidled over to Jamie and whispered, “Did you put my pistol back, Jamie?”
    Without changing expression, Jamie said, “Yes, sir.”
    â€œWould you have used it, lad?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œUmmm,” was all Sam ever said about that.

Five
    The following morning, Jamie started doing chores before Sam or Sarah were even out of bed. He had not forgotten how to milk — but he had forgotten how a tail full of burrs felt when it came in fast and hard contact with the side of his head — and had the cow milked, the hogs slopped, the eggs gathered, and firewood stacked neatly when a still tousled-haired and sleepy-eyed Sam stuck his head out the back door and called to him.
    â€œYes, sir?” Jamie said, walking up to the back door of the home.
    â€œHow long have you been up, lad?”
    â€œSince the cow started lowing.”
    Sam smiled. “That fight yesterday must have taken more out of me than I thought. Well . . . Sarah says to tell you that breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. Why don’t you come on inside and help me grind the beans and we’ll have some coffee in no time.”
    â€œAll right, sir.”
    Sam did not say anything about the way Jamie was dressed. In his buckskins. It was not that it was unusual dress for the time, for many men still wore skins, but for Jamie... he would have to somehow point out that it would be best if he dressed more like a schoolboy, which he would be in a short time. The sooner the townspeople forgot he had once been a Shawnee captive, the better for everybody. He lifted his gaze. Jamie was seated at the table, watching him.
    The boy was so damn quick it startled Sam.
    â€œI’ll wear my skins working out here, sir. But I had to save the other clothes. I’ve only got the one set.”
    Sarah gasped as she worked at the stove and Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. “Jamie... I’m sorry. Sarah, how’s about us going into town today? We’ll get Jamie all decked out in store-bought shirts and britches.”
    â€œWhat a grand idea!” She whirled around from the stove. “And I have to get some things for the to-do this Saturday night. Yes. We’ll all go