Bronco of 96
The Saga BeginsBy Patsy H. ManleyAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2009 Patsy H. Manley
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4490-2597-7Chapter One
The dawn breaks over Wilson Creek on the back twenty-six acres of the Manley homeplace. A teenage boy sits in his deer stand and waits patiently. He has been tracking a buck with a large rack. There is a noise to his left. He lifts his muzzleloader quietly. He looks down the barrel and sees a small doe with a calico fawn. Several days earlier Bronco had spotted the playful fawn grazing comfortably in the front yard of his home.
Even though today is an "either sex" day, Bronco decides to let the pair pass safely. He knows the fawn will never survive without its mother. He decides he will wait for another deer to cross his path.
Deer hunting is a lonely adventure. It requires a keen sense of the surroundings and complete silence. It is difficult for a teenager to sit still-virtually impossible to be silent. But this was not Bronco's first hunt. His father taught him the fundamentals of hunting when he was six years old. A short time later, he killed his first deer.
Bronco was daydreaming about that first kill and failed to hear movement to the rear of his deer stand. He turned slowly in the seat. He caught a glimpse of something in the bushes below him. The head was visible. He counted eight points. The deer moved slowly and Bronco fired. The buck walked a few steps before dropping to the ground.
"Congratulations, Bronco," he said to himself as he climbed down from the tree. "Just wait until Dad sees this one. He'll freak out. I'm sure this head is worth mounting. I want this one to hang over the fireplace in my room. It'll look great."
Bronco hears a voice in the distance, "Son, did you get him? That big buck turned before he reached my stand. I hoped he would come your way. That buck has to be one of the largest ever killed in this area." His dad patted him on his back. "Way to go, son!"
"As soon as I saw his rack, my heart started beating so fast I didn't know if I could hold my gun steady to fire it. I hit him just below the shoulder. He went a few steps and then fell. I'm gonna mount this one. Man, it's gonna take both of us to drag him out of the woods. How much do you think he will weigh?"
Looking the deer over, Bronco's dad said, "Son, this one's a whopper, and I don't mean one from Burger King. Beautiful head! He might go 175 pounds. Yep, this one's a definite mount."
"And it will hang above the fireplace in my room."
"You can try it, son, but I'm not sure that'll work. One time you had your red fox hat and my coyote hat over the mantle. If you recall, my hat is a full coyote: ears, eyes, legs, everything." His dad paused so Bronco could remember. "Later you woke up screaming. You said the eyes were shining and the ears were moving. We had to take both hats down and put them in the gun room. After that, you had no more problems sleeping."
"Ah! Come on, Dad. I was only nine years old. Get real! I've heard that story so many times even I believe it."
"OK, Bronc. If you think you can sleep with this buck on your wall, then you'll have it before your birthday."
"Thanks, Dad. Help me drag this monster out of here."
Bronco and his dad laughed and joked all the way to the clearing where the four-wheeler waited.
Four weeks later the mount was complete. It was referred to as "Bronco's monster deer." It was so awkward and heavy that it took both Bronco and his dad to hang it over the mantle. Bronco had no problem going to sleep that night; he didn't anticipate any dreams or nightmares; but then, he couldn't foresee the future.
Chapter Two
That night a full moon hung over the Manley homeplace. Bronco's bedroom was bathed in moonlight. It was bright enough for him to see the monster head over the mantle. He stared at the large buck's profile. It turned slowly until it faced him. Bronco silently rolled out of bed. As he crossed his room to the fireplace, the mount returned to its original position. Fascinated and spellbound by this apparition, he was drawn to the eyes that reflected the moonlight. He placed his nose on the deer's nose and looked deeply into the sparkling eyes.
Suddenly the room was aglow. Light came from all sides. Bronco was not afraid; he was very calm and interested. Something great was about to happen. A lighted doorway appeared and he stepped through it. To his surprise, he was carrying an armload of firewood.
He glanced around a large room where students sat at small tables or on long benches. His mom, Patricia, was walking toward the front of the classroom. She carried a yardstick like a flyswatter that could strike where needed.
Studying the room carefully, he saw bare wood walls and lanterns overhead. He watched his mom as she walked to the blackboard. Written clearly on the board was the date: March 6,1755. He could not believe his eyes.
What happened to him? He remembered seeing the mounted head with the sparkling eyes turn toward him. He remembered touching nose to nose with his "monster deer." And as he looked deeply into the hypnotic eyes, the mount must have propelled him through a time warp that placed him in the past.
Patricia faced him and spoke clearly, "Bronco, thank you for bringing in the firewood. Please put a couple of sticks in the heater for me." As always, she was polite and quiet-spoken. She had been teaching for 17 years.
"You've grown into such a healthy young man. I'm glad that you are home from the Charles Town Academy. You are such a great help. I appreciate you chopping and stacking the firewood. If you have some time when you finish, would you work with Michael and Jonathon on their math? They have improved so much since you have been acting as their big brother. It's difficult for 10-12 year old boys to concentrate on schoolwork. I remember 10 years ago when you sat in their place. I had a difficult time convincing you that math was a necessity."
"Mom, you are such a charmer. You know exactly how to talk me into helping you out with these two juvenile delinquents." He spoke toward Michael and Jonathan. With a laugh he said, "I'll be happy to help the little twits with their math."
He walked over to a table where two young boys sat. They were giggling and making faces at him. One resembled his good friend Michael while the other appeared to be smaller, younger, and was not as open with the playful ribbing.
The table next to them was occupied by the other 12 year old boy in the class. Bronco did not act as a big brother to Clifton McClain. When the McClains first arrived in 96, Mrs. M. had welcomed Clifton to her classroom. But his violent outbursts and disruptive behavior made it necessary for his older sister Mary to accompany him each day. She worked with him one on one. She had offered to tutor him at home, but Mrs. M. thought if would be good for the boy to be around some children his age.
Bronco was surprised that he recognized Mary. She had long, blond hair and beautiful blue eyes. He knew immediately that he had strong feelings for her. Another young woman sat close to the front of the room. Somehow he knew her name was Susan and she helped Patricia with the younger children.
"Bronco," his mom interrupted his daydream. "Wipe that stunned look from your face. Either join us as we work through our math problems, or go back to splitting firewood."
Michael whispered, "She caught you daydreaming, huh? Who were you dreaming about? There're only a couple of girls in here old enough for you." He giggled loudly. "They must be at least 20 years old."
Bronco cut his eyes, glared at Michael and hoped his young charge would take the hint and shut his mouth. But Michael was not known for doing what is right; he liked to stir things up.
"Hey, man, you know that look won't stop me from saying what I want to say. You might be an old man, but I'm not afraid of you. Besides, I saw you looking at Mary as you came through the doorway."
Bronco was uncomfortable. Michael had interrupted his thoughts and drew him solidly into this past life, possibly a different reality.
Michael continued throwing word darts at him. "Are you scared to ask Mary to go to the dance with you Saturday night? I asked Susan to go, and Jonathan has, well, you know Jonathan. He'll keep putting it off until his sister is the only girl in the class without a date. And you know what THEY always say...."
"Yeah, yeah. But, Michael, you know what my dad always says, 'Never miss a chance to shut your mouth.'"
"Michael," Patricia spoke sharply, "if you can't stop your foolishness, you will be moved to the corner so others may work."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. M.," Michael said loudly. Then under his breath he whispered, "I just couldn't miss the chance to laugh at Bronco's expense."
"Let's get back to the work at hand, please," Mrs. M. spoke more sharply than before.
Bronco retraced his steps to the wood pile where he split and stacked more firewood. There was movement in the nearby trees. It was not animal; it was human.
He raced back to the classroom. Patricia was looking out the window at something that sent a sharp, painful look across her face. Without hesitation, Bronco motioned for the students to move toward the front of the schoolhouse. Once there, he revealed a false wall. He forced the door open and motioned for the smaller kids to enter. Inside were several strong boards that dropped into metal holders that secured the entrance to the room. It was a safe haven for the children.
Bronco ran to the doorway, "Michael, you and Jonathon come with me. I need your help to search the nearby woods."
They ran north for several hundred yards before Bronco turned to the boys. "Michael, you go to the south while I continue north. Jonathan, you travel east. Stay alert, boys. We don't know what is out there. If either of you see someone or something, don't try to do anything alone. Backtrack to the village and find my dad. He'll gather forces and follow you to the enemy's location. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir," Michael and Jonathan said in unison. All their foolishness was left behind in the classroom. They became alert assistants who would follow Bronco anywhere and obey his orders without argument.
Bronco continued to the north. He hadn't gone far when he found an area where the grass was flat and trampled. The tracks of several moccasin clad intruders traveled west toward the village. He followed the tracks to a nearby stream where a young Indian stood guard over several rabbits, squirrels, and raccoons. When the young warrior realized someone was approaching, he grabbed the small game and disappeared into the brush. Bronco followed him but could not catch him.
Bronco followed the tracks to the front door of the schoolhouse where several Indians were ransacking the building.
Shouts came from the nearby shops, and rifles were fired into the air. Michael had returned to the village after finding similar tracks headed toward the village from the south. A bloodcurdling scream came from the area of the blacksmith shop. Mr. M. was shouting loudly as he ran to the school's front door. The intruders dove out the windows and raced toward the forest.
"Patricia, Bronco, where are you?" He realized that the hidden door on the safe room was closed. Running, he yelled, "Patricia, open the door. Is everyone OK? Thank goodness! If never used again, this safe room has paid for itself today."
Bronco and the young boys burst into the room. "Dad, the whole world could have heard your battle cry. You scared those Indians out of their minds. They probably thought you were some bloodthirsty pirate with all that red hair flying in the wind. You look dangerous enough without a rifle. Just imagine the Indians seeing you charging with a rifle and screaming at the top of your lungs."
"I can see them now, Mr. M. I bet those Indians don't stop running until they get all the way to Keowee," laughed Michael.
Then Jonathan chimed in, "Yeah. I'll bet they have nightmares for a year."
"OK, boys. Keep it up, and I'll take a stick to the three of you and see how fast you can run." They continued to laugh while they searched the room for clues. All they found was a mess that needed cleaning up.
Mrs. M. came out of the safe room and looked straight at her husband. "You all seem to be having a good time out here while the rest of us stay hidden in this small room." She cleared her throat, "Let's get organized, please."
Bronco took control. "Michael and Jonathan will escort the younger kids home. We don't want their parents to be worried about them. Mom, you stay here with Mary, Clifton, and Susan. We'll let their parents know they are helping you clean up."
Bronco continued. "Michael, take the Browns to their dad's store and then swing over to the Fitzpatricks. They may already be at the store since they pass it on the way here. If not, you'll probably meet them on the trail. Jonathan, you take the Coopers and the Hilburns to their farms. Everyone, be careful and watch the woods. There could be some stragglers skulking in the underbrush. I'll search outside for clues."
Mr. M. added, "When you boys are finished, meet me and the rest of the men on the courthouse steps. This is the first time this has happened, and we need to make sure it doesn't happen again."
Bronco turned toward the door. The hair on the back of his neck began to tingle. He glanced at the window and found himself staring into a pair of very large, very black eyes. The eyes weren't like any he'd ever seen. They were so black that he couldn't see where the iris stopped and the pupils began. The dark, dark skin seemed to blend into the landscape. Strangely, neither was afraid, just curious about the other.
Patricia's loud shriek broke his trance. He turned to see if his mom was OK. When his gaze returned to the window, the face had disappeared.
"Was that an Indian?" his mom asked. "They have always been welcome to trade at the store. Why would they come here to our school? William, do you think they meant us harm?"
"I don't know what to think, hun," Mr. M. tried to calm his wife. He had never seen her so upset. "We saw several Indians. They were searching for something; I don't know what. I do know that it's not a good idea for you and your students to stay here. Leave the mess. I'll walk all of you home before I go to the courthouse. I don't need to worry about you while the men meet."
About an hour later, all the men of the village were at the courthouse. Mr. M. started the emergency meeting, "Guys, you know the trouble at the school today proves we are too lax with our guard. We must insure the safety of our families. We are too accepting of the Indians who live around us. We need to protect our village but not challenge the Indians. We aren't ready for a confrontation."
Mr. Brown spoke up, "We are not prepared for a war. We need a place where we can gather for protection. A fort or stockade would help. I will contribute all the nails and the hinges I have so we can start immediately. I'm sure others will contribute whatever they can."
Mr. Gouedy agreed, "Any questions or comments?"
Mr. M. took the floor again. "Most of us only have hunting rifles. Bronco and I have talked about defending ourselves and the surrounding area. We would like to suggest building a structure large enough to hold everyone. The village well is located next to Mr. Gouedy's barn. If we use it as a central point, we could protect ourselves and our water supply."
Bronco addressed the group of men. There was both urgency and tension in his voice. He left no doubt that something should be put into motion immediately. "We can't hold them at a distance, and I don't like the idea of fighting them hand to hand. Our best bet is to construct a stockade-fort and clear away the trees and underbrush from around the village. If we clear the forest, we'll be able to see the Indians if they come again. The woods will give us enough logs to build the wall of a stockade. Most of us have axes, scrapes, and sledgehammers. My dad and I will gladly sharpen all the implements needed."
Bronco added, "Michael, and Jonathon are strong enough to help. Clearing the land makes sense. We can chop down trees and use the mules to drag the logs to the fort. We don't need any more surprises like today. All of you know that I studied building and construction while in school in Charles Town. I'll be happy to design a structure that will benefit the whole community."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Bronco of 96by Patsy H. Manley Copyright © 2009 by Patsy H. Manley. Excerpted by permission.
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