Instantly a challenge came. “Who's there? What do you want?”
“Hawk Spencer! I want to talk to you, Shoate!”
“What do you want?” The voice was slightly blurred, but Hawk saw a rifle suddenly appear in the window. It was aimed directly at him, and he did not move.
“Come out, Shoate! We've got business!”
“I got no business with you! Get off my place!”
“Put the gun down!”
“You come any closer and I'll shoot you, Spencer!”
Slipping off his horse, Hawk laid his rifle down and advanced several steps. “I'm leaving my gun here! Come out, Shoate! We've got to talk!”
“I told you! Stay away or I'll shoot! Now git!”
Hawk heard Shoate talking to someone else and wondered how many men were in the cabin. “Who's in there with you?” he asked. There was no answer and Hawk hesitated. “If you don't come out, I'll have to come in after you!” he called finally.
Even as he ended his threat he saw the rifle shift, and raw instinct caused him to throw himself, with a violent motion, to the left just as the explosion rocked the silence of the homestead. His horse gave a scream, and as Hawk rolled in the dirt, he saw that his mount was down and kicking. Anger raced through him, and he did not stop moving. He knew it would take time for Shoate to reload unless he had another rifle handy, which was always possible. He never stopped his motion but made a dive back to where his musket was, grabbed it up, and then made a zigzag run toward a log that lay fallen in the yard. Even as he fell behind it, another explosion came, and he yelled, “I'll have to take you in, Shoate! Dead or alive, it's your choice!”
At that moment Shoate suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was a huge man with bulky shoulders and a neck so short that he appeared to have none. He was wearing a dirty hunting shirt, and in his hand he carried a hatchet. His eyes, Hawk saw, were wild, and he had one chance to throw up his rifle, but he did not want to kill the man.
Shoate, for all his size, moved quickly, and he seemed to ignore the gun in Hawk's hand. He hurdled forward, and Hawk, choosing not to fire, reversed the musket and struck out. The musket missed striking his head but struck Honey in the chest. The man's burly strength was too much. With a roar he brushed it aside and suddenly was on top of Hawk.
Hawk was bowled over backward, and the rank smell of Shoate filled his nostrils. He saw the hatchet rise and desperately tried to throw the man's weight off but he could not. For one brief moment he thought,
Getting killed by a drunk. What a waste
. The hatchet was over Shoate's head, and his eyes were wild with rage.
But the hatchet never descended. Something struck Shoate in the back of the head and he suddenly collapsed, falling loosely over Hawk.
Hawk rolled the heavy body off and sat up to see Sequatchie standing beside him, holding his musket. He looked down at the barrel and shook his head regretfully. “I think I bent it,” he said. “I should have shot him.”
Shoate was rolling on the ground, but his brute strength was so great that even being struck by a heavy musket on the head was not enough to put him down.
Quickly Hawk rolled him over, pulled his arms behind him, and pinioned him with one of the strips of rawhide he always carried. Seeing the massive strength of Shoate's arms, he wound two more strands around, then came to his feet. He turned just in time to see William Crabtree and Zeke Taylor come out of the cabin, both carrying muskets and both obviously half drunk.
“Stop right there and drop those guns!” Sevier cried out. He had come to stand beside Hawk, and Paul Anderson had taken position over to their left. The two men stared wildly at Honey, who was moaning but getting to his knees awkwardly.
“Don't shoot!” Taylor cried out.
“Lay those guns down,” Sevier said. When they had laid them on the ground slowly, he advanced and took them. He turned them to wait for Hawk to speak.
Hawk jerked the huge man to his feet and said coldly, “You're under arrest for horse stealing, Honey.”
“You won't never hang me!” Blood ran down Shoate's head, but his thick skull had cushioned the blow. His eyes were red rimmed, and despite his hands being tied, he threw himself forward like a maniac, shouting, “I'll kill you, Spencer!”
Hawk simply swiveled and struck the huge man on the back of his neck. The blow drove Honey sideways, and, off-balance, he fell to the ground.
Hawk picked up his musket and put it right against the big man's temple. “If you'd rather get shot than hang, it's your choice.”
Anderson drew a sharp breath, wondering if Hawk would pull the trigger. Finally he was relieved to hear Shoate begin cursing but not showing resistance.
“Let's take 'em in. We'll have the trial as soon as we get the association together,” Sevier said.
“We didn't have nothin' to do with it!” Taylor cried out.
“You saw him nearly kill Noah Leary, didn't you, Zeke?”
“Wasn't none of our affair. You don't bust into another man's quarrel.”
Hawk stared at the two and shook his head. “You'll be at the trial,” he said. “If you don't tell the truth, I think we can string you up along with this one.” He turned then and said bleakly, “Let's get him back to the settlement.”
****
It was five days after the arrest of Honey Shoate that the Watauga Association court convened. Some of the members of the court had gone on a salt-hunting expedition, and it was necessary to await their return before the trial could take place.
Finally, on a Thursday morning the court met in the accustomed place, and the room was packed. It was the first real test of the power of the court to enforce laws.
Honey Shoate stood in front of the members of the court sullen and belligerent. He refused to have anyone defend him and continually interrupted the court with blasphemy and cursing.
“Doesn't he know he could be hanged?” Paul whispered to Hawk, who stood beside him, both of them with their backs to the wall.
“I reckon he does, but he doesn't care much.”
After Sevier had given his evidence, and Noah Leary's wife had testified that her husband was not a betting man and would never have bet his horse, Shoate fell into a rage, cursing Mrs. Leary until Hawk had gone to him and said, “Shut your mouth or I'll put a gag in it!”
Honey Shoate had gazed balefully at Hawk, and even with the shadow of a hanging over him, he was not daunted. “I'll kill you, Hawk!”
“I expect you'd like to try.”
“There's lots of places. I'll get you! You ain't gonna live long!”
John Carter, head of the court, said, “Shut your mouth, Shoate!” He turned to Zeke Taylor and said, “Did you hear a bet being made?”
Taylor swallowed hard. He was rather pale, for he knew it was entirely possible he could be hanged because he had ridden off with the horse, as well.
“No, I didn't hear that.”
“How do you know the bet was made?”
“Why . . . why, Honey told me. He said Leary bet his horse against his'n.”
“It was all hearsay?”
“I reckon so.”
William Isaac Crabtree had nothing else to add. He told his story, and finally James Robertson said, “Why didn't you stop him from kicking Leary?”
“Why, it wasn't our fight,” Crabtree said indignantly. “A man minds his own business.”
Carter stared at the two and appeared to be pondering what action he'd be taking against them, but finally he shrugged and said, “Let's get on with the trial.”
Honey Shoate's defense was nonexistent. He swore that Leary had bet his horse despite the testimony of the man's wife and brother that Leary never bet anything. It was against his principles, they both said, and neither had ever known him to make a bet of any kind.
Finally John Carter ended the session, saying, “Take your prisoner away while the court comes to a verdict.”
Hawk cleared the room but then went back inside as the men talked about the verdict.
“I don't see we need to take a lot of time,” Robertson shrugged. He made a tall shadow as he stood beside the window gazing out, then turned and said, “He's guilty as sin. I vote for hanging.”
“So do I,” Carter said and shook his head. “He's a mad dog, and he'll kill somebody else.”
Hawk hesitated. “He didn't actually kill Leary.”
“He stole a horse,” Carter said shortly. “You're not gettin' tenderhearted, are you, Hawk?”
“Hate to take a man's life. You can't give it back to him.”
“He would have killed Noah if Sevier hadn't stopped him,” Robertson said, “and he'll kill you if we let him go.”
“I'll take my chances on that.”
But the verdict was quickly reached. Hawk hesitated, then when asked by Carter, made it unanimous.
The court was reconvened, and when Shoate was brought in, John Carter announced, “You're guilty, according to the association. I sentence you to be hanged by the neck tomorrow until you're dead.”
Hawk examined Shoate's face. It was a brutal face without a redeeming social kindness in it, and the verdict seemed to enrage him. He cursed and had to be restrained from attacking Carter, and when Hawk took him out and locked him up in the powder house, he said, “You'd better think about God and your soul.”
Shoate only cursed him and Hawk turned away sadly.
The next day the sentence was carried out at dawn, and Hawk, who had seen his share of dead men, felt a chill as Honey Shoate went to his death cursing man and God. When it was over, Hawk said to Paul Anderson, “I hate to see a thing like that.”
Anderson had tried to speak with Shoate earlier, but he had been cursed, as well. His face was pale, and he said, “He seemed to think there was no judgment.”
“He knows better now,” Hawk said grimly, then turned and walked away.
****
That evening Hawk was quiet all during supper, and afterward he walked out and did not appear until after the children had gone to bed. Elizabeth, knowing him well, came to him and touched his arm. “Did it have to be done?”
“The court thought so.”
“But what about you?”
“I wouldn't hang a man for stealing a horse. For killing a man, yes. But he didn't kill Leary.”
“He would have, though. That's what Sevier said.”
“I suppose so. And we do have to make sure the area stays safe to live in.”
A bleakness clouded Hawk's face, and Elizabeth put her arm around him as he stood at the window staring out into the darkness. “What about his soul?”
“Paul went to see him, but he wouldn't listen to him.”
“I was surprised at Paul, being a minister and all.”
“What else could he do? He says the Bible upholds capital punishment. We had a long talk about it,” Hawk said. He turned and faced her, and spoke slowly and thoughtfully. “We don't have much law out here, and we get some mighty hard men. They've got to know that when they break the law they'll have to answer for it. It's a hard way, but that's the way it must be.”
“I hope it doesn't happen again. Another hanging, I mean.”
“It probably will,” Hawk said almost bitterly, then he shook his head and with an effort put the events of the day away from him. “We won't talk about it anymore.”
“No, let's talk about your daughter.”
“Daughter? How do you know it's not going to be a son?”
“Because I just know. Will you mind too bad not having another son?”
“No. I hope she looks like you.” He laughed and drew her close. “Be terrible if she looked like me.”
The two stood there holding each other, and finally as Elizabeth turned and headed for the bedroom, he followed her. The door closed, shutting out the world outside so that all they had was each other.
Chapter Sixteen
A Brother's Choice
“Hawk?”
“Yes, what is it, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth was lying in the bed, unmoving. When she turned her face to Hawk, he saw that her lips were pressed tightly together and alarm ran through him.
“Is it time?”
“Yes. I think you'd better go get Deborah.”
Hawk leaped out of bed, pulled his pants on, and left the room. He called out, “AndyâAndy!”
A rustle came from where the boys were sleeping, and then Andrew's tousled head appeared in the opening. “Yes, Pa. What is it?”
“Quick, son! Run and get Mrs. Stevens.”
“All right, Pa.”
“And don't tarry. You hear me?”
Hawk turned to see Sarah, who slept in the large room, and at once she asked, “Is Ma going to have her baby?”
“Yes.” Hawk's answer was terse as he looked at the door to the bedroom. The muscles of his jaw grew tense and he swallowed convulsively. He seemed to have forgotten Sarah, who came and stood by him, frightened by his expression. “She'll be all right, won't she, Pa?”
Hawk shook his head nervously and then turned to look down at her. “Yes. She'll be all right, Sarah. We'll just have to pray for her and the new baby.”
****
The rifle cracked and Andrew lowered his musket. “Look, Pa, dead center!”
Hawk had been staring back at the cabin where Deborah Stevens was with Elizabeth. Sarah and Abigail were inside the kitchen in case they needed any help. Hawk had offered to stay, but Deborah Stevens had said, “You'd just be in the way. Now, take the boys and go off somewhere, but not too far.”
Hawk had gathered up the two boys, telling them to bring their muskets, and they had gone two hundred yards past the house, just over the rise where he could still keep an eye on the door. Sequatchie sat with his back against the tree, watching as the boys took their target practice.
“Your turn, Jacob,” Andrew grinned. “I bet you can't top that shot.”
Jacob had loaded his rifle. He had been inordinately proud of the weapon Hawk had given him for Christmas and had spent some time practicing. Now, however, he seemed preoccupied, and when he shot he merely clipped the bark on the tree where the target was pinned.