Chapter One
Johnny Devaney
If he had stayed at the fort, he would be dead by now, finished off by disease or drink . His brother likely was dead and if so, that left him alone in the world without family or even friend . He had no destination when he left Gibson behind, nothing but a vague idea that he wanted to return to the wild Ozark wilderness they traveled through en route to the fort . That country had been more like his native Tennessee , with deep woods and clear running streams , so he followed the waters of three rivers, the Neosho, Spring, and Shoal, heading in a general northeastern track , but he had no idea what he would do if or when he reached the Ozarks.
Once he might have hoped to build a new life, to start again in a different place , but the desire for such things died with his family . From the day that his father died in a puddle of blood in his cornfield until the night that his youngest brother, James, the one they all called Seamus Usdi , expired lying in the frozen mud on the banks of the Mississippi River, his heart numbed, dulled to emotion when the pain grew too great to bear . Between, he had lost others, all he once held dear, even the wife that he did not . He could not remember what it was to laugh or to sing though once he had done both . Leaving the fort had been his first inkling that he might still want to survive, if he had not, he would have stayed and died . He might die, anyway, for he felt sick in body but he dogged on, mile by slow, hard mile.
His head ached, pounded as if the pain might cause it to burst open . It felt as if it had been cleaved in two with a sharp axe . In spite of that he continued, finding it harder to make each step . His body hurt; muscles and joints aching with deep pain to his weary bones . The tiny cave tucked into one of the rugged bluffs that lined this portion of the Shoal River had been damp and cool but he passed the night there, so he could be out of the sudden, fierce thunderstorm that pounded the valley with force . Since early this morning, when he crawled out to continue his trek, Johnny stumbled with a slow gait.
Although he felt cold for most of the day, when the afternoon sun shone full on his back, grimy beneath his worn buckskins, he burned and he wondered if a swim across the river might cool him or ease the pain in his head . Last nightâs rain had the river running full but he did not hesitate, stepping into the waters and wading out to the deeper channel where he swam, sleek as an otter, to the opposite bank.
The effort sapped his failing strength and the water left him shaking with a chill, coughing, as he lay prone on the muddy bank . Unless he gathered his wits and found strength to go on, he would lie here and die . That was not what he wanted and so he whispered,
âA Dhia, cunamh orn .â
Two things surprised him, even in his misery . He still wanted to live and he sought Godâs help . God had seemed far distant for more than a year , and he would not have thought he had a s crap of faith left in any deityâ but he must or he would not have call ed out to him now . Nor would he have thought that he could have any desire for survival left, not when he had lost all he ever held dear or cared about but it was there, a spark of desire to continue with life . Whether it was his own strong will or help from the Almighty, he struggled until he regained his feet, moving from the riverbank toward the cover of the trees.
Johnny leaned against a sturdy oak, so broad he could not put his arms around it . His swim did nothing to ease his headache or other ills , and he admitted, for the first time, that he might be ailing, that he might have the fever that killed men by the score each week at Fort Gibson . He could not recall ever being so weak , but he thought if he had a hot meal and could stretch his aching bones before a warm fire for the night , he might prove his theory wrong.
He inhaled and caught the aroma of
Johnny Devaney
If he had stayed at the fort, he would be dead by now, finished off by disease or drink . His brother likely was dead and if so, that left him alone in the world without family or even friend . He had no destination when he left Gibson behind, nothing but a vague idea that he wanted to return to the wild Ozark wilderness they traveled through en route to the fort . That country had been more like his native Tennessee , with deep woods and clear running streams , so he followed the waters of three rivers, the Neosho, Spring, and Shoal, heading in a general northeastern track , but he had no idea what he would do if or when he reached the Ozarks.
Once he might have hoped to build a new life, to start again in a different place , but the desire for such things died with his family . From the day that his father died in a puddle of blood in his cornfield until the night that his youngest brother, James, the one they all called Seamus Usdi , expired lying in the frozen mud on the banks of the Mississippi River, his heart numbed, dulled to emotion when the pain grew too great to bear . Between, he had lost others, all he once held dear, even the wife that he did not . He could not remember what it was to laugh or to sing though once he had done both . Leaving the fort had been his first inkling that he might still want to survive, if he had not, he would have stayed and died . He might die, anyway, for he felt sick in body but he dogged on, mile by slow, hard mile.
His head ached, pounded as if the pain might cause it to burst open . It felt as if it had been cleaved in two with a sharp axe . In spite of that he continued, finding it harder to make each step . His body hurt; muscles and joints aching with deep pain to his weary bones . The tiny cave tucked into one of the rugged bluffs that lined this portion of the Shoal River had been damp and cool but he passed the night there, so he could be out of the sudden, fierce thunderstorm that pounded the valley with force . Since early this morning, when he crawled out to continue his trek, Johnny stumbled with a slow gait.
Although he felt cold for most of the day, when the afternoon sun shone full on his back, grimy beneath his worn buckskins, he burned and he wondered if a swim across the river might cool him or ease the pain in his head . Last nightâs rain had the river running full but he did not hesitate, stepping into the waters and wading out to the deeper channel where he swam, sleek as an otter, to the opposite bank.
The effort sapped his failing strength and the water left him shaking with a chill, coughing, as he lay prone on the muddy bank . Unless he gathered his wits and found strength to go on, he would lie here and die . That was not what he wanted and so he whispered,
âA Dhia, cunamh orn .â
Two things surprised him, even in his misery . He still wanted to live and he sought Godâs help . God had seemed far distant for more than a year , and he would not have thought he had a s crap of faith left in any deityâ but he must or he would not have call ed out to him now . Nor would he have thought that he could have any desire for survival left, not when he had lost all he ever held dear or cared about but it was there, a spark of desire to continue with life . Whether it was his own strong will or help from the Almighty, he struggled until he regained his feet, moving from the riverbank toward the cover of the trees.
Johnny leaned against a sturdy oak, so broad he could not put his arms around it . His swim did nothing to ease his headache or other ills , and he admitted, for the first time, that he might be ailing, that he might have the fever that killed men by the score each week at Fort Gibson . He could not recall ever being so weak , but he thought if he had a hot meal and could stretch his aching bones before a warm fire for the night , he might prove his theory wrong.
He inhaled and caught the aroma of
Similar Books
