Читать книгу Hillcountry Warriors - Johnny Neil Smith - Страница 13

As Mccorkle predicted, owners began to arrive daily to claim their property. By mid-May, 1834, the Wilsons could not find enough time to tend their own farm because so many families needed directions. Often Lott would go with one family while Jake would direct another. With each passing day, Jake became more irritated because he knew the serene life with his Choctaw friends would soon end, never to return.

And again, as Mister Mac had also predicted, conflict and violence over land lines occurred with such regularity that Lott and Jake had to re-survey and settle many disputes. In some cases, they had to refer these problems to Judge Henry who was in charge of keeping law and order in the newly-formed Newton County. Judge Henry’s office was in a crude log cabin in the small but growing settlement of Union. The town lay approximately six and one half miles west of the Wilsons, and it took time to travel back and forth to settle the arguments. When Newton County was created from the southern part of Neshoba County, the county seat was moved to Decatur, a small village nine miles south of Union.

An unexpected problem between the Choctaws and settlers developed because some Choctaws chose to stay on their native land. Still unaccustomed to being restricted, the Choctaws felt they could roam at will in pursuit of wild game. They also resented the way settlers were slaughtering the deer and turkey. Two settlers boasted that from the latter part of January to the first of July, they had killed almost a hundred deer and planned to continue their hunting. The black bear, that Choctaws hunted with great pride, were now only tales to tell when settled around the campfires at night. They were gone forever.

Some settlers felt the Indians did not deserve the same rights as themselves. They felt they could take wild game at will from the Choctaws’ land and often ran the Indians off their own property.

Lott and Jake could see a serious conflict developing, and knowing how the federal government in Washington felt about Indian rights, they realized the Indians could not expect the justice they deserved. President Jackson had already made it clear that this country was meant for the white man and when the Indians got in the way of progress, the Indians were to be removed, one way or another.

Minsa and several other Choctaws had decided to remain on the land where their village was established. It was relatively flat and extremely fertile since it lay next to the Little Rock Creek. One area that had been cleared years before by Minsa’s clan to host the famous stickball games would be perfect for cultivation, if the Indians chose to work the land; but Minsa could not think of breaking the ground where so many fierce games had been played. This land was part of the property Frank Olliver had asked McCorkle to purchase for him earlier.

Minsa’s sister, Hatta, chose to stay with him and with the man she had grown to love.

On one particular day, the summer sun seemed hotter than usual so Lott and Jake settled themselves under the shade of one of the large oaks located on the edge of their freshly plowed field to rest a while and regain their strength.

“Lott, this heat is about to get the best of me, and we still have a long way to go ‘fore dark,” remarked Jake, as he lay back on the ground.

“I know how you feel, Jake, but sundown’ll come and we’ll be proud of this field.”

Lott stood up when movement at the edge of the woods on the other end of the field caught his attention. It was Minsa and Hatta.

“Jake, get up. We got company comin’. Wonder what they want this time of day?” questioned Lott, nudging Jake.

Jake quickly rose and walked through the loosely plowed soil to meet them.

“Lott, sump’n ain’t right. They never visit this time of day.”

“Jake, bring them up here under the shade. You hear me,” hollered Lott.

“I hear ya,” replied Jake over his shoulder, as he walked even faster to reach their friends.

Lott could tell something was wrong by the way Minsa and Hatta were talking with Jake.

“What’s goin’ on Minsa?” questioned Lott, as they approached.

“Got trouble with white man and black man too,” answered Minsa. “They cut my trees and break my ground.”

“Wait a minute, Minsa. You tellin’ me someone is on yore land,” interrupted Jake, getting angrier by the minute. “We’ll just run those sons of bitches off right now.”

“Jake, let him finish,” Lott said. “Minsa, are you sure they is on yore land?” questioned Lott, hoping it was just a mistake.

“On my land. Minsa know where Lott and Jake marked trees,” answered Minsa. “White man say us get, or he shoot hell out of us.”

’Ill tell ya who is going to get the hell shot out of him. That’s that bastard down there on yore land,” exclaimed Jake.

“Why didn’t you go get the rifle I give you and run him off. You had the right,” continued Jake.

“Afraid to do. Minsa cousin try to run white man off land, and they had big fight. White man was on top of cousin chokin’ him. Cousin pull knife and stick him dead,” murmured Minsa.

“Judge arrest him and said he murder. Judge hang cousin. Minsa no want to hang. We come to get help from Wilsons.”

Lott saw the fear in their eyes and sadly remembered that Minsa had onced governed this land and ruled the woodlands and disciplined anyone who did not follow the tribal law. Now Minsa’s independence was gone and he had become an outsider in the land he once possessed.

“That’s smart to come get us to help ya,” replied Lott. “Jake and I’ll go get the horses, and we’ll put a stop to this. And I did hear about that killin’. I thought the judge made a mistake,” Lott said.

“Minsa, you and Hatta come up to the house with us. Lott and me is goin’ down there and create a livin’ hell for someone,” blurted out Jake, as he reached for Hatta’s hand.

“Minsa, you unharness my mules, leave the plow and gear here, and take them animals to the barn,” Jake said.

“Jake, we going to go down there and see if a mistake has been made, and there ain’t going to be no bloodshed. You hear me,” shouted Lott still trying to get his mule out of the field and headed in the right direction.

Back at the house, it didn’t take Lott and Jake long to put the mules in the barn and get the horses saddled. In a matter of minutes, they galloped out of the barnyard and headed for Minsa’s land four miles south.

The brothers couldn’t say a word as they raced through the forest weaving their way through the open woodlands. As Jake’s big golden buckskin stallion approached a thicket near a stand of virgin pines, he flushed a covey of quail which caused the stallion to stop suddenly sending Jake sailing and headlong into a thicket. To Lott’s surprise, Jake didn’t say a single curse word. He just remounted his horse and pushed the animal harder than ever to catch up.

As they approached Minsa’s land, they could hear a crosscut saw and smell smoke. They also knew from the markings that this was Minsa’s land.

They slowed their horses as they approached two men who were dropping a huge beech tree. One was a big black man, almost as large as Jake.

“You men workin’ hard,” questioned Lott, as he and Jake brought their horses to a stop.

“You might say that, and what is you doin’ down here?” replied the white man pushing his hair out of his eyes so he could see.

It was Frank Olliver.

Lott quickly dismounted and went over to shake Frank’s hand. Recognizing Lott, Frank laid his saw down and hurried to meet his old companion.

“What the hell you boys doin’ down here? I heard you was some-wheres in these woods, and it’s about time we had a get together” laughed Frank, as he shook Lott’s hand and patted him on the back.

“What the hell you doin’ here?” Jake said angrily, as he remained saddled and made no effort to greet his old friend.

“Get off that ole horse, and let’s talk a spell,” replied Frank trying to avoid the question.

“You boys has changed some since I last seen ya. Just look at them beards, and Jake you seem to have lost some weight too. Lott, you’s gettin’ a lot of grey hair mighty early, ain’t ya?” chuckled Frank.

Jake reluctantly dismounted and walked slowly over to greet him. Jake and Lott had mixed emotions about Frank. They still considered Frank a friend, but he was up to no good and they had to stop him. Their anger gradually changed to suspicion.

After about an hour of sharing the past year’s experience, Lott finally asked Frank the question both parties had been avoiding. “Frank, do you know that this land you’s workin’ ain’t yores?” stated Lott. “You’s workin’ another man’s land.”

Frank squirmed nervously. “Lott, I want you to meet the first niggar in these parts. This here is Toby. My paw-in-law in Louisiana let me borrow him to help me get this place started.”

Toby raised his hand to acknowledge his introduction but remained seated at the base of a large beech tree studying this unusual pair that had ridden in on them so suddenly.

“Is he a slave, Frank?” questioned Jake.

“Well, he ain’t my slave, Jake. He’s my paw-in-law’s slave. When I get through with him, I’ll send him on back to the bayou country.”

“Frank, we don’t like slavery, and I hope there ain’t no slaves kept in this county. It ain’t right,” stated Lott.

“Lott, let me tell ya sump’n. Slavery’s legal, and these niggars are property just like yore mules, plus we treat them a helluvah lot better than you treat them animals of yores,” Frank said, becoming angry at the way Lott and Jake were questioning him.

“And yes, I know this here is a Choctaw’s land I’m workin’, but they ain’t any better than that niggar sittin’ over there under that tree. Them Choctaws don’t know how to work this land.”

Jake had all he could stand and before Frank could make another statement, Jake jumped up and grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him off the ground until his feet were barely touching ground.

“Let me tell you sump’n, Frank Olliver! This Choctaw you’s talkin’ about is a friend of mine, and he is a helluvah lot better person than you is ever going to be,” shouted Jake, shaking him with each word.

Frank fearing for his life called out, “Toby! get this fool off me. Get the ax, Niggar! He’s going to kill me.”

Toby reached for the ax but Lott intervened.

“Wait a minute men! This here’s gone too far. Jake, let him down and just cool off some,” Lott said, getting hold of Jake and pulling Frank away from him. “And Toby, you don’t want none of Jake. He’ll hurt ya.”

“Yessuh, I didn’t want none of him, but I has to mind Mas’ Olliver,” replied Toby, laying the ax down.

“Frank, the only problem we has, is you is farmin’ a friend of ours land. It ain’t right; Judge Henry won’t go for it, and we need to stay friends, if’n we can,” stated Lott trying to restore peace and order.

Frank straightened his clothes and stammered some apologies.

“Maybe I did make a mistake to take this land, Lott, but I didn’t think the Choctaw would mind me using a few acres, and hell, Jake, I didn’t know he was a friend of yores,” replied Frank. “We got to live together.”

Lott and Jake nodded, straightened their clothes and mounted their horses for home. They doubted Frank’s sincerity and knew that their problems with Frank Olliver were just beginning. Mister Mac always Frank said couldn’t be trusted.

As they rode, little passed between them, but as they approached the house, Lott cautioned Jake about what had been forming in his mind.

“Jake, I got sump’n bothering me, and it’s got to come out,” Lott said, reining his horse to a stop.

“What’s up brother?” replied Jake, pulling his horse up next to Lott’s.

“Jake, you embarrassed Frank in front of that big black. What’s his name? Toby, that’s it, and Jake, Frank ain’t going to forget it. He’s going to get you someday, somehow. You better watch yore back.”

“I ain’t worried about that bastard. It’ll take more than him to bring me down,” replied Jake.

Minsa and Hatta were sitting on the front step, waiting.

“Good to see you, Wilsons. You kill white man?” questioned Minsa, stepping forward to stop the horses.

“Naw, we didn’t kill nobody, but I sure felt like it,” Jake said, dismounting.

“That man ain’t going to pester you no more. If’n he do, you just tell me and I’ll get him,” Jake said, as he walked over to embrace Hatta.

“Minsa, you is going to be fine. Let’s go to the kitchen and see if’n we can round up some vittles,” Lott said, pointing toward the back of the house.

Later that night, Minsa and Hatta left and Lott and Jake were alone on the front porch. Lott packed his pipe full and lit it. Tobacco was a new habit for him.

“Jake, can I ask you sump’n personal, and will you not get mad at me?” Lott said, feeling uncomfortable about what was bothering him.

“You sure can, brother. That’s what brothers do,” replied Jake, not paying a lot of attention.

“Jake, ain’t Hatta gained a little weight? You know, in the middle?”

“What you gettin’ at?” answered Jake, trying to avoid looking at his inquisitive brother.

“Jake, now don’t get mad at me. Is Hatta going to have a baby? And if’n she is, it’s all right with me.”

“Lott, I love that woman, and she is going to have my baby,” replied Jake, as he stared hard toward the barnyard.

“I been ‘fraid to tell ya ‘bout it. I didn’t know how you’d take it. I thought you might get mad,” continued Jake, pleased that Lott was not scolding him for once.

“Jake, this is how I feel. Hatta is carryin’ my future niece or nephew, and I think the child should carry the Wilson name. My brotherly advice to you is to go down there tomorrow, ask Minsa if’n you can take her for yore wife, and bring her to our place. You two can have the other side of the house. And, the first time a preacher comes to this here country, he can marry you two and make it legal,” Lott said with finality.

“Lott, what’s people going to say ‘bout us havin’ a Choctaw in our house?” asked Jake.

“Jake, I don’t give a hooter’s damn what they say ‘bout that. We were the first to settle this country, and we’ll set the rules,” answered Lott, leaning back in his chair and blowing a large circle of smoke into the air.

Jake eased up out of his seat and motioned Lott to stand up.

Lott was apprehensive about Jake’s intentions since he had been meddling, but he stood anyway. Lott hadn’t had a fight with Jake since they were teenagers, and he sure didn’t want to test his strength against a brother that could tear a man apart and not break a sweat doing it.

“Lott, you mind givin’ this ole brother of yores a hug. You know to be such an ass sometimes, you really is sump’n,” Jake said.

“I love ya and I’m going to go get her tomorrow,” concluded Jake.

“I love you, too, you big ox. That is, most of the time,” laughed Lott, relieved that Jake had not taken offense.

The following morning, Jake was gone by good daylight and before noon had returned with Hatta and her few belongings.

In the weeks that followed, Hatta brought many changes to the Wilson’s household. She kept the house spotless, cooked better than either brother and with her pleasant demeanor, kept Lott and Jake from their habitual arguing.

Four months later, in November of 1834, Hatta gave birth to a healthy and beautiful boy. Since the Choctaws had named Jake, Homa Chitto. Hatta and Jake decided to use the name Homa, but to change it to Homer, the English name. Homer had brown skin and dark eyes like his mother, but his hair was a light shade of red, almost golden like his father’s.

Never had a man been more proud of his son. Jake continually spoke of future plans for Homer and Hatta and how he wanted to set good examples for the boy. Jake even tried to control his temper and tongue.

Lott always got up early and read a few chapters in the Bible before starting the day’s work. One morning he had an unexpected guest.

“Lott, you mind if Homer and Hatta listen to you? When I was small, my father read stories to me in God Jesus Book,” Hatta said. “I want to know more.”

“Come on out here. I can use the company,” replied Lott. “You ever hear ‘bout King David and the giant?”

“Tell me,” urged Hatta.

After Lott finished the story, she looked puzzled.

“Lott, why missionaries no come here with settlers? White men all know God? God not important?”

“Hatta, God is important but not all white men believe as this book teaches. And they’ll come, the preachers that is, and when they do, this country is going to get back on the right track. You and Jake is going to get married up right when the first one comes by.”

From then on, Lott, Hatta and Homer began their day reading and talking about the stories in the Bible. When the weather permitted, they met on the front porch, but when it was cold, they would sit around the fireplace in the kitchen.

Jake, always a slow riser, finally decided to join the group. Before long, he was taking an active part in the devotions and enjoyed impressing Hatta with his ability to read and discuss the scripture.

As Mister Mac had predicted, the first few years of settlement had brought a lot of violence and turmoil to the hillcountry. Meanwhile, there was not enough law enforcement to settle the continuing disputes. Judge Henry had moved from Union to the new county seat located near the center of Newton County, and he had only one sheriff and one deputy for the entire county.

There were violent fights among neighbors, heavy drinking and gambling. Men would meet every Sunday for horse racing, dog fighting and anything else they could dream up for entertainment. Often these meetings would end in brawls when losers were forced to pay their gambling debts.

Judge Henry always advised his sheriff, “Go out and see who started the trouble and if it was a fair fight. If one of them got killed and you think it’s fair, to hell with them. Don’t bring no one to me to judge on.”

Lott and Jake stayed clear of trouble. They worked hard and minded their own business. Jake still didn’t much care for farming, but he had two special interests. First, to Lott’s objection, he earned the reputation of making some of the best homebrew and corn whiskey in the county. People would come from miles around and most homes kept it as a normal household commodity. And second, as much pride as he took in his whisky making, his real first love was horses.

He had never even been on a horse until he began surveying with Mister Mac, but since then he was obsessed with how fast a horse could run carrying a man on its back. He searched and traded for the best horses in the state, and once a purchase was made, Jake bred for speed only. Eventually Jake made large sums of money buying and selling horses and he seldom lost a bet at the tracks.

One day Jake heard about a new breed of horse called a quarter horse, a mix between a thoroughbred and the type of horses the Spaniards had brought into Mexico centuries earlier. A man in Natchez was raising them, and the more Jake heard about how quick the horse was, the more he wanted such an animal. It took all the money he had put away from his liquor and racing, but he traveled to Natchez and returned with the first quarter horse the Newton countians had ever seen. His goal was not only to raise a fast horse, but also one that could carry his own massive weight.

A sudden downpour of rain followed by a refreshing cool northern breeze, swirled the leaves in the tops of the trees sending them fluttering toward the ground and brought an end to the extremely hot and dry summer of 1836. Fall was now in the air.

On one of these cool days, Hatta was hanging out some clothes she had just finished washing when the sounds of a wagon rattling and creaking up the rough path leading to the house caught her attention. The noise startled Red and Sourdough, Lott’s prize hounds, who were curled up under the front porch. They bolted out and raced toward the approaching wagon barking and yelping loud enough to warn the entire community.

Hatta quickly walked to the front of the house to get a closer look. As the wagon reached the house, Hatta nervously called out, “This is the Wilson place. What you want here?”

“I assume you might be Mrs. Wilson,” responded the man who was driving as he politely tipped his hat. Tm Samuel Thompson and this here is my wife, Sarah, and that young lady on the end is my daughter, Sarah Alice. We’ve come to talk to Mister Lott Wilson.”

“My name is Hatta, not Mrs. Wilson. Lott and Jake has gone to check on horses near the creek. They be back soon. Get down and come to porch.”

Shortly Lott and Jake rode up with their splendid horses in tow. They were surprised to see guests but assumed they were settlers wishing to locate their property.

Walking up to the steps, Lott introduced himself and Jake and then sent Jake into the house to get some chairs. Lott was introduced to Sarah Alice last and he noticed that she was only a few years younger than he was.

“Mister Wilson, this here is Sarah Alice, our one and only daughter. She’s a petite thing, but she’s some kind of musician. She can play anything she gets her hands on,” said Mister Thompson.

Lott took his hat off and bowed slightly as he reached to shake her hand. She was pretty and only stood about five feet tall with long curly blond hair and deep blue eyes, much the same color as his.

They stood awkwardly holding each other’s hand not knowing how to continue the introduction.

Sarah thought, “This is the most handsome man I have ever met in my life and with such good manners. I hope he isn’t with that Indian lady. I’ll just die if he is.”

Lott was embarrassed and finally found words to get himself out of his predicament.

Im Lott Wilson, and Jake and me was the first white settlers in this country. You all please have a seat,” Lott said, directing Sarah to a chair.

“I heard about you ‘fore we came over today, and Tm also proud to meet ya,” answered Sarah, taking her seat next to Lott.

“Mister Wilson, Tm going to get right to the point of our callin. Tm a Methodist preacher who is workin’ for the Lord in this county, and I want to hold a preachin’ on yore place and invite all the folks ‘round here to come,” stated Mister Thompson.

“A preacherman!” exclaimed Jake. “Hell, we’s been waitin’ for you for two years.”

Realizing his tongue had gotten away from him, he apologized, “Pardon me, preacher, the devil gets a hold of me sometimes.”

“The Lord will forgive ya, Jake,” laughed Mister Thompson. “I get excited myself sometimes.”

“Amen,” replied Mrs. Thompson.

“Mister Thompson. Do you marry people?” asked Hatta reaching for Jake’s hand and nudging him.

“I sure do and I bury them too,” chuckled Mister Thompson. “Who wants to get married?”

Sarah Alice prayed, “Dear Lord, please let it be Jake, not Lott, please not Lott.”

Jake placed his arm around Hatta and pulled her close to his side.

“It’s us, Preacher. We been together for over two years, and ain’t been nobody come by to marry us. I want to marry this woman,” Jake shyly replied.

“Mister Thompson, we have son too. We want preacher to bless family,” Hatta said.

Sarah was elated as she pulled on her father’s coat to encourage a positive response, “Sure he’ll marry you two. He does it every day.”

“Sarah Alice, that decision will be mine. I don’t need yore help young lady,” replied Mister Thompson, somewhat peeved at her brashness.

“But yes, I’ll marry you two when you get ready, but you’ll have to go to the county seat in Decatur and register it. I’ll take care of God’s part, and you two take care of the gov’ment regulations.”

A week later, the community’s first revival was held, and sermons were delivered from the front porch of the Wilsons’ home. An unexpected crowd turned out each evening and went away filled with the spirit, and a few of them went away filled with some of Jake’s special spirit—corn whiskey.

Reverend Thompson brought a pump organ to the meeting, and everyone was impressed at how Sarah Alice could play any song that was requested. On the first night when Sarah began the introduction to a hymn, Red and Sourdough began to howl so loudly the whole congregation broke out in laughter. The highlight of the final night of the revival that ran for seven evenings, was the plaintive voice of Hatta as she sang “Amazing Grace” in her native Choctaw language. This time, even the dogs felt a special reverence and stayed quiet.

Even though some of the settlers frowned on Jake for living with Hatta, they had learned to respect the Wilsons and also accepted Hatta because there wasn’t a kinder or harder working woman in the community.

During the revival, the Thompsons stayed in the Wilsons’ home. This gave Lott and Sarah a chance to spend time together. Each day they would walk the fields and meadows together, take horseback rides into the open woods and at night sit for hours on the front porch until Reverend Thompson called Sarah to bed.

Lott had always been fascinated with Hatta’s beauty and personality, but in Sarah, he discovered in himself a deep love and affection. In Sarah’s eyes and touch, he knew she cared for him. On Christmas eve of 1836, four months after their meeting, Lott and Sarah were married.

They lived on one side of the house and Jake and his family lived across the hall. Homer enjoyed the best of both families. He would often cross the hall and spend the night with Lott and Sarah and at times wander from bedroom to bedroom making this a night time game.

“Jake, can you hear me?” questioned Lott one night from deep up under the covers.

“Sure can brother. What ya want?” muttered Jake from across the open hall.

“You want some nephews or nieces someday?”

“I could stand a few, I guess,” replied Jake.

“Then you need to keep H-O-M-E-R in yore bed and out of ours.”

Jake and Hatta snickered, because they could hear Sarah scolding Lott for discussing their sex life so openly.

The cold dreary days soon began to lengthen as the spring of 1837 came to the hillcountry bringing a luster of wildflowers, blossoms and a sense of renewed life.

On one of these days the two families rode to Decatur to visit Sarah’s parents and to pick up needed farm items before spring plowing. Upon returning home, they were shocked to see Mister McCorkle, their old surveying boss, sitting on their front porch whittling on a stick and whistling some unrecognizable tune.

“Thought you never would get home,” Mister Mac said, as the Wilsons pulled up to the porch. “And who all you got with ya? Where’d you find them good lookin’ things out here in these sticks?”

Jake leaped out of the wagon even before it had come to a complete stop and sprinted out in front of the horses to greet his old friend.

“Question is, where the hell you come from, you old codger?” replied Jake, as he picked up Mister Mac like he was weightless and whirled him around. “Them hounds ought to have eat ya up ‘fore you got on the porch.”

“Put me down, you overgrown ox! I’m gettin’ old and my bones might break. And them so called bad hounds of yores ain’t nothin’ but house cats. I hollered one time and they took off under the house, tails tucked.”

After introducing their families, Lott asked, “Mister Mac, did you get to see Mamma? How’s she doing?” As they settled in front of a fresh crackling fire, Mister Mac replied, “Boys, I got good and bad news. What ya want first?” He took a big breath and filled his pipe.

“Mister Mac, don’t fool with us when we talkin’ about Mamma. This here is serious bus’ness,” scolded Jake.

“I’m sorry, boys. I forgot it’s been so long since you two has seen her.”

“Well first, she’s doin’ fine and is as healthy as ever. That’s the good news and the bad news is she’s going to marry ‘Fessor Johnson.”

“Johnson! That son of a bitch had me kicked out of school,” shouted Jake, enraged at the thought. “She must have gone crazy or sump’n. Damn, that makes my stomach turn.”

Lott, usually calm in such situations, suddenly became angry and grabbed a piece of firewood and hurled it at Jake barely missing him.

“Jake, I’ll tell you sump’n. You is the son of a bitch, and Mister Johnson didn’t get ya kicked out of school. Yore sorriness done it for ya. He’s a fine man, and if he loves Mamma and wants to take care of her, we ought to be proud for both of them. You ought to be ashamed of yoreself.”

Jake was shocked at his brother’s reaction. This hadn’t happened since they were children in Savannah. Jake quickly realized he had over-reacted.

“Lott, you didn’t have to throw that stick at me. You could’ve hurt me,” Jake said, as he straightened himself and tried to think of what to say to make amends.

In seconds, Sarah, Hatta, and Homer appeared to see what was happening.

“What in tarnation is goin’ on in here!” exclaimed Sarah looking the room over to see what caused the racket.

Mister Mac was leaning as far back in his chair as possible to avoid any melee and held his pipe behind his back to protect his treasured smoke.

Lott and Jake were glaring at each other, waiting for the other to make a move.

“That man over there throwed a piece of wood at me,” Jake said. “And it almost hit me.”

“Lott, you have never done sump’n like that to Jake before. What has come over you?” questioned Sarah.

“I throwed it and I wish it had got him, too,” muttered Lott, still angry.

“Jake, what you do to make Lott this mad?” questioned Hatta. “You talk ugly to him?”

“Naw, Mister Mac says Mamma’s gettin’ married to ‘Fessor Johnson, and Lott was takin’ up for him,” answered Jake who was now feeling embarrassed about the fuss he and Lott had made in front of Mister Mac and the family.

“Jake, is he bad man, this Johnson?” continued Hatta. “Does he steal or kill someone?”

“Naw, he don’t do none of them things.”

“I don’t see why you boys ain’t happy about yore mamma’s marriage. Ever since I known you, you been worried about yore mamma and concerned about what’s going to happen to her. If this man is good, you ought to be re-joicin’, not this fussin’ and poutin’,” concluded Sarah who had become angry herself. “And Lott Wilson, you ought to be ashamed for almost hittin’ yore brother. You could’ve hurt him bad.”

“And Mister Jake, yore bad words are comin’ out again and in front of little Homer. Devil is after you again,” scolded Hatta.

“And until you two get things straighten out, there ain’t going to be no supper tonight,” stated Sarah, as she and Hatta took Homer by the hand and led him across the hall to Hatta’s bedroom.

Mister Mac, who had remained silent, finally spoke. “I can see you two ain’t changed a bit. Always fussin’ and makin’ fools out of yoreself. You ought to be gettin’ tired of that by now. Either you two make peace and get them women back in the kitchen, or I’m takin’ this scrawny butt of mine somewhere else for supper—you hear me?” Mister Mac said, as he tried to relight his smoke. By the tone of his voice, the boys could see he was serious.

“Yes Sir,” replied Jake quickly.

“We are kind of good at being a pair of jackasses, ain’t we, Jake,” added Lott.

“Yeah, we is. And you got some kind of kick when you get that temper up,” replied Jake reaching out his hand.

When supper was finished, Lott turned to their guest.

“Mister Mac, I know we has always been the best of friends, but I feel you’ve come a long way to tell us sump’n besides a social call.”

“You always could read my mind. As soon as we finish our table talk, I want to talk to you and Jake in private, if’n that’s fine,” replied Mister Mac.

“Good as done, Mister Mac,” Jake said. “I’m ready to go up front now. Ladies that was some kind of fine meal.”

“Sure was. It was some of the best squirrel dumplings I ever put in my mouth,” Mister Mac said, as he rose from the table and gave the ladies a bow.

“We’re glad you liked it, but remember, no fightin’ up there when you start that talkin’,” Hatta said.

It didn’t take the men long to get relaxed around the fireplace, and in the meantime, Jake went out back to bring in some of his corn whiskey.

“Well, I’m going to get right to the problem, and I want you both to listen and don’t interrupt me till I’m finished,” Mister Mac said. “As you already know, the gov’ment’s gave the Choctaws a chance to stay here and live on their own piece of land. Our politicians didn’t think many would do it. But, the problem is, the gov’ment wants them all out. They think they ain’t going to make a living on the land and they’re going to get in the way of civilization. The bottom line is, the Choctaws gotta go. And ‘fore you say anything, listen to what the Gov’nor told me. If’n an Indian and a white man has a problem and even if’n the white man is wrong, the Indian is the loser. The gov’ment’s going to move them all to the Oklahoma Territory just as sure as the sun’s going to rise in the morning.”

The brothers sat quietly looking at one another, too shocked to respond.

“Mister Mac, there can’t be over fifty or sixty Choctaws left in Newton and Neshoba County, is there?” responded Lott.

“There is about six or seven thousand registered at the state office now,” replied Mister Mac.

“Six or seven thousand!” exclaimed Jake. “I ain’t seen them around here. Sounds like a bunch of lies to me.”

“They is here, Jake. I has never lied to you boys. They’s here.”

“What’s the President’s feelin’ about this?” asked Lott. “And Jake, you better pass yore jug to me. I don’t usually fool with whiskey, but I think, I need a little help right now.”

“Lott, you boys been keepin’ up with Gen’ral Jackson through the years? I know you has, and you also know what he’s done to the Cherokees. They took their case to the highest court in the land, up in Washington—and won,” stated Mister Mac, blowing a large circle of smoke toward the ceiling.

“Did the Cherokees get to stay on their land? Hell no. President Jackson moved them anyway. That tell you boys anything?” concluded Mister Mac.

“Sure does, Mister Mac. Them Indians who fought with Ole Hick’ry against the Creeks and Seminoles were fightin’ on the wrong side. They should have killed that son of a bitch long time ago. You know, I heard one of them Indians actually saved his life. Can you believe it? They saved that bastard’s life,” added Jake.

“What can we do to help them Choctaws, Mister Mac?” asked Lott.

“Jake, I don’t know what you can do. From what I has experienced, I don’t see nothin’ you can do. You two better get on yore knees and do a heap of prayin. It’s going to take the power of the good Lord to save that bunch.”

“Well, Mister Mac, Jake and I is going to try to help them, and that damned Jackson ain’t always going to be pres’dent. Them fancy politicians up North ain’t seen the fury of the Wilsons when we get our dander up,” Lott said, nodding at Jake to get his approval.

“You right brother. Preach on. I like the way you is talkin,” added Jake.

No sooner had Mister Mac left the following morning, than another visitor rode up to the house. He introduced himself as Thomas Walker, a merchant from the nearby settlement of Meridian, and he had a proposition for Lott and Jake. He wanted to purchase ten acres of land about a mile south of the Wilsons’ home so he could build a general merchandise store and construct a water mill on the nearby creek to grind corn and wheat for the growing community.

When Lott and Jake selected their site, they thought a transportation route would be running right in front of their house some day. But they were wrong. The settlers chose an Indian path that had been used for centuries. It ran through the southern section of the Wilsons’ property, and it was there Mister Walker proposed to build his store.

Mister Walker explained what his purchase could do for the community, “This store and mill could be the beginning of a town. And with growth, you can expect, someday a church, a school for yore children, and a group of people who can help one another in this here new country. Without yore help, it can’t and won’t happen, at least not here.”

Lott and Jake decided to sell.

Soon a village grew rapidly from the forest. At first it was called Coon Tail for all the raccoon tails Mister Walker nailed to the side of his store commemorating his many successful hunting trips. Later it was renamed Little Rock.

The Wilsons brothers were dedicated in their support of this village but were powerless in saving their Choctaw friends who were seeing a destruction of an environment that had sustained and protected them since the time of their forefathers.