Chapter 7

Back home, stashed in the secret closet, the J&S Hawken was forlorn ... abandoned ... again. Bewitched in the making ... cursed, more like, the rifle contemplated its existence.

In 1823 a young whippersnapper, 14 year old Jason Allen, had fled the backwoods of Tennessee. The sheriff had come out to the house with a writ of attachment. Daddy was dead ... killed by parties unknown, Sally Ann was working the patrons of the tavern and momma was ill ... consumption they said. The writ claimed Daddy had borrowed against the farm. The sheriff said the paper had Daddy’s mark and witnessed by the Circuit Judge and Mr. Arbuthnot the banker’s clerk. We had to go ... Mr. Calagahen, him with the daughter Jase was sweet on, had bought the note from the bank.

“Two weeks ... you got two weeks,” said the Sheriff. If you’re not gone I’ll move ya.”

Now, Jason had admit Daddy drank some and he wasn’t much of a farmer. But ... he fair worshipped the land and he’d been taken in ambuscade on the way home from the tavern. If he’d had money Jason or his mom never saw a penny of it.

Jason was educated... 7th grade ... he could read, write and cypher some but mom had taken sick, Sally Ann was working on her back at the tavern and Daddy was not much at farming ... Jason left school to try and make a go of it. Mr. Calagahen’s daughter thought Jason had hung the moon just for having the gumption to try and save the farm.

Well ... the bank wouldn’t loan a 14 year old operating money. Daddy was dead and the consumption caught Momma in a coughing fit ... she started spewing blood and Jason couldn’t do anything. Her very last act was to give her son a map.

“Buried river-pirate gold,” she said. She spat up blood, “I wouldn’t give the map to your father. You take it ... see if you can find it.”

“Momma, I’ll find it and take you to Arizona Territory ... Doc Turner said you needed to be where it was dry ... and East Tennessee is nothing if not constant damp.”

She smiled up at him...”You been a good boy ... couldn’t ask for better,” she said ... and died.

Well ... East Tennessee is a temperate rainforest and the worst place for a body with weak lungs ... ah-course, Jason didn’t know what a rainforest was but Doc Turner spoke highly of the southwest. “Dry,” he said. “Do her good,” he said. Now she had passed on.

He had nothing to keep him.

The farm had a swayback plowhorse. But Jason had a mule ... a shuffling mule ... wasn’t fast but fair ate up the miles with that shuffling pace. Jason had named him Argonaut a name he had learned at school.

Jason and the mule followed the map ... found the cave and the treasure. Wasn’t much but it was gold, silver and jewels ... and a pocketwatch. He lit a shuck outta Tennessee ... heading west. The pair, Jason and the mule, had numerous adventures ... thieves, mountebanks, bandits and ne’er-do-wells. All along the way he heard a fella could make s life trapping beaver out west. He’d need an outfit ... traps, grub, a packstring of tradegoods and a rifle. If he was peaceable he might find a wife among the Indians. Some men spoke highly of the Indians ... others wanted what they had and hated ‘em.