MYTH BECOMES LEGEND

Smoky Mountains, near Del Rio, Tennessee, October 31, 1864

Ex-Confederate, turned Yankee spy, Captain Ezra Standish quickly stopped his horse on the old Indian trail he'd been traveling on for the better part of the day and looked around cautiously. The Appalachian Highland woods around him were dark and dense with thick vegetation and the infamous blue smoke-like mist. The natural occurring phenomena had caused the Cherokees to name the area "Land of the Great Smoke". Normally Ezra felt at home in the heavily wooded surroundings, but the day, which started out a fine, sharp and clear fall day, had turned dark and ominous. He knew the dense forest full of large tulip, conifer and native pine trees were the perfect hiding spot for someone just outside of his senses.

"Show yourself," Ezra called out, the slow Southern drawl of his voice deceptive in its boredom. Anyone looking at his eyes would have seen their keen awareness, as he pulled his Calvary saber out of the scabbard hanging from the horse's saddle with his left hand. With his right, he applied subtle pressure to the gelding's neck, silently signally him to stand still. "Come on now, or are you a coward?"

"Is that any way to treat a friend?" A mocking voice, filled with a peculiar Southern inflection of superiority -- one intimately familiar to Ezra -- came from high up on his left side. He whipped around in the saddle just in time to see a tall dark-skinned man step from the cover of the trees.

"Nate?" Ezra asked slightly surprised.

"In the flesh," Dr. Nathan Jackson answered. "That's not for me, is it?" he asked, nodding his head at the sword Ezra still held with his left hand.

Ezra slowly scabbard the lethal blade, continuing to stay on guard while he took his time getting down from his horse. His feet finally on the ground, Ezra took a few steps toward the other man. "Sorry, Nate," he said in way of an apology, taking the other man's hand in a firm shake. "Someone's been playing a game of hide'n seek with me since I left Miss Mayfair in Knoxville, four days ago."

"One of Colonel Anderson's men?" Nate asked.

"Possibly, I'm not sure. He only gets close enough for me to catch a glimpse of his black riding coat and then he's gone. I thought I saw him once, early this morning, but there hasn't been anything since. Maybe he's given up," Ezra said, then abruptly changed the conversation. "What are you doing way out here? I thought you were on your way to Morristown?"

"I was, but I ran into a small party up from North Carolina. We're heading for the Virginia border. The next station is in Abingdon." As he spoke, Nate motioned with one hand and people starting appearing out of the smoky trees, as if by magic.

Ezra counted their numbers and then whistled in astonishment. "Twenty-eight, Nate? Are you crazy? You'll never get that many through the sentries in Dulaney, much less across the rest of Tennessee."

"I hadn't planned on that route, Ezra. We're going to stick to the mountains and come up through Elizabethton. We've got friends there." "Elizabethton? Could work, if you can move quickly through the mountains." Again, Ezra took in the group's appearance, studying them closer. Most of them were shuffling their feet, staring at the ground, only one or two of the braver souls actually looked up. Ezra's own eyes widened in realization. "My God, Nate, they're children. There can't be one of them over twenty, maybe younger. It's going to be a hard trip."

"Yes, most of them are children, but we've made it this far, Ezra. I'm willing to bet this group can do it."

The group of run-away slave children moved away from the cover of the dense trees and began to gather around Dr. Jackson. One of the older girls slipped her small hand into Nate's, looking up at Ezra with awe clearly stamped across her face. "Dr. Nate, he said you was a good man, a man who could help us, sir." The sound of hope evident in her whisper touched Ezra.

"I know it's a larger group than usual, but it was necessary. I've always got a little bit of reason for everything I've done, Ezra. This is no exception. We can do this," Nate said, and the children echoed silently, all nodding their heads, looking straight at Ezra.

Ezra sighed loud, and ran a tired hand through his hair, voice heavy with the weight of decision. "You know I'll do what I can, but I hope your right, Nate. For their sake."

******

The glow from two small kerosene lanterns, placed on old stumps a few yards apart, and one very small fire placed between them, did little to chase away the shadows of the night. The quietness of the forest around them was disturbing. Gone were the usual sounds of animals bedding down for the night, or of those just waking to join in the night hunt. Rationally, Ezra knew that the animals would stay away with the scent of so many humans around, but it did nothing to help the growing feeling of discord within himself. The eerily silent movements being made by the children and Nate, as they set up camp, had Ezra scouting around their perimeter making sure they hadn't been spotted by Confederate sentries. Their silence grated on Ezra, reminding him of the shadowy figure who'd been following him for the past few days. Everything combined left Ezra feeling more on edge than normal. It felt more like the preternatural moments before battle. He tried to hide his unease by pacing around the two stumps, in the guise of checking on the children milling around the lights, getting things ready for the night.

"Captain?" Ezra jumped at the sound of the soft voice coming from his elbow. Seeing that his jump startled the small child next to him, Ezra immediately stopped his pacing and tried to put a relaxed smile on his face. "It's Ezra, son. Just plain Ezra. What's your name?"

"Toby, Cap...uh, Mister Ezra, sir." The boy's noticeable stammer trembled.

"Hello, Toby." Ezra held out his hand and the boy stared at it. Ezra continued to hold out his hand, knowing that Toby was sizing him up; deciding whether or not he should trust a white man dressed in a rebel uniform. Toby swallowed and shoved his own hand toward Ezra, who grasped the child's hand in his securely. "What can I do for you?"

"Cora says we have to eat raw turnips again for dinner, because we can't have a fire big enough to cook with and I was wondering if that was true?" Toby stopped and kicked the dirt in front of his worn shoe. Ezra watched with growing humor as the boy took a deep breath.

"I don't know if I can stomach eating them raw 'nips anymore, sir. Couldn't we just have a small fire and bake some of them?" The words rushed out, running together and the little boy looked up at Ezra, seemingly amazed that he had actually spoken at all.

"Raw, huh?" Ezra asked laughing, while cataloging the boy's way of speech; it was obvious that the youth's training involved working in his owner's big house. Toby nodded forcefully. "Tell you what, I have some jerky over in my saddle bags. Why don't you go get it and share it with everyone? It's not much, but at least it's better than eating raw turnips alone."

Ezra heard Toby sigh and had to agree, he wasn't real thrilled with their dinner prospects either, but he was surprised when Toby didn't move to get the jerky. "What is it, son?"

"Thas gonna mean no cookin' a'tal then, Mas'er Ezra?" The little boy's voice choked and shook even more.

It was the way in which Toby speech changed, slipping into the dialect of a plantation field worker, more than what he said, that clued Ezra. Realizing there was more to the picture than simply the anticipation of a bad dinner, he knelt down in front of Toby and spoke to him softly, "You know we can't have a large fire. While I don't think we're close enough for any sentries to see the flames, or smoke from our little fire here, a large fire would mean lots of wood smoke, and food cooking can be smelled for miles. It's just too dangerous."

"I knows, sir. It's jus' so dark here." Toby sniffed, and bent his head dejectedly.

"Tell you what, Toby, you have Cora give you one of them turnips and bring it here," Ezra said, understanding completely Toby's fear of the dark. Toby bobbed his head and ran over to Cora, while Ezra took a small jack knife out of his jacket. The boy quickly returned with a large turnip and handed it to Ezra.

"What ya gonna do with it, Mas'er Ezra?"

"Just Ezra, Toby." He reminded the boy, his voice still gentle. "Do you know what today is?"

"Yes, sir. It's Old Spook night." Toby's head bent again and his voice trailed off.

"That's right. Have you ever heard the story of how the Jack o' Lantern came about, Toby?" Ezra asked.

"Yessum, sir." Toby gulped. "Mean ol' Jack, he done tried to trick the devil and went to hell fer it."

"That's right, and he used a lantern made from a turnip to light the way." Ezra pushed the blade of his jack knife into the top of the turnip and started to cut along the top. Busy concentrating on his project, Ezra missed how his words were effecting the young boy.

"Ya gonna send me to hell, sir?" Toby's voice squeaked and he tried to back away from Ezra.

Ezra reached out to stop the child from tripping over the stump, and Toby let out a loud yelp when his hand closed on the boy's arm. The commotion caused the other children to stop what they were doing and focus on Toby and Ezra.

"Be careful there, Toby," Ezra said, still not realizing just how frightened the young boy was.

"Lemme go!" Toby hollered.

"What in the world?" Nate asked, joining Ezra and Toby. Ezra, still holding the struggling Toby, shrugged at Nate's question.

"Mas'er Ezra, he's gonna give me to da devil, Dr. Nate," Toby stammered. Finally able to pull his arm from Ezra's hand, Toby ran behind Nate and grabbed him tightly.

"What?" both men exclaimed at the same time, and then Ezra started laughing.

"No, Toby, you got it wrong, son. I was trying telling you the story of why the first Jack o'Lantern's were made. Come on back over here." Ezra held out his hand to Toby. The little boy shook his head and held on to Nate tighter.

"That's it, Ezra, scare the hell out of them more," Nate said, annoyance evident in his droll tone.

"That wasn't my intention," Ezra said frustrated when Nate ignored him and squatted down to Toby's level.

"Mister Ezra here isn't going to give you to the devil," Nate said glancing in Ezra's direction with a scowl on his face. "He just doesn't know how to tell stories very well."

"And I suppose you do, Dr. Nate." Ezra's sarcastic drawl held a note of challenge in it.

"Better than you, apparently." Nate's growl was low, but Ezra heard it.

"By all means then, Dr. Nate, please do enlighten us." Ezra smiled and sat down, leaning his back against one of the stumps. He held up the partially carved turnip in one hand for Toby to see, and gestured for the boy to come nearer.

"Leave the boy alone, Ezra," Nate said and pulled Toby in front of him. "Do you want to know the real story behind Jack and the devil?" Toby only nodded his head, but several of the other children spoke up in agreement and began to cluster around Nate.

"All right, then. Have a seat, and the good doctor Nate will tell y'all the story, right proper," Ezra interjected grinning up at his friend.

Nate shot Ezra a look promising he would definitely be on the receiving end of some kind of retribution, causing Ezra to laugh. "A story, Nate."

"Yes, Dr. Nate, a story," the children's voices chorused.

"Fine, fine. Everyone sit down." Nate sounded put out, but Ezra knew better from the twinkle in Nate's eye.

******

Ezra watched, as Nate sat himself and waited for the children to sit down around him. When everyone, except for Toby had settled on the ground, Nate reached up and pulled the little boy down beside him. Putting his arm around the little boy's shaking shoulders, Nate began his tale.

"One dark and stormy fall night-"

"Oh, that's original." Ezra's snort caused some of the children to giggle.

"If you don't mind." Nate shot him a dirty look and Ezra stuck his tongue out at him.

"As I was saying, on a dark and stormy night--that some say was Halloween--a stingy, mean, tightfisted, greedy, difficult, vulgar, unkind, vile, low, cruel, ornery, rascally drunkard of an Irish blacksmith named Jack, had the misfortune to run into the Devil in a seaside pub. The Devil announced loudly, "Jack, I'm here for you. It's your time."

The children laughed quietly while Nate painted the less than flattering picture of Jack for them. Ezra knew that each of them had probably encountered one or more white men in their young lives that were exactly as Nate was describing Jack to be.

When the laughter died down, Nate continued, "Jack had been drinking a little too much -- which was normal for him -- and was just about to fall into the Devil's hands. But mean old Jack, who was too stubborn to let the Devil take him that easily, began thinking of ways to trick that Devil. Thinking and thinking, Jack finally hit upon it and he offered the Devil his soul, in exchange for one last drink. The Devil agreed and told the bartender to pour Jack a drink. When the bartender stuck his hand out for pay, Jack shrugged, and because he was as tightfisted as he was mean, told the Devil that he was flat broke. The Devil heaved a great sigh, and being very annoyed, he didn't think clearly and turned himself into a sixpence to pay the bartender.

"Mean old Jack, well, he laughed and quickly pocketed that sixpence in his purse, and because Jack had a silver cross in his purse, the Devil couldn't change himself back, or get out of that purse. The Devil, well you can imagine how angry he was..." the children all nodded, eyes wide, totally engrossed in the story "...cursed and yelled at Jack, insisting that Jack let him go. But old Jack -- who was as sly as he was tightfisted -- wouldn't let the Devil go until he promised not to claim Jack's soul for ten years. The Devil had to admit that Jack had gotten one over on him, and reluctantly agreed.

Nate let his voice die down and looked at the children expectantly. Ezra was just about to help his friend out, when little Cora beat him to it.

"What happened then, Dr. Nate?"

"Do you think that Devil forgot about Jake?" Nate asked the children. They all shook their heads and said no.

"You'd be right. And so it was that ten years later, Jack came across the Devil, who was strolling up a country road, on his way to collect Jack. Old Jack, had to think quickly again, said to the Devil, "I'll go, but before I go, will you get me an apple from that tree?" The Devil, who never forgot about the trick Jack played on him ten years earlier, was cautious. So wily old Jack spoke again, whining at that ugly devil. "Devil," he said, "I can't leave this earth unless I taste an apple for the last time". Jack knew he had to trick that Devil but good again, or he was a goner for sure.

"The Devil meanwhile, thinking it was the only way to shut Jack up, jumped on Jack's shoulders to get him an apple. Jack, moving quickly, pulled out his knife and carved a cross in the trunk of the tree. This left the Devil in the stuck in that tree, unable to get back down to Jack and take his soul. The Devil cursed and yelled at Jack again, and started throwing the apples from the tree at Jack, but it did him no good. Jack only laughed and moved out of the Devil's reach. And Jack -- being stubborn as he was sly -- told that Devil and there was no way he was going to let that him out of that tree, unless of course, the Devil agreed to leave Jack alone.

"The Devil angrier than all get out that he had been tricked again, refused and threw more apples at Jack. And as soon as the Devil was out of apples, Jack sat down under the tree, and leaned back against the trunk. He pulled his hat over his eyes and went to sleep. He and the Devil stayed that way for days. Finally, seeing no way out, and really tired of sitting up in that uncomfortable tree, the Devil agreed. Jack sprang up, tipped his hat to the Devil and went away whistling, leaving the Devil still stuck. No one knows how the Devil ever managed to get back down, but we know he did."

Ezra watched Nate and the children in amazement. Gone were the scared looks, replaced by smiles of enjoyment. Something bumped against his foot, and Ezra looked down to see Toby close to him. He reached over and patted Toby on the arm. The little boy smiled quickly at Ezra, forgiveness apparently given, and turned his attention back to Nate's story.

"Then what happened?" Toby asked.

"Yeah, Dr. Nate. Did tha' ol' Devil finally gets tha' mean Jack?" another little girl asked, completely caught up in the moment of the tale. Soon all the children were echoing the same question.

"Well, many years passed with Jack continuing his evil ways, until finally he was on his deathbed. And even then, that crazy old fool was still laughing about how he had tricked the Devil. Suddenly, old Jack died, still laughing. Now, not one to fool himself, Jack was not at all surprised when he was not allowed to pass the pearly gates of Heaven. He knew his had been a sorry life of drinking, and being tightfisted, and deceitfulness, but when he went to apply for entrance to Hell, he couldn't believe his ears when the Devil turned him away.

"Oh, the Devil could have taken Jack if he had really wanted to. But you see, all those years earlier, when Jack had made the Devil swear to never take his soul, the Devil had sworn to himself that the first chance he had to get even with Jack, he would take it. And that's just what he did."

Seeing Toby completely entranced by Nate's story, Ezra slowly opened his knife and began working on the turnip again, while Nate finished the story.

"But where can I go?" asked Jack, in his whiny, mean voice. "Back where you came from!" replied the Devil. "But the way back is windy and dark!" Jack whined and pleaded with the Devil to provide him a light to find his way. The Devil, laughing mean and low, threw a live coal at Jack, one straight from the fire of Hell. And Jack -- who was wily as he was sly -- laughed right back at the Devil and stuck that ember from Hell in the belly of the turnip he had been eating.

And now every Halloween, Jack continues to walk the roads with only the light from a turnip to guide his way."

The children shivered in delight at the end of the story, and whispered and giggled to each other over mean Jack's fate.

Ezra meanwhile, had finished his gift for Toby, and called the young boy over to him. "Here you go, Master Toby," he said, and with a flourish, handed over the carved turnip.

Toby took the changed vegetable in his hand and looked at it in awe. "Fo' me?" he asked Ezra, when Ezra nodded yes, a huge grin spilled across Toby's face. "Mister Ezra, sir, I seen these before, in the big house, but I ain't never had one fo' me. Thank you, sir, thank you. Can I shows the others?"

"Your welcome, Toby. Run along and show your friends," Ezra said and stuck his hand out to Toby again. Without any hesitation, Toby shook his hand back and then ran over to a group of some of the smaller children, who were huddled, still discussing mean Jack. The older children, still smiling over the story, went back to getting the bedding ready, waiting for Cora to start handing out their rations of food for the night.

Ezra headed to his horse to get him ready for the night, and Nate went to help Cora. Hearing the sound of twigs breaking on the ground at the same time, both men grabbed for their swords.

"Greetings Junior," a mocking voice called out from the dark. "What a twisted tale you tell, but then you were always good at twisting things. Say, aren't you going to welcome me in to your camp?"

"Shit." Ezra heard Nate say. Nate was standing perfectly still; the sword in his hand seemed to be shaking slightly which surprised Ezra. Granted he had never seen Nate fight another man, but he had sparred with him enough to know that he could hold his own.

"You know this guy?" Ezra asked.

Nate didn't answer him, and when he did speak, it was to the man striding bolding into their camp. "You're not welcome here. Leave now."

"Why Junior Jackson, I'm wounded. All I want to do is share a bit of hospitality with you." The man's tone sounded sincere, but Ezra could hear something underlying, something sinister, and it took Ezra a minute to fully understand what had just been said.

"Nate? What's going on?" Ezra shook his head, confused, disturbed, not sure that he had heard right. The stranger had called Nate, Junior? What the hell did that mean?

"Junior, I'm disappointed. Seems our friend here doesn't know who you are. Ezra Standish, meet Junior Jackson, bastard of the late Nathaniel Jackson, his master and the man he cut down in his prime." The stranger's upper lip curled with derision. "And since he was so neglectful about his own identity, I'm willing to bet you don't know who I am. Jonah Catchings, former overseer of Whistling Ridge, and now runaway slave hunter for Colonel Emmet Riley Anderson of the Confederate Army, at your service." Catchings stepped fully into the feeble light, allowing Ezra to finally see him completely.

Anger filled Ezra at the sight of Catchings's long black riding coat. "You," he said loudly and started toward Catchings, his stride purposeful.

"Hmm, me," Catchings parroted back at him, and absently flicked his sword in Ezra's direction.

"Why have you been following me?" Ezra didn't break his stride until he stood in front of Catchings.

"Let's just say I have a thing for red heads. Or should I say had? You have very good taste in woman, Ezra Standish; Miss Emily Mayfair, my yes. Thought I would share the news with you." Catchings's broad, uneducated Southern accent came out sounding twisted and demented.

Ezra had his sword at Catchings's chest before he finished speaking, but the man didn't so much as raise an eyebrow. "What do you know about Emily?" Catchings smiled, saying nothing. "Tell me, or I'll skewer you as we stand." Ezra pushed his sword blade into Catchings's chest until blood bubbled onto the steel.

"Ezra, no," Nate said weakly. "Don't, not in front of the children."

Ezra heard Nate, but ignored him, and pushed at his blade again. "Tell me."

"Junior," Catchings said, acting as if Ezra didn't exist. "I'm disappointed in you. It was so easy this time. But I'm afraid I'm not alone-"

Ezra threw Catchings to the ground with a roar of rage and raised his sword high, ready to make the final blow. "What about Emily!" he yelled.

"Tsk, tsk, such anger and in front of the children." Catchings giggled and Ezra started a downward swing.

"Ezra, stop!" Nate's yell echoed through the dark.

Ezra barely checked the killing blow and turned to Nate, ready to tell him to stay out of it, but his eyes met those of the frightened children instead. Their fear was palpable, beating like a heart there in the darkness and yet, they hadn't uttered any sound. They stood, staring, some with tears running down their cheeks. But their silence was anything but quiet, and Ezra understood. They had seen, or been the victims of, such violence all their short lives.

"Nate, take the children and go," Ezra commanded turning his attention back to the man laying on the ground.

"Yes, Junior, run and show them what a coward you really are." Catchings sneered and spit.

"Shut up." Ezra kicked Catchings in the ribs to get his point across. A noise off in the distance caught his ear and he went still, straining to hear it. Too quickly it became clear; the sound of horse hoofs.

"Nate! Horses!" Ezra yelled, but saw that Nate had heard it also and was already herding the children up.

"That's right," Catchings called out. "It's the slavers, coming to get you. Take you back. Back to you masters, back to your fields, back to your shackles!" His words caused a minor panic in the children.

"Cora, Toby, Anna, Daniel, grab as many of the children's hands as you can, and start running," Nate said, and pointed at the woods behind him. A small girl of about four, bent to pick up her doll, but Nate scooped her up in his arms. "Don't! Just run, run now!" He took off behind the children. "Ezra, leave him. Hurry!"

Ezra didn't move. "I'm not going, Nate. I can't... Emily." He left the rest of the sentence unfinished as Nate stopped and looked back at him.

Nate nodded in understanding. "Don't turn your back on him," he said, and disappeared into the dark forest behind the children.

"Run, Junior, run, but you can't hide! I'll find you again!" Catchings screamed, and laughed maniacally, until Ezra kicked him harder in the ribs, driving the air from his lungs. The audible pop of bones breaking filled Ezra with savage satisfaction.

"Emily," Ezra said pushing his sword against Catchings's chest again.

"Ah, yes, the beautiful Miss Emily Mayfair." Catchings's voice came out as a croak. "She truly was a sight to behold."

"What did you do to her?" Ezra was cold and direct.

"I'll tell you this about Miss Emily, when I picked up that stick and knocked that fair girl down, she fell down on her bended knees, crying for mercy. It was beautiful, truly." Catchings giggled, stuck a hand inside his shirt, rubbed his ribs and spoke again.

"Her last words, Standish, her last words sounded like poetry. 'I hear the words you said, that someone out there's feeling the same way I do.' Did you say those words to her? They were right pretty, just like Miss Emily."

"And?" Ezra prodded Catchings again with his foot, refusing to rise to the man's baiting, until he heard the full story.

"And, I beat her. I beat her until she never spoke another word, and the ground around me flowed with her blood. Then, Ezra Standish," Catchings said, with a sneer, "then, I took Miss Emily by her golden curls and threw her into the river that flows through Knoxville. Raised quite ruckus, when she floated through town."

Ezra raised his sword again, barely seeing Catchings through the red haze of rage that flowed within him. Before he could begin the down swing, a sudden blaze of pain pierced through the rage. He looked down in disbelief at the knife sticking out of his chest. He roared and raised his sword again, only to feel another sharp pain. His disbelief turned to fear when he saw another knife sticking out of his left side. He tried to raise his sword again and ended up stumbling backward a couple of steps. Warily, he watched Catchings stand up.

"If it's any consolation, it was nothing personal toward you. I truly thought Miss Mayfair was in league with Junior there, running that underground railroad and all. I would never have killed her, except that she begged so prettily." Catchings stood and brushed the dirt from his riding coat. Taking a few steps, he picked up the sword he had dropped when Ezra had kicked him earlier, and twirled it in his hand. He raised the sword over his head, rushing at Ezra with a demented cry.

Ezra refused to look away, as the crazy man came at him. The cold air created by the metal of the blade swept past his face and then stopped. Catchings pulled the sword up just before it touched Ezra's neck. The big man stepped back, kicked out and Ezra found himself laying on the ground.

"Nonononono..." A loud cry came out of the woods and hurtled itself toward the men. Catchings grunted slightly, and looked down. Ezra followed Catchings's line of sight, terror filling him and yet, at the same time, extremely thankful for the intervention. Toby had thrown himself at Catchings, trying to kick the man's legs.

"How touching, the darkie trying to say the massa. Almost moves one to tears." Catchings picked up the struggling boy and holding him face to face, shook him hard. "You really should have stayed gone, whelp."

Ezra scrambled up, furiously trying to think of something, when he noticed the glowing turnip clutched tightly in Toby's hand. "The turnip, Toby, throw the turnip." Ezra, afraid the boy would be too scared to react, was already working on how to use his sword without hurting the boy, when Toby suddenly threw the turnip at Catchings's face. The top of the turnip flipped off and the hot piece of wood charcoal flew out, hitting Catchings directly between his eyes.

Startled, Catchings dropped Toby and Ezra thrust his sword directly into Catchings's chest, twisting it violently. Catchings fell to his knees, Ezra's sword sliding out of him and looked up at Ezra in shock. "Very good, Standish." Blood bubbled at Catchings's lips, as he panted heavily, trying to get air into his destroyed lungs.

"Toby, Toby, look at me!" Ezra commanded the stunned child. Toby did and Ezra wasn't surprised to see glazed eyes. "Run, now, Toby!"

"But, Mister Ezra..." Toby stammered and grabbed onto to one of Ezra's legs.

"Go now!" Ezra ordered again and shook Toby off. "I don't want to do this in front of you, but if you don't get going, I'm going to have to." Ezra put the bloodied sword out in front of him and rested it on Catchings's chest.

"No, Mister Ezra..." Toby tried again.

"Toby! Now!"

"Horses!" Toby screamed in panic, and scrambled over to Ezra's side again. "Da slaver's men, dey's almos' here!"

Ezra shook his head, trying hard to process what Toby was shouting about. The urgency of his words finally penetrated Ezra's shell of pure rage. Suddenly the sound of horses being ridden hard filtered in.

"Saved by the calvary." Catchings coughed, bringing up blood and his lips curved up in a nasty smile.

"Da men, Mister Ezra," Toby said again, and started to pull away from him.

Ezra looked at Catchings one more time. "You and I will meet again," he promised and kicked Catchings hard in the face, knocking the man out. He grabbed Toby's hand.

"Okay, Toby. You ready to run?" he asked, and took off before Toby could answer, pulling the boy. They made it to the shelter of the woods just as the first of the horses burst into the clearing.

End for now...