Pat walked carefully through the wooded area. All his senses were fully alert. The ground was covered with dry leaves twigs and dead foliage. It was impossible to walk silently. Each footstep resulted in the crackle of dry material. It appeared to Pat that the area had not had a fire in several years.
Fires on an almost yearly basis ravaged most areas in this part of Florida. Mostly lightning started the fires. The fires were really a blessing in some ways. They kept the undergrowth cleared from under the trees and lush new growth emerged very soon.
In the winter the lack of rain had North Florida as dry as the tender in his fire-starting pouch. He had seen the new Lucifer striking matches back in Virginia but they hadn't reached this remote part of Florida.
He increased his pace a little to make up for the time he spent standing still listening. He thought some large animal was moving parallel with his path through the forest. He was watching for the road that ran from Orange Springs to Eureka. When he hit that he would be able to pick up his speed. He could not run as he usually would because of the heavy pack he was carrying. He wished he could run; he wanted desperately to get home to his beautiful wife.
The pack on his back contained a number of things they needed badly at his plantation. The cartons of percussion caps were worth their weight in gold. With out them all their firearms, with the exception of several old flintlock fowling pieces, were useless. They were down to only enough for three shots per weapon. They had plenty of powder and lead for balls but they couldn't be used without the caps. He had not been able to resist buying two new dresses and a very scandalous French nightgown for his wife. She hadn't been to a post since she had the baby.
Pat had seen the clothes for his wife in the Elkton Trading Post in St. Augustine. The recent flare up of fighting between the Indians and the Army kept Lucinda at home. They had even had to stop going to see her family only about four miles away ever since several men had been ambushed and killed along the road between the plantations.
Pat slowed and stopped under a large oak tree. He rested the pack against the tree trunk and listened. He heard something. It came from the west. It sounded like the jingle of harnesses and the creak of leather saddles. He angled more towards the place he thought the road was closest. He saw the horsemen and slowed and watched from the bushes. When he could see they were white men in uniforms he stepped out in the road.
They pulled up and stopped a few yards from him. He could see they were not Army troops; they wore a tan canvas uniform he was not familiar with. He held up his hand and the leader rode up to him.
"Good afternoon, Can you tell me the way to the Murphy place?" asked the leader.
"Yes I can. I am headed there myself and I would show you the way but I can't stay up with your horses carrying this pack. It's nor far. About another mile and you will see some cleared fields and then a half mile more and you will see a road going to the left, That is the Murphy place."
"Great, do you know the Murphys? Every body seems to know the wife. By the way, I am Sean Murphy, a Cousin. Pat stepped towards him and held his hand out and grinned, "Hello Cousin, I am Pat Murphy."
The horseman leapt from his horse, "Glad to meet you Pat. I have heard nothing but good thing about you and your bride. My Mother and Father ran the Orange Springs Trading Post until a few months ago when Indians killed them."
"Now I know who you are, your parents talked about you all the time, I think they said you are a Marine. I can't tell you how sorry I am, I loved both of them. Why anyone would kill them is beyond me."
Sean turned and called to a huge man back along the road. "Orlando, bring an extra mount and a pack horse up here. The big man trotted up leading two horses. Sean introduced him as an old friend who was also a Marine Officer. Pat lashed his pack on top of a lightly loaded horse and swung aboard another horse.
As the rode Pat told Sean that he was coming home from St. Augustine. He had just gotten off a steam launch in Eureka a few hours a go. The boat captain had refused to stop at the Murphy Landing because of the Indians. Sean grinned; you must have just missed us. We came by launch to Orange Springs and just rode down here. Did you stop at the Elkton' Post?"
"Sure did, I always go there."
"Thank you, my wife owns the Post."
"Really, does she own the bank and all the other Elkton places there?"
"Pat, she sure does. A man once told me that if a place was in St. Augustine and Molly Elkton didn't own it; it wasn't worth having."
Pat smiled back, "Here is the road to our place. Can you stay and visit a while. My wife was raised right up the road a couple of miles."
"Really, what was her name?"
"Lucinda Martin."
Sean looked at Orlando, they both grinned. Sean said, "We both remember Lucinda Martin and all the Martins. She was a very cute little girl the last time I saw her. My wife was very fond of her and taught her how to do needlepoint. I think she was five or six when we left to go to College in Virginia."
Pat pointed, "There is the house." A bell clanged and men ran from various places and into a small building and emerged carrying rifles and disappeared into the brush. Pat kicked his horse in the ribs and yelled, "Cinda, I'm home!"
A woman ran off the porch and towards him. He leaned from the horse and scooped her up in his arms and across in front of him. He was still kissing her when the rest of the party rode up. Sean and Orlando rode over beside them. Pat's wife still had her arms tightly around Pat's neck.
"Honey, look up, do you remember these men?" 'Cinda looked at both of them she was slowly shaking her head when her face lit up in a huge smile, "Sean Murphy and Orlando. I can't believe it. She looked around, "Where is Molly, did you find her yet?"