The Killing of Jeremiah Massie

Jeremiah Massie was a large man, weighing in excess of four hundred and fifty pounds, and standing three inches over six feet tall. He was not a man to be trifled with, and had killed his share of men, both white and red! He was as mean as they come, and feared neither man nor devil.

Jeremiah Massie didn’t know it, but tonight was the night when his true destiny would come calling.

Blue-eyed Destiny called Micajah and Wiley Harpe!

Although they waited until almost midnight to creep up on the cabin of Jeremiah Massie, Micajah and Wiley found the man still awake, and drinking heavily. To their surprise, two young girls sat at the feet of the huge man. One looked to be perhaps thirteen; the other a little older, and both had a haggard look of fright about them.

Every so often the man would reach down and fondle one or the other of the girls, slapping their faces if they showed the slightest sign of resistance. The eyes of the youngest girl were bruised deep purple and black, and swelled almost completely together. The other girl was in even worse shape!

A heavy set, ugly woman roamed about the room like a restless animal, all the time encouraging Massie as he molested the children.  

Micajah and Wiley peeped through a crack in the wall of the run down cabin, and stared in disbelief at what they witnessed inside. Micajah laid his hand on his brother's shoulder, and they came to a silent understanding. This time they would turn away from their carefully made plans. This man needed a plain, open killing, and not a death dignified by making it look like a simple accident.                                                                                     

* * *

Suddenly, and with a speed that belied his size, he made a lunge for Micajah, and succeeded in catching the boy by the hair. He swung Micajah against the wall, also sending both of the girls flying across the room. Micajah hit the wall a jarring blow, but the big man didn't turn loose of his grip in his hair.

"Now sing me a purty tune, boy," he laughed, and jerked Micajah back across to the other side of the room, banging the boy’s head into an oaken bucket that was lying in the corner.

Shaking his gigantic hands about, he handled Micajah's considerable weight as though it were nothing.

Micajah shook his head to clear it, and realized he had to do something, and do it

fast. The man was too big, too strong, and too experienced in fighting. If Micajah didn't gain control of the fight quickly, the man would do just exactly what he'd said he would do.

He reached up and caught both of Massie's wrists, one in each hand, and slowly began to exert pressure. He squeezed on the bones in Massie's hands, and allowed himself a little grin when he felt the vise like grip began to loosen. With a mighty effort, he ripped the man’s hands loose from his hair, and felt a lot of hair give way as he did so. Throwing his own head forward, he struck Massie a mighty blow in the forehead, and saw the man’s eyes glaze over. Before Massie could react Micajah kicked him between the legs as hard as he could, and fell backward away from him.

* * * 

            "No brother, I'm shore alright! Git the girls and wait fer me outside!" Micajah's voice sounded strange to Wiley.

Then he turned for a second and looked at Wiley!

It was the first time Wiley had seen the Wolf flame dancing in his brother's eyes. The blue eyes burned brighter than Wiley had ever seen them, and a change came across Micajah's face. His face turned darker, and his jaws tensed, and his lips pulled away from his teeth in a savage snarl. From his mouth came a low sound, almost a growl, and Wiley felt chill bumps on his arms and on the back of his neck. Wiley knew without a doubt that Micajah had loosed the Wolf, and without another word he hastily and roughly grabbed the girls and hurried through the open door, into the coolness of the night.

For the first time a trace of fear showed in Massie's eyes! It was no longer a young boy standing in front of him, but a wild, ferocious animal!

An animal that had every intention of tearing him apart bit by bit.

"Well, damn ye, whelp," Massie screamed, "Have at ye!"

With an oath he jumped forward once again, straight for Micajah. But this time Micajah wasn't caught by surprise. The Wolf was loose, and ready for battle.

The boy was all muscle and motion as he sidestepped the giant’s lunge. Micajah's big fist hit the man in the back of the head as he drove past. Massie hit the fireplace with a crash, where he grabbed a sharpened metal rod that he had used as a poker. He lurched to his feet, wildly swinging the poker, and came at Micajah again. The poker whistled in the air above Micajah's head as he ducked underneath the attack. Such was the force of the blow that the poker hit the cabin wall and was torn from the grip of the big man. It hit the floor with a racket, and had not stopped bouncing when Micajah caught it in his own right hand. Lunging forward at Massie, Micajah caught him trying to recover from the speed of his attack. Thrusting with all his great strength, Micajah drove the poker into the open mouth of the grunting Massie. The poker pierced the roof of Massie's mouth and entered his brain, and was driven completely out of the back of his head. Such was the force of Micajah's blow that the poker was buried three inches deep into the wall of the cabin. With all his strength, Micajah pushed on the poker, driving it deeper and deeper into the wall. When he finally turned it loose, it supported the weight of the big man, and held him pinned against the rough logs of the wall. Panting for breath, Micajah moved close to the dead man, and with a grim smile, he pressed the silver amulet deep into the forehead of Massie, and left the mark of the Harpe clan.

      The Wolf drank deeply of Massie's blood, and the Harpe walked away from the cabin without a single word or a backward glance!

Susan and Betsy Roberts

The first time Susan Roberts ever saw Micajah Harpe was when he bounded through the door of the cabin and confronted Jeremiah Massie! From that day forward there existed a bond between the two of them that nothing would ever breech! Neither time nor distance mattered! Though they were separated more than once in the years that followed, Susan always found her way back to Micajah. She knew he would return for her, should they be parted, no matter what else happened. If Micajah said go, Susan went, if he said stay, she stayed, and if he said he'd be back for her, then he'd be back.

When she looked up from the feet of the monster that had so cruelly used her and her sister for six years and saw Micajah standing there, she didn't see a killer come to commit murder on a decent man. No indeed! She saw a savior! A handsome young man come to rescue her from a demon! The strange fire in Micajah's blue eyes didn't frighten Susan. It was the fire of righteous anger, unleashed against those who deserved it. His words of wrath were music to her ears. He was a savior who killed a monster that Susan herself had wished a thousand times to kill. Love was born with the first look that passed between them, and it was a love that would never die!

Susan had been almost nine, and her sister Betsy barely seven when their mother had passed away. For a year, their stepfather had used them to work his farm in the daytime, and to sleep in his bed at night.

Then one day, in a drunken stupor, he sold the young girls to Jeremiah Massie for twenty dollars in gold, a small hog, and four chickens. The girls soon found out that as cruel as their stepfather had been to them, he couldn't hold a light to Massie.

For six years, Massie treated the girls as little more than animals. He worked them without mercy, performed unspeakable acts upon them, and beat them constantly. During the first year, the girls had tried several times to escape from the monster, but each time they were caught, and each time the punishment became more severe. Finally the girls gave up on running away, and resigned themselves to living with whatever perversions the man would place upon them. They agreed that when the opportunity came, they would kill themselves rather than suffer anymore at the hands of the man who owned them.

So it was that this was the way they were living the night that Micajah and Wiley came to call!

      When Micajah walked out of the cabin after killing their tormentor, Susan and Betsy saw him as a knight in shining armor, a hero, and placed the remainder of their lives in his strong hands. Over the next few years, the feeling came to be much more than love. It was undivided devotion and complete trust that they placed in this strong youth, and not once in their lives did he ever betray them.

Bearkiller, Warrior of Nickajack

On the fifth of August 1792, trouble came to Running Canoe's little village.

The trouble was in the form of two warriors and a medicine man from the Cherokee town of Nickajack! They came to the village of Running Canoe seeking the white Indian known as Wolf Spirit.

Running Canoe rose from his position in front of his wigwam where he had been idly tossing his dice about, and greeted the three strangers who entered his village.

"I am Running Canoe," he said, "Chief of the Overhill Cherokee! What are your names, and what brings you to my village?"

One of the men stepped forward.

"I am called Ravenwing," he said, "and these two are the mighty warrior Bearkiller and Dancing Hawk, the wisest and most powerful of the Cherokee medicine men! We are from the lower town of Nickajack, and we seek among you the one called Wolf Spirit. It is said he is the greatest warrior ever to come to the five towns, and we would speak with him, if it pleases the mighty Chief Running Canoe."

"There is one among us known as Wolf Spirit, and it is true he is a mighty and fearless warrior. What would the great Ravenwing, war chief of Nickajack, wish with Wolf Spirit?" Running Canoe wanted Ravenwing to know that he knew who he was, and that he knew he was a war chief.

"Even in Nickajack we have heard of this warrior, this Wolf Spirit, and it is said that you, Running Canoe, claim that the man is truly kin to the Wolf. It is said that you had a dream and foretold the coming of the Wolf, and that this white man is he!” He paused, and then looked at the men standing around him before continuing.

      “Dancing Hawk is the son of Red Hawk, the greatest medicine chief the People have ever known, and Dancing Hawk too has had a dream and a vision. In his vision, the Wolf's lair was in the spirit cave, in Nickajack town, and there did the Wolf live with the other animal spirits of the Cherokee. In his dream, Dancing Hawk was told to craft a great, magical tomahawk and bring it to the cave. There he was to build a fire and purify the blade, turning it into the most awesome, fearful weapon of its kind ever made. The tomahawk was to be used by the mightiest warrior of the Cherokee to help drive the white man forever from our lands. When the elders of Nickajack learned of the tomahawk, they sent for the warrior known as Bearkiller, as he was thought to be the mightiest of the many great fighters of the People. At the council, I told of hearing the story of the warrior called Wolf Spirit, and it was decided to bring the tomahawk here to the village of Running Canoe, to find out if the tales are true. I will tell you now, Running Canoe, Bearkiller believes not the tales of this warrior, and wishes the tomahawk for himself. He has said if Wolf Spirit makes any claim to be the greatest warrior among the People, then he must prove that claim in combat.

* * *

"Well do I know of Bearkiller," Running Canoe said.

"I have heard of his feats in battle for years. It is said that once, though unarmed and severely wounded, still he single handedly defeated four white men. This is a mighty deed, and will be sung about for as long as the People gather. Still, you should know one thing, Ravenwing, before you allow Bearkiller to challenge Wolf Spirit."

Running Canoe had decided to tell a tale, and then when Wolf Spirit defeated the mighty warrior Bearkiller, as he surely would, forevermore all the People would know of the wisdom of Running Canoe, and respect his dreams and visions.

"Know this, Ravenwing," Running Canoe said.

"Three years have passed since the brothers called Harpe came among the People. Only boys they were, and yet already they were fearsome fighters. In a dream, the Eagle came to Running Canoe, and told me the Wolf lived in the boys, and that the biggest boy had all of the Wolf's fearsome powers. The Eagle told me that the Wolf could not be beaten by a mortal man, and would stand against all challengers. I named the boy Wolf Spirit, and it is a fitting name. He is truly the Wolf, and there has never been a more awesome warrior among any tribe of the People.” Turning to face the giant warrior, Running Canoe spoke softly but with great emotion.

“Know, Bearkiller! If you fight today with Wolf Spirit, he will kill you, and feed your blood and soul to the thing that lives inside him. We call the thing the Wolf, for that is the strongest of the earth spirits, but it may well be something older, something even more terrible! It may well be that the thing inside Wolf Spirit is an ancient demon, sent among us to feed. Know, Bearkiller, that if you challenge Wolf Spirit, this night shall your family weep and mourn!” He paused dramatically!

“So speaks Running Canoe, Chief of the Overhill Cherokee!"

"Wolf or Spirit, man or demon," Bearkiller thundered, "today I will leave him lying on the ground in a pool of his own hot blood! So speaks Bearkiller, mightiest warrior of Nickajack."

With those words the warrior glared at both Running Canoe and Ravenwing. "Bring out this timid Wolf Spirit, so that I might spit upon him before I kill him!"

Behind the three men of Nickajack, as silently as his namesake, Wolf Spirit had appeared. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, listening to the words of Bearkiller. He made not a single move, until at last the three felt the intensity of his gaze upon their backs and at last turned to face him.

Dancing Hawk looked into the eyes of Wolf Spirit and quickly lowered his eyes and turned away. With that one glance he had seen the demon, and waves of fear washed across him relentlessly. With the precognition that many Indians seem to possess, Dancing Hawk knew that he would be bound to Wolf Spirit throughout time. He knew that Bearkiller would surely die today, and that the brave Indian who thought himself to be the mightiest warrior of the Nickajack would be nothing more than food for the Wolf!

Ravenwing had seen the blue flame that burned within Wolf Spirits eyes, and knew that this day would live forever in the history of the People.

      Bearkiller recognized in the big warrior a kindred spirit, and at that moment he also understood that he could not stand against this man, or rather against the thing that lived within him. He was not afraid, and he meant to fight Wolf Spirit, but he knew that today he would die.

* * *

Dancing Hawk removed the tomahawk from its deerskin wrappings and held it aloft for all to see. He held it with both hands, palms up, slightly above his forehead, and began a slow shuffling dance step. As he danced he presented the higher above his head, raising it up to the spirits, and chanted for them to bless the weapon.

Bearkiller watched the medicine man's dance with reverence, never taking his eyes from the tomahawk.

      All the while, Wolf Spirit watched Bearkiller, with the same amount of intensity, never taking his eyes from the warrior.

* * *

Micajah looked at the giant Indian and saw the hatred in his eyes! Looking about him, he saw the hatred reflected in the eyes of many of the Indians around the clearing, and realized that to many of them he was indeed nothing more than a white man, and not worthy to be called Cherokee. He knew that beating Bearkiller would only be half the battle he must fight here today. He must win in such a manner that none here would ever doubt him again. Returning his attention to his adversary, the Big Harpe spoke for the first time since entering the clearing.

"By my white father I was named Harpe, and I am proud to be called by the name of my ancestors. When I came to live among the People, Running Canoe gave me the name Wolf Spirit, and accepted me as brother to the Indian. He says that I am the Wolf, and that the Wolf is me, and perhaps he is right. I know I have fought in many battles along side my red brothers, and brought honor to the name I have been given. Bearkiller now calls me a white man, and in truth, Micajah Harpe is a white man. But Wolf Spirit is Cherokee! Know, Bearkiller, that today you will die at the hands of two men! The Indian named Wolf Spirit, and the white man called Harpe! The Wolf will feed upon your spirit tonight, and the Harpe will laugh as he watches! Your soul will never rest, Bearkiller, but will roam the barren world of the wild Wolf for eternity, and your everlasting torment will give me pleasure for eternity! So speaks Harpe! So speaks Wolf Spirit! So speaks the Wolf!"

For the first time in so very long, Harpe heard the low, deep growl of the Wolf inside himself!

I hungerrrrr Harrrrpe, I hungerrrr.........!

The Big Harpe heard and understood the inner voice! He smiled a little smile, softly hummed the haunting melody of his mother and stood quietly, waiting for the Indian to make his move!

Bearkiller’s move was not long in coming.

With a great bellow, the big Indian leaped across the ten feet that separated the two of them! From his belt he drew a long knife, and held it poised in his right hand for a killing stroke! Thinking his war cry would un-nerve his opponent, Bearkiller hoped to use the knife before Wolf Spirit could react.

But in a motion that was a blur of blinding speed, Wolf Spirit dropped to his right knee, and a grim smile crossed his lips as he heard the savage blade of Bearkiller pass over his head. Then in a savage thrusting blow, he sank his huge right fist deep into the belly of Bearkiller, just below the heart, and felt cartilage give way. He was sure he felt a rib break! He quickly regained his feet and brought both hands crashing down into the middle of Bearkiller’s back, sending him sprawling face down in the dirt. He knew that Bearkiller was a mighty opponent and that he should end this fight as quickly as possible, and yet he also felt that he must prove to the Indians that Wolf Spirit was invincible. Stepping back away from his downed foe, he growled out a few words.

      "The Wolf is hungry, Bearkiller, he would feed! On yer feet with ye, so that he might feast on yer bright red blood!"

Bearkiller had dropped his knife when he fell to the ground, and didn't bother to look for it. Still full of fury, he jumped to his feet and let out another wild war cry. Once again he leaped for Wolf Spirit, his hands clawing the air in front of him, hoping to close about the throat of his opponent. But this time Wolf Spirit also leaped forward, rapidly closing the distance between them and as they met, Wolf Spirit grabbed Bearkiller’s head with his big right hand. Using the Indians own momentum, he threw Bearkiller past him and into a group of warriors that stood watching. As the braves caught him, Bearkiller screamed in pain and fury, and clutched the side of his head where Wolf Spirit had held him. Droplets of bright red blood seeped from between his fingers.

Wolf Spirit stood with his right hand raised in the air, shaking it at the man on the ground! Looking closely, the warriors could see that between his thumb and forefinger Wolf Spirit held the right ear of Bearkiller!

Wolf Spirit let his eyes touch every warrior gathered there so that each of them would see the full fury of the raging Wolf. When every eye in the clearing was on him, he slowly brought the ear to his mouth and bit it in half! Resting his gaze on the face of Bearkiller, he walked across to where the Indian sat on the ground, and spit the half ear in his face.

"Is this warriors blood I taste," he asked?

"No, it cannot be! It tastes like woman's blood to me! Lie down Bearkiller, and spread yer legs that we might get a better look!"

The Wolf fire was blazing in Harpe's eyes now, and the black killing rage was very close to taking control.