Andy's Kentucky Rifle

By Bruce Mize

Andy's life covered the formative years of the United States of America. He met several prominent people of this era.

Two men, who Andy trusted, burnt down his trading post on the Western frontier in Missouri, with him unconscious inside. Andy must battle his way through the American frontier, seeking revenge on the pair of backstabbers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638813804

Book preview

ANDY’S

KENTUCKY

RIFLE

BRUCE MIZE

Copyright © 2022 Bruce Mize

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-63881-379-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63881-380-4 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

The Visit

New Arrival

Battle of Fallen Timbers

Becoming a Man

The Trip

Misunderstanding

Love Story

An Enterprise

Father and Son to Missouri

Tragedy

The Buildings

The Party

Celebration

New Orleans

A Pirate’s Life

In Business on the River

Texas

Andy’s Kentucky Rifle’s Characters

The Visit

ANDY, YOUR FATHER is comin’ today.

Is he goin’ ta take me hunting, Ma?

I spose so. You both like it so much.

Andrew Kennilston had just turned ten, and his father made it a point to visit a couple of times a year. Andrew Kennilston Sr. couldn’t write, so he would tell the driver of the supply wagon from Maysville, Kentucky, to Danville, Kentucky, to let Ruth Cullen know that he was on his way.

Ruth wouldn’t tell her son that Andrew was planning a visit until the day he was expected because the boy wouldn’t eat or sleep from the reckoning. He would just sit by the ford in the Elkhorn River and watch for his father.

Ma, why didn’t you marry Pa?

"Andy, I loved your father very much and, because I loved him, I knew how my days and nights would be spent waitin’ and wonderin’ where Andrew was and when or even if he would return. Andrew is a hunter. You know that, Andy. He loves the woods, the animals, helpin’ people find their way and fightin’ Indians.

My John has been good for us, Andy. He works hard to raise crops for us to eat and feed the animals. He told Andrew before we were married he would take care of you like you were his own son.

I know, Ma, but it ain’t like when Pa an’ and me are tagether. I think I look a lot like him. We both have red hair.

Andrew Kennilston Sr. had come from Virginia. His father had immigrated from Ireland, and Andrew had typical Irish determination. He had fought with Lord Dunmore at Fort Pit. He had been a scout with the Virginia Militia in Kentucky County and chased Indians into Ohio territory. He was one of the fortunate ones to escape with his scalp at the Battle of Blue Licks.

I’m going to the river, Ma.

Awright, Andy, but listen for the dinner bell.

It was a hot July day. The soft dust on the road felt good under Andy’s feet. He would walk where the trees cast their shadow so the cool dust would squeeze up between his toes. Occasionally, he would stop in the shade and listen. His father had taught him the art of listening. One can hardly tell what is going on around him when he is the center of attention.

Andrew Sr. had told his son how he had kept his skin many times because he heard the Indians before they were aware of him. Andy heard a squirrel cracking the shell of a nut in a tree; he recognized a woodpecker banging a hole in a tree; and in the grass, he saw a chipmunk scurry about his business. The only sound he wanted to hear, but could not, was a lone rider coming down the road.

The river was about a mile from the cabin. It sparkled in the afternoon sun as Andy arrived. He walked into the water and cooled his feet and legs. A crawdad zipped under a rock, a frog escaped from the bank into the safety of the stream, and a bass hastily swam upstream to avoid the intruder. Andy found a perfectly flat stone and skipped it across the water. A bobwhite scolded him because he was apparently too close to her nest.

The sun was turning the bright orange of late afternoon, and Andy heard the dinner bell clang. He jerked around as if he could tell the bell to wait just a while longer, but he knew he had better get home. He slowly got to his feet and started walking toward the cabin, but he kept looking back across the river and down the road on the other side. Suddenly, he saw what he was looking for—a lone rider on a horse.

Pa, Pa! Andy yelled as he ran into the water.

The rider gave his horse his head, and the animal immediately broke into a run. The water was up to Andy’s waist when the horse splashed into the stream. The rider reached down with a strong arm and lifted Andy up to him. The man hugged Andy as the boy threw his arms around the man’s neck.

Pa! Andy cried.

Hi, boy, Andrew Kennilston Sr. responded.

The frontiersman swung the boy around behind him. Andy wrapped his arms around his father’s girth and pressed his cheek against Andrew Sr.’s back.

Happy Birthday, said Andrew Sr. as the mount walked out of the water and started a gentle canter. The horse was a beautiful chestnut stallion with Arabian blood, and Andy barely noticed the animal’s hips, moving underneath him.

At the cabin, the boy leaped to the ground and waited for his father to dismount. Andrew Sr. swung down to the ground and took his gear off of the horse.

His name is Joe. Take good care of him, okay, boy?

Sure will, Pa, Andy replied as he led the horse to the barn.

Andrew Sr. ducked his head as he entered the