Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves(96)



“Get yon Barrett Fairfax to fetch ye yewr cable,” Fergus grumbled. “Mayhap, he will throw his back out.”

“What do you know of him?”

“Dunna underestimate this competitor, lad. Whether for the tossing of the caber or wooing of yon bonny lass. The Sassenach sold his Lieutenant Colonel’s commission to become a tobacco factor. Educated at Oxford, he was.”

And that, that one advantage, therein set Barrett Fairfax far above mere mortals who comprised most of the colonists – but not, in Jacob’s studied estimation, above himself.

“Now, listen to me, lad, ye may be lang and skinny as a string bean, but the mighty width of yewr shoulders will be an asset. Tis the running that twenty or so feet, the momentum afore ye toss the caber, that will matter more than strength.”

Jacob’s eye was on Fairfax who was approaching. The man possessed the stiff carriage, as straight as a saber, reflective of a born soldier. Jacob passed Fergus his twelve-pound flintlock rifle, which normally he kept with him at all times and could fire and reload on the run, which no British soldier could do – not even Fairfax.

Totally ignoring Fergus, the energetic Fairfax nodded at Jacob and allowed a smile, however briefly. “I understand you scout for Caswell’s colonial militia?”

Jacob said nothing, only waited, and returned Fairfax’s condescending stare with his own blank one.

Nonplussed, Fairfax was forced to fill the silence. “That makes us vying not only to determine the best man at the caber toss today, but also vying to determine which side shall dominate here – Crown or Colonial.”

Then Lady Catriona had refrained from sharing with Fairfax that she now had an additional suitor vying for her hand. Interesting. “I have no loyalty to governments.”

Fairfax’s muscled frame stiffened. “There is such a thing as duty and honor to our country above all else.”

He met Fairfax’s perturbed glare with an expressionless look that might, or might not, have been challenging. “There is such a thing as a man’s right to decide for himself. Beholden to none.”

“That consideration is subordinate to the interests of the Crown.” The man, who was maybe thirty, emitted a grunt of disgust and shouldered past him.

For all Fergus’s advice about the best form to use in the caber toss, the mere cupping upright in one palm at elbow height the seventeen feet of tapered tree trunk, weighing more than 175 pounds, was a feat in itself.

Jacob watched one after another competitor hurl the caber end-over-end so that it fell, if lucky, with the larger end hitting the ground first and then the tapered end falling perpendicular to the tosser at the twelve o’clock mark.

After each toss, applauding ensued. When Fairfax took his turn, it seemed the spectators’ breath suddenly ceased, as if they had attended the week-long games solely to be a part of this ten-second demonstration of mythological performance. Fairfax took his running steps. His shoes, of the best London-made cordovan, anchored in the turf. With a mighty surge of his last step, he hefted and tossed the caber.

After those ten seconds, Fairfax clearly bested all previous competitors. Cheers erupted. Fairfax waved at the crowd and executed a brief bow in the Lady Catriona Kincairn’s direction.

Knowing that the winning toss had been witnessed, spectators were already drifting away, toward the Maide Leisg – the Lazy Stick competition. Jacob would not glance at Lady Catriona, to see if she had stayed or was departing on Fairfax’s arm.

His turn was next. He had studied Fairfax’s effort, noting even the man’s approach to the perilous toss-line. Its divots dug up by the boots and brogans of all the previous competitors could easily trip up the unwary.

And yet . . . could he not make those divots work for him rather than against him?

Sweat plastered his muslin shirt to his back It took all his strength and coordination just to keep the caber upright as he hoisted the nearly two-hundred pounds in his palm. With the weight balanced against his shoulder, his moccasins churned out the twenty yards’ approach.

Planting his feet solidly in the divots for purchase, he flipped the caber up and out – and watched with lung action suspended as the caber spun like a mere throw of his tomahawk through the air. After what seemed interminable time, the caber landed. It tipped over exactly at the twelve o’clock mark and more than an ell’s length past that of Fairfax’s.

Silence stunned the afternoon. Next, exuberant whoops rang out. Only then did Jacob allow his gaze to seek the striking young woman. Her dismayed glance clashed with his. Abruptly, she pivoted toward an equally dismayed Barrett Fairfax and accepted the arm he was slow to proffer.

If Jacob thought the caber toss required all the physical skills he possessed, wooing the young woman next would require all the social skills he did not possess.

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