Puma's Lair

By John W Nalley Jr

Jake's life was radically changed after his parents' death. Supposedly good neighbors turned out to be ruthless, cruel men who forced Jake out of his home. What seemed to be tragic turned out to be an adventure for Jake as he discovered new territory, new friends, and even gold in an unusual place.

Puma's Lair is a novel which will surely cause the reader to exclaim, "Who would have thought it?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798886850284

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Puma's Lair

John W Nalley Jr

ISBN 979-8-88685-027-7 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88685-028-4 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by John W. Nalley Jr.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

About the Author

Chapter 1

Jake Lewis paused and took a long look at the homeplace where he had been raised. He had lived here all his life. A rock-hard lump began to rise in his throat as he recalled the many happy times that he had shared here with his ma and pa.

Now it was time. He had to go. Quickly, he turned on his heel and, with long strides, headed toward the swamp that lay behind the farm. All his belongings were in a tow sack slung over his shoulder which bumped his rump with each step he took.

It was one of those muggy, sultry days that any Louisiana native would know promised rain. Jake hated to leave on a day like this. In fact, he hated to leave at all, but he knew he had better be gone before Miles Stafford and his goony sidekick, Leon Snide, came back around. The threats that they had made the night before were real. They had proved that. Now he just wanted to get far enough away to be out of their reach. He knew his way around in the swamp, and he did not think that Miles would follow him there. Jake felt safe in the swamp.

Even so, Jake knew that he would need shelter and a good dry one at that. As he passed through the swamp, he began to inspect some of the huge old cypress trees. They were a swell-butted variety with huge hollows in the center. Some of the trees had hollows as much as ten feet in diameter and seven or eight feet high. Jake thought about taking shelter in one of these. Upon second thought, he really did not want to. Besides being a haven for snakes and spiders, the floors were muddy and slick.

As the day progressed and the clouds grew darker and more threatening, Jake pressed deeper into the swamp. Then as he entered a small clearing, he spotted the remains of an old hollow cypress. Some long time in the past, the old tree had been struck by lightning and had partially burned. Later, the wind had blown the old snag down, and it had broken into pieces as it hit the ground. Each section was about seven or eight feet long and got progressively smaller up the length of the snag. These sections looked like a dug-out canoe with the ends kicked out. Jake picked up one of the top sections which was just large enough for him to lie down in. He hurriedly looked around for some suitable cypress knees. He saw what he was looking for surrounding a large cypress tree standing in shallow water. These cypress knees were about four feet high and stood about two feet apart. Just wide enough for Jake to force the old section of the cypress snag down between the knees.

Jake then began pulling down Spanish moss from the surrounding trees. Soon, he had enough to fill up the old snag. Now he had a neat little bed about two feet above the water. Next, he selected a larger section of the old cypress snag and fitted it down over the tops of the cypress knees. He now had a handy roof over his moss-filled bed. Jake backed up and surveyed his work. It looked pretty clever to him. He did not have long to admire his effort. Large drops of rain began to splatter the water. By the time he had climbed into his shelter, the bottom seemed to have fallen out of the clouds. Rain poured off both sides of the makeshift roof, but not one drop fell into the bed. Jake was proud of his shelter and deeply satisfied that he was escaping the soaking rain. He was using his tow sack and its contents for a pillow. The tin coffee pot and the small skillet had to be shifted around so that he was lying on his extra clothing.

Jake, tired and emotionally drained, began to relax and let his mind wander back over the events of the night before. It all seemed like a bad dream, but the swelling in his face and the sharp pains in his stiff and wincing body told him it was all too true.

The night before, Jake had just finished eating his supper when Miles Stafford and Leon Snide burst through the door. Jake had been working around the farm that day and had come in just before dark. Tired and hungry, he fired up the old wood stove. His supper consisted of eggs, bacon, and black coffee. Now Miles stood there, breathing heavily, with his fists balled up.

Do you have a deed to this place? he growled.

I do, replied Jake. Why do you want to know?

Just get it, he said.

Jake went to the old tin box and pulled out the deed. Miles snatched the deed out of Jake's hand and, to his astonishment, struck a match and stuck it to the paper. Angrily, Jake slapped at the paper, trying to snuff out the flames. That was when Miles hit him. Miles was big, red-headed, rawboned, and powerful. Now Jake was discovering that he was also mean. His lick knocked Jake across the room and slammed him against the wall. He jumped up and tried to fight back, but what could a seventeen-year-old do against two grown men? Miles hit him again, slamming him against the wall a second time. As he slid to the floor, Snide viciously kicked him in the ribs. Jake was desperately trying to breathe when Snide kicked him once more. Everything went black, and he knew no more until he woke up sputtering from the bucket of water Miles had poured over his head. Miles grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up close to his ugly, flushed face.

Now, boy, you listen to me and you listen good. I have a buyer for this plantation, but he won't take it unless your forty acres are included. My nutty old father gave your pa these forty acres, but the deed was never registered. Now I'm saying that it never happened, and you have until tomorrow morning to get gone. When I come back and if you are still here, I'm going to bury you out there on that knoll beside your ma and pa. Am I making myself clear?

Long after they had gone, Jake lay on the kitchen floor in shock, pain, and disbelief. His pa had worked long and hard for many years as Colonel Stafford's plantation overseer. The colonel had rewarded him with forty acres of prime farmland bordering the swamp. Shortly after that, the colonel and his wife got sick with the fever. Jake's ma went to nurse them. They died, and his ma came back home sick with the fever. She gave the fever to Pa, and soon, they both died. Jake was left alone. He guessed, with all the sickness, no one thought to register the deed. Now it was as if it had never been. Jake had his pa's old pistol, but why fight over land for which there was no deed? Not only would he lose the farm but he might also lose his life. So he packed his sack and waited for daylight.

It must have rained hard all afternoon. Jake slowly awoke just before dark. Raindrops were still dripping off the cypress shell roof. Something else, however, had awakened him. He lay very still, listening. Then close behind his makeshift shelter, he heard the plaintive whistle of a wood duck. Moments later, the duck appeared swimming under Jake's elbow. The duck disappeared underneath the shell bed, and as it reappeared, Jake snatched it out of the water by its neck. The water around the shelter exploded as the other ducks in the flock leaped, screeching into the air. What luck, thought Jake, roast duck for supper. Jake, holding the duck in one hand and his tow sack in the other, clambered out of bed. It wasn't long until he had the duck cleaned and a hot fire burning. While the duck was roasting, Jake pulled out the old coffee pot and brewed a savory-smelling pot of coffee. Finding a comfortable seat on a fallen log, he carefully ate the hot, roasted duck. Then leaning back, he sipped on a hot cup of coffee. Jake could hear a chorus of insects singing their night song. Somewhere deep in the swamp, an owl was hooting. Several bullfrogs added their deep bass notes to the swamp chorus. Not bad for a first night out, Jake was thinking. If it wasn't for feeling lonesome, sore, and uncertain about the future, he could have been perfectly content.

Jake gathered up several solid logs and stacked them on the fire. He was satisfied that he would still have glowing embers come morning. Noting that the smoke was drifting toward his shelter, he piled wet moss on the fire. Soon, steamy, pungent smoke blanketed his bed. Jake was hopeful that the smoke would drive away any hungry mosquitoes.

Once more, in his makeshift shelter, Jake stretched out comfortably on the moss-filled bed. He sleepily took pleasure in the swamp creatures' soothing song. Music fit for a king was his last thought as a deep sleep claimed him for the night.

Chapter 2

Jake had been steadily pressing through the swamp for the last three days. By the sun, he reckoned that he was headed due west. Later, that same afternoon, he pushed through a small cypress brake and came out on a dirt road. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was beginning to run low on bacon, and he hadn't had much else to eat except for a few frog legs and one catfish he had found trapped in a pool of water.

The road was running in a westerly direction, and by the many wagon wheel ruts, Jake figured that it was heavily traveled. He did not know exactly where he was going. Even so, he light-heartedly picked up his pace. The hard-packed clay made walking much easier. After several hours of steady walking, Jake topped a small knoll and found himself staring at a river. This was probably the Sabine River. He had heard that it was over in this direction.

Jake had stopped to look things over. He saw a tall and stooped older man limping from the river toward some buildings higher up on a bluff bank. The man stopped when he saw Jake, and after slowly looking him over, he waved to Jake. Come on in and rest a spell, son, he called. Jake cautiously strolled on in, checking things out as he proceeded. He noted a large scow tied up at the riverbank, a corral, a barn, and a cabin up on a bluff bank.

The old fellow stuck out his hand, My name is Zack Harris, and I was headed up to the cabin to get a bite to eat. How about you? If you are hungry, I've got plenty to share.

Jake shook Zack's hand and introduced himself.

He said, I don't ever remember being as hungry as I am now. I sure would be grateful for something to eat.

Inside the cabin, Zack coaxed a fire out of a few coals left smoldering in the ashes of the fireplace. After he got the fire going, he swung an old black pot over the flames.

You like stew? he asked Jake. This is left over from dinner. Hand me that pan of cornbread. We might as well warm it up too.

While the stew and cornbread were warming, Zack laid out two large bowls, two spoons, and two mugs.

All I have to drink is muscadine wine unless you want to boil some river water. The wine is not strong; I made it myself, said Zack.

Jake allowed that the wine would be fine.

Soon, they were seated at the table eating stew. It was spicy pepper