{"product_id":"the-ferguson-rifle-isbn-9780804126618","title":"The Ferguson Rifle","description":"It began with gold that had once belonged to Montezuma. Stolen and cached in a church  in Mexico, it was recovered by two army officers who fled north for the French settlements.  Along the way one stabbed the other to death. The remaining officer was eventually  killed by Plains Indians, but he buried the treasure just before he died. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Now Ronan  Chantry, a handful of trappers, and an Irish girl whose father was killed after telling  her a few vague landmarks are searching for the lost treasure. But they are not alone.  The girl’s uncle, Rafen Falvey, wants it, too. Like Chantry, he is well educated,  bold, and determined. Under different circumstances the two men might have been friends.  But in all likelihood it wouldn’t have made any difference. When it comes to gold,  even friendship doesn’t keep men from killing each other.\u003ci\u003eChapter One\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    MY NAME IS Ronan Chantry, and I am alone upon this land. I have long   since crossed the Mississippi. No other rides with me, and the plains   lie vast about. My eyes are toward the horizon where the sun sets in   gold and crimson, an enormous sun like none my eyes have seen in the   thirty years that have been mine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    What I loved is gone. What I lived for, vanished. I ride westward   into an unknown land, toward what destiny I know not. It has ever   been our way, we Chantrys, to turn westward when faced with grief and   desolation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I ride to lose myself, but can a man ever lose that which is in him?   That which is blood and bone to him? That which has been his life?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Men have told me that I am a fool, that I ride only to my death, but   if it is to be, then let it be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    My wife, my dearly beloved, is dead. My son, who was to grow tall and   sire yet another generation of our family, is also gone, done to   death by the flames from which he tried to rescue his mother.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Within me is emptiness; the studies to which I had given my life, abandoned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I have a good horse, a small pack, an excellent knife, and I have the   Ferguson rifle. That rifle, my constant companion since childhood, is   all that remains of my past, that and a few precious books to   stimulate my thoughts until . . . ?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The rifle was given to me when I was a small boy, presented by the   man who simplified the loading mechanism and put into action the most   efficient weapon of the century.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Major Patrick Ferguson demonstrated the weapon at Woolwich in June   1776. Four years later, he was killed at the Battle of King's   Mountain, North Carolina.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The rifle was given to me only a few weeks before his death, a truly   marvelous weapon made and engraved by his own hand. It was one of the   first to be loaded at the breech, and could be loaded and fired six   times to the minute. In the almost twenty-five years since it came   into my hands, I have seen no rifle to compare.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Ours was a poor cabin, and I stood by the gate holding the heavy   musket with which I had barked a squirrel, watching a red-coated   officer riding up the path from the road.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He looked at me sharply, then at my musket. \"Lad, I am fair done in.   Could I be having a drink from your well?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He had a good face, a strong face. \"Sir,\" I said, \"you men of England   have been my enemies, but I will refuse no man a drink. Will you come   in, then?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He glanced toward the house, wary of a trap. I had no idea of it   then, but he was a much hated man, and a man known for his harsh   opinions of the colonists.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"There's nought to fear,\" I said, and there was scorn in my tone. \"My   ma is ill within, and I must be about fixing her supper.\" I held up   the squirrel, and not without pride.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He glanced at it, then at me. Riding through the open gate to the   well, he dismounted to accept the water-filled gourd dipper from my   hand. \"Thanks, lad.\" He drank the cold water from the dipper, then   refilled it to drink again. \"There's no finer drink than this, lad.   Hear it from a thirsty man.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He noticed the puzzled expression in my eyes as I looked at his   horse. It was a fine animal, but it was his weapons that puzzled me.   He wore a saber, and there were two horse pistols in scabbards, which   was not unexpected, but he also carried two rifles, one of them   carefully wrapped in an oiled cloth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"What is it, lad?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Two rifles?\" I said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He chuckled, but his eyes were on my ancient musket. \"If you can bark   a squirrel with that,\" he said, \"you must be an uncommonly good shot.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"I daren't miss,\" I admitted honestly. \"When our powder and shot are   gone, we must live on greens.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He finished his water, then led his horse to the trough. \"May I pay   my respects to your mother, lad? If you say no, I shall not intrude.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"She would enjoy it, sir. We have few visitors here, and my mother   pines for them. Until she came here, she lived always among people.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    My mother was a woman of rare beauty. It took me years and the   viewing of many women before I really grasped how truly rare. She was   pale now, and thin, lying in the old, high bed, but her hair was done   on this day as upon every day of her life. She was ever groomed and   neat, and much to my disgust, required that I be the same. The habit   was well formed, and is with me still.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The major stepped into our cabin, removed his hat, and bowed. \"I am   Major Ferguson, ma'am, of His Majesty's Second Battalion, Light   Infantry Highlanders. Your son was kind enough to provide me with a   drink, and I wished to pay my respects.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Will you be seated, major? I'm afraid we have little to offer, but   if you would join me in a cup of tea?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"I would be honored, ma'am. Honored, indeed. It is little we see of   the ladies these days. Times are hard for a soldier, ma'am.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"And I would they were harder, major.\" Even as she said it, she   smiled, taking the sting from the words. \"You come unbidden to our   country as you came unbidden to my other country.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Your other country, ma'am?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"I was born in Ireland, major, and grew up there. I came over the sea   to marry my husband, whose family was known to ours.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"I am a Scotsman. Many of us, ma'am, did not approve of the manner in   which affairs were handled in Ireland. We do not make policy. That is   the king's business.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"And a poor business he makes of it. But here, now! This is not fit   conversation for a guest in my house. Ronan, would you pour tea for   us, please?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    My mother's hair was red gold, and the silken bed jacket she wore had   come from France, in a better day than this.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"If you will permit, ma'am\"-the major accepted his tea-\"I had not   expected to find a gentlewoman in such a place. Not a woman of such   obvious-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Breeding, major? There is no latitude or longitude for breeding. We   who migrated from Ireland left much behind, often including the O or   the Mac that preceded our names, but we did not leave our pride, nor   I hope, our good manners.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She smoothed the rough blanket with her hands as though it were satin   or whatever she'd known in her younger years. \"You travel far, major?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"To join my command. It is twenty miles, I believe.\" As if reminded,   he got to his feet. \"I should prefer to remain, but the ride is   long.\" He hesitated, and then said, \"We shall not trouble your land   much longer, ma'am. You have resisted us strongly, and at home   there's a distaste for it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"As well there might be,\" she said quickly, but smiling. \"If you pass   this way again, will you stop?\" She smiled impudently. \"The good Lord   commands us to forgive our enemies, major, and I forgive you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Of course.\" He glanced at me. \"The boy's father? Will he soon be home?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"He was killed in the war, major.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"If there is anything I can do?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"No, major. My son does very well. He is a skillful hunter and we   shall do splendidly.\" She extended a slender hand. \"Do stop by,   major. You will be most welcome.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He took her hand, bowing gracefully, brushing her fingertips with his   lips. \"It was my pleasure,\" he said, stepping back, then another   step, and turning he went out the door, putting on his hat as he did   so.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    There was a moment when he kissed her hand that I could only stare,   for I believed such things happened only in palaces or among great   ladies and kings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"See him to the gate, Ronan. He is a fine gentleman, and conducts   himself as one.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Major Ferguson had gathered his reins and was stepping into the   saddle when I came to open the gate. \"Your mother is a great lady,   lad, a great lady. She should not be living here, in this manner.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e     From his saddle he took the wrapped rifle, unwrapping it slowly. It   was utterly new, unused, silver mounted, and engraved. I gasped.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Handsome, is it not? I made it myself, for myself.\" He showed me how   it was loaded for I had not seen a breechloader before, nor the   mechanism he had invented, for he told me that as he showed me the   rifle. \"Lad, I have a notion I shall not have long to use it, and   there's no telling into whose hands it might fall. A fine lad such as   you, who appreciates a good weapon and must provide for his mother .   . . well, lad, you need a rifle, not a musket.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I could scarcely whisper. \"It . . . it's for me?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"It is.\" He put it into my hands.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Sir\"-I held it reverently as a father holds his firstborn child-\"I   cannot accept it. My mother would not permit it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Take it, lad. I shall be gone and there will be no way to return   it.\" From his saddlebags he took a bag of shot and another of powder.   \"Do you take these too. You surely need them more than I, and before   many hours are past, I shall be where there is little else.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Care for it, son, and it will care for you. I ask only one thing.   Keep it always, and never use it against the king.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    When he had disappeared around the bend, I walked back to the cabin.   When I showed it to Mother, she reproved me gently. \"You should never   accept a gift unless you can return one of equal value, but when a   gift is given, it should be accepted with grace.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She leaned back on her pillow, happier than I had seen her in many   weeks. We had few visitors, most of them country people. Good, honest   folk they were, but with few social graces, and none of them from the   cities beyond the sea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A few weeks later, we heard of the Battle of King's Mountain, and of   the death of Major Ferguson.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    We heard much of him later, for he had admirers on both sides of the   line. He came of a distinguished Scottish family, was only thirty-six   when killed, and had been in the service for twenty-one years.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The Ferguson rifle, which might have won the war in a matter of   months, had been taken from his command and put into storage by   General Howe after Ferguson had been wounded at Brandywine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The rifle he left with us helped us through those bad times. Its   accuracy was scarcely to be believed, and I became skilled in its   use, acquiring speed in reloading. Each time I used it, I blessed the   major.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    When spring came at last, Mother received a small legacy from a   distant relative in Ireland and we moved to the vicinity of Boston   and I took the Ferguson rifle along.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The woods lay not far from our home, and often I hunted there. The   education I received and enriched by my own reading was an excellent   one, and for a year I read law, but a meeting with Timothy Dwight   convinced me I should become an educator and a writer of history. Yet   now I rode westward into a wild land where the only education needed   was that the land could provide.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The sun was gone, although light remained. With darkness near, I   still had no camp, and the bald plains promised nothing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Suddenly, as if born of a wish, there appeared a fold in the low   hills. A grassy slope dropped away to a cluster of trees, dark now   with evening, and I thought I detected the sheen of water.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Many were the warnings I had received. Water holes were few, used by   all, and at any such place death might await. I had not hunted   through my boyhood years for nothing, nor had scholarship robbed me   of my senses. My nostrils caught the scent of woodsmoke, and I drew   rein to listen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    At first I heard nothing, then the faint sound of horses cropping   grass, and a crackle as from a fire. Standing in my stirrups, I   peered through the leaves, but could see only the shine of light   reflected from the seat of a saddle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It was unlikely a saddle would be used by an Indian, but there were   many dangerous men on the prairie, not all of them Indians by any   means.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Rifle in hand, I walked my horse forward, calling out, as was the   custom. \"Hallooo, the camp!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Come in with your hands empty!\" The voice was matter-of-fact. \"Or   take a bullet through the brisket.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I drew up. \"When I come in, gentlemen, it will be with my rifle in my   hands, and if you want to start shooting, just open the ball!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Somebody chuckled, and then said, \"All right, all right! Come on in!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Several men sat about a fire, and two of them had rifles in their   hands. All wore buckskins; all had the appearance of frontiersmen. My   dress alone would add a discordant note, for I wore a brass-buttoned   blue coat, gray pantaloons with straps under the arches of my Hessian   boots, and a starched white cravat. My hat was of the English round   variety such as was worn by the young gentleman of fashion. Yet their   eyes were on my rifle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The Ferguson I carried was but thirty inches long; their own rifles   looked to be forty-four inches at least.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \" 'Light, stranger. Looks like you've come a fur piece.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"That I have.\" Rifle in hand I dismounted, keeping my horse between   them and me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    One of the men chuckled. \"Now that goes right with me. I like a careful man.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Tying my horse, I walked around him. \"Possibly I am less careful than   you suspect. My friends told me I was foolish to come out here alone.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"You're alone?\" Startled, they stared at me. \"Now that's hard to   believe. You're four days' ride from a settlement, mister.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Three . . . on this horse. You're the first living things I've seen,   other than birds and insects.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    My palm slapped the rifle. \"Anyway, as long as I have this, I'm not   quite alone.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The first man to speak indicated the rifle. \"Don't know's I ever seen   the like. Mind if I look?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It was my turn to chuckle. \"Gentlemen, if I allowed a chance   acquaintance to take my gun from my hand, I'd be a lot greener than I   am . . . and I am green.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Moving up to the fire, I held it for them to see. \"This is a Ferguson   rifle, given me by the inventor when I was a lad. It is a remarkably   accurate, fast-shooting rifle.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A slim, dark young man seated near the Indian nodded. \"I heard tell   of them. Heard it said they can shoot six times to the minute.\"","brand":"Random House Audio","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302221730021,"sku":"NP9780804126618","price":30.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780804126618_fe09b0db-4153-4378-b572-1b1bc78eca88.jpg?v=1742926666","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-ferguson-rifle-isbn-9780804126618","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}