Tom Quick and the Buck with Seven Skins

     During the months of summer, Tom Quick followed his favorite avocations, which alternated between the business of hunting and that of killing Indians.  Sometimes in company with a boon companion, but more frequently alone and unattended, he ranged the forests about the headwaters of the Delaware, now pursuing the bounding deer, and again following with stealthy and cat-like tread the trail of the Indian hunter, whom he sent without warning to the Indian's paradise.  His winters were usually spent at the house of some congenial spirit in the vicinity of his hunting-grounds. He always paid well for his entertainment, for he kept the family, with whom he was quartered, fully supplied with venison and bear meat.  While hunting late one autumn on a distant fork of the Delaware, he awoke one morning to find the forest buried in deep snow, and the rigors of winter at hand in all their severity.  It was with difficulty that he made his way to the house where he purposed to spend the winter.  So sudden and severe had the season set in that Tom had not secured a supply of winter venison.  He knew a place out some distance from his friend's residence where he could find abundance of game, and only waited a favorable change in the weather to go and secure it.
     About this time an Indian came into the neighborhood, and Tom was not long in making his acquaintance.  Together they talked of the chase, and related their hunting exploits around the fireplace of the settler, protracting their story-telling long into the night. Tom at length set out upon his hunting expedition, accompanied by the Indian. They had agreed to hunt in company, Tom proposing to take the venison for his share, and the Indian the skins.  They arrived at the destined locality at the close of a day's march, when they bivouacked for the night in the snow.  The next day they had unusual good luck for they killed seven deer.  The Indian had as many skins as he could carry, consequently he did not want to hunt any more at that time; so he got them together, placed them upon his back, and started through the snow for his cabin.  It was destined he should never reach it, however, for as he started off, a ball from Tom Quick's rifle penetrated the seven skins, and entering the back of the Indian killed him instantly. When Tom reached the settlement with all the skins and the venison, his friends, who knew the arrangement that had been made in regard to the division of the spoils, asked him how he came by all the pelts.  Tom replied that after he and the Indian had got through hunting, “he had shot a fat buck in the woods  with seven skins on his back."
     The Indians suspected that Tom was concerned in the mysterious disappearance of so many of their hunters, and frequent attempts were made to kill him. Notwithstanding they had numerous opportunities, they missed their mark so often that they were inclined to believe he had a charmed life, and could not be hit by an Indian bullet. One day Tom was splitting rails for a man named Westbrook, on land now included in the village of Westbrookville, in the Mamakating valley.  As he was driving in a wedge, he was suddenly surprised and surrounded by six dusky warriors.  Tom caught up his gun, which was always within his reach, and prepared for a fight even at such odds.   The Indians did not want to kill him, preferring to take him alive if they could do so.  A parley ensued, in which Tom told the savages that he would go with them provided they would first help him split his log.  They were so pleased at getting him without a fight that they threw down their guns and came forward to where Tom was at work.  According to his directions they ranged themselves, three on a side, and thrusting their hands into the split, pulled while Tom drove the wedge. Instead of driving the wedge in, Tom directed a peculiar blow which caused the wedge to fly out, and the six Indians were held by their fingers in the cleft as with a vise.  He then brained them at his leisure.*
     At the close of one cold winter day an Indian came to the house where Tom Quick was stopping, complained of fatigue, and requested permission to stay all night.  He professed to be very friendly, but Tom suspected he was an enemy in disguise.  During the evening he casually mentioned that he had seen a number of deer during the afternoon, and asked Tom if he would not like to go with him next day and get them. Tom readily assented to the proposition, and they agreed to start at an early hour next morning.  During the night Tom managed to get hold of the Indian's rifle.  He drew out the charge, substituted ashes in place of the powder, replaced the ball, and restored the gun to the position in which he found it.  The next morning Tom detected the Indian covertly examining the chamber of his rifle and the priming, with which he seemed satisfied.  This and other circumstances confirmed Tom in the belief that the savage contemplated mischief.
     There was a deep snow on the ground, and the hunters found difficulty in making their way through it.  The Indian, apparently in good faith, proposed that one should go ahead and break the path.  To this Tom readily assented; and furthermore offered to be the first to go in advance, at which the Indian seemed greatly pleased.  In this way they had proceeded a mile or more, and had arrived at a lonely spot, when Tom heard the Indian's gun snap, and the powder whiz in the pan.  He turned round and asked the Indian what he had seen.  "A fine buck," was the reply.  The Indian reprimed his gun "Well, brother Indian," he inquired, "what did you see this time?"   "I saw an eagle sweep over the forest," replied the other as he again primed his gun.  "Brother Indian," said Tom, "the snow is deep, and I am tired.  You go ahead."  "The Yankees speaks well," said the savage, and he sullenly took his station in advance.  Tom leveled his rifle.  "Lying, Indian dog," exclaimed he, "what do you see now?"  "I see the spirit land," said the savage gloomily; and bowing his head and drawing his blanket over his face, calmly awaited his inevitable fate.

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* A lady residing at Westbrookville pointed out to the writer the precise spot where this is said to have taken place.  The historian Quinlan, from whose writings the above facts are taken, was informed that an early settler had seen Indian bones at the spot, and believed the story to be true.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           
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