Jubal Sackett (1985) s-4

by Louis L'Amour

  Long ago my father had said, "Never give up your weapons. I know of no case where weapons were surrendered that was not followed by a massacre."

  The packet on the table drew my attention. Opening it I looked down ... gunpowder! Several pounds of it.

  "Thanks, Diego," I said. "Gracias!"

  Chapter Thirty-Nine.

  To Gomez I made no reply. Of one thing I was sure--no matter what other outcome this attack might have, one of us, Gomez or I, would die before it was ended. I wished only peace, and I felt sure that left to our own devices I could arrange a peace with the Utes. Only Gomez stood between us and the life I wished us to lead.

  He shouted again, demanding our surrender. The skies were gray now, although heavy with clouds over the western mountains. The trees stood out, stark and black against the gray. The shadows of men, or rather their dark forms that seemed like shadows, moved at the edge of the woods and on the meadows below, reminding me of those other shadows, the dancing shadows in the cave.

  Unbidden there came to mind the voice that had seemed to speak from where the skin-wrapped bodies lay. An eerie feeling as of some effort at communication had come to me, and standing alone in the silence I had asked if there was anything I could do.

  A foolish thing, to speak into an empty cave where lay only the mummified bodies of the long dead, but as I had turned away I had heard, or had seemed to hear, a voice saying, "Find them!"

  Find who? Where? Why?

  Waiting in the darkness of the fort, the air soft with impending rain, I remembered, and was sad.

  What had the dead left undone? Had they spoken? Or had the voice only been in my brain? Had there been some communication, some desperate wish, some great desire that lived beyond death?

  I, who might die this day, thought of that. What desire could be so driving, so compelling that it lived beyond death?

  For me there could be but one. The safety of Komi and my child to be. Nothing mattered beyond that.

  Was it so with them? Was this the wish of the nameless dead? But too many years, perhaps too many centuries, had passed. Their children and their grandchildren would have died long since, and yes, their great-great-grandchildren, for the bodies, I believed, had been hundreds of years old.

  "Find them!"

  Find who? Find what? Where?

  Suddenly Komi was beside me, in her hand a cup of the coffee that had come with Diego's trade goods.

  "Komi? What do you know of the Ni'kwana? Who is he?"

  "He is the Ni'kwana, the master of mysteries. What else?"

  I shook my head. "I do not know, only--somehow he did not seem like an Indian. There was something about him, something different."

  "Ah!" She was silent, turning her own cup in her fingers. "I have heard--I do not know, but I have heard--he was not one of us. I have heard there was a people, a very few, who came to live with us long ago. He was the last of them."

  "You know nothing more?"

  She shrugged. "They came from the river, long, long ago. I do not know whether they came from up or down the river, but they were priests, they were teachers. I do not know where they came from or when this was, only that they carne among us and taught many things. Our Ni'kwanas always came from that group. I do not know why that was, either."

  She paused. "My grandmother was one of them. She was related, somehow, to the Ni'kwana."

  Outside there was movement. I peered through a porthole in the palisade, but saw nothing.

  "The Ni'kwana wished something more for you, I think. Why were you chosen to come west?"

  She shrugged. "I was a Sun. It was I who could decide whether to go or stay. Only the Great Sun was above me, and he was unwell. It was my duty to come."

  "And the direction you chose?"

  "The Ni'kwana directed me. He told me he knew of a place far to the west where we would be safe. He wished me to go and see."

  "It was where the river comes from the mountain?"

  "No, it was beyond. It ... it might be here, but I--"

  My mind was busy, searching, examining, prying. There was something strange here, something eerie, something frightening.

  The Ni'kwana was old. He was the last of his kind except for Itchakomi Ishaia, who was at least part of his blood. Did he wish to save her from something? Did he wish, and this thought came unexpectedly, her tofind something, someplace?

  Was her trip west directed back into the past of his people? Was he trying to protect her from something he knew was inevitable? To bring her back to their beginnings?

  I spoke of this, speaking softly. "You must try to remember, Komi. He was your teacher, but what did he teach? Was there something only for you? Some story? Some idea?"

  "Find them!"

  Was there a connection between the mummified bodies in the cave and the Ni'kwana? It was absurd. Yet--I shook myself. My mind was too busy. Too much imagination. I must forget all this and tend to the business at hand. My first consideration was survival. There would be time, I hoped, after that.

  Find them--find what? People? Things? Places?

  Had something been lost? People left behind? Were there some lessons to be learned, and left somewhere?

  The Ni'kwana had said he expected an older man. My father, perhaps? But then he knew my father was dead. But he could not have known that when he left Natchez and his people. It could not have happened by that time. My father had died later. The Ni'kwana had come expecting an older man, but when he saw me--

  How much of what followed had been accident and how much direction? Had he, somehow,wished me to find the mummies? But that was ridiculous.

  What remained was that I was here, in this far place, and I had married Itchakomi. An Indian marriage, but in its form not unlike the common law marriages that were legal in England, or had been. It was little enough I knew of such things, but there had been talk at home around the table of an evening or beside the fireplace, talk of weddings, customs, all that sort of thing. I should have listened more carefully.

  But what child in his later years does not wish he had listened when his parents talked among themselves, about themselves, their families, the way they had lived? So often we do not realize how much we could have learned until it is too late and there is no going back.

  It was growing light. Again the call for surrender. Impatiently, I replied, "Gomez!" If you are so eager for surrender, why don't you come and fight me? You and I alone."

  There was silence and then his voice cool, mocking. "As the challenged party, I choose the weapons. That is the way in civilized countries."

  "Why not? Belly to belly with pistols? Knives? Whatever you wish. Let us settle this, man to man."

  "Of course!" His tone was genial, yet mocking still. "I choose the weapons."

  "Choose them, then. If I win, your men leave now, at once."

  Gomez laughed. "And if I win? I take all!"

  "And I will be the judge!"The voice was that of Diego. "Four muskets will cover your people, Gomez. If there is any attempt, during the fight, to take advantage, they will kill!"

  Gomez walked down from the trees. There was a fine swagger to the man. He stood there in his coat of mail, hands on his hips, smiling.

  "Pistols, then?" I suggested.

  He laughed. "Not pistols, my fine friend! You shoot too well! No, we shall have swords! It will be a proper duel!"

  Diego started to protest, but Gomez waved a dismissing hand. "You I shall take care of later, Diego. Sackett offered me the choice of weapons. He challenged me! So now we shall see how our buckskin savage does with a gentleman's weapon!"

  "Cover me," I whispered, and stepped through the gate, which closed behind me.

  "What would you know of a gentleman's weapons?" I asked Gomez. "You are no gentleman. You are a coward, a betrayer, a slave dealer, and a pimp, who deals in women for other men."

  He started to speak and almost choked on his fury. Then he calmed down. "We shall see! Swords, my friend! Let us see how you do!"
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br />   Diego's protest was brushed aside. Yet he called out to me. "Sackett! Think what you do! The sword ishis weapon!"

  Perhaps it was, but there had been those hours and hours of fencing back at Shooting Creek when my father, Jeremy, and Sakim had all instructed me in the art. It had been nearly two years ... still, I had been rather good, the best of them, in fact, except for my father.

  Diego came down from the trees. "You may use my blade," he said. Then leaning closer he said, "Think what you do! The man is a superb swordsman! He will make a fool of you and then kill you!"

  I gripped the hilt of the saber. "A fine blade, Diego. I thank you for this. I shall try not to disgrace it for you."

  "Save yourself, Sackett. Run! I'll not hold it against you! Get out before he murders you!"

  "Murder? It is not easily done, amigo."

  "Are you ready, then?" Gomez called. "I want to kill you, and then I shall have the wench. She'll make good trade back in Santa Fe!"

  Sword in hand, I walked toward him. He would be good, probably very good, and I had never fought for blood with a sword. Fenced, yes. Hour upon hour, with some of the best, but this was different. This man intended to kill me or maim me.

  Contemptuous of me, he would try to make a fool of me first. He would play with me as a cat with a mouse.

  The earth outside of the gate was smoothly packed. Only in the grass lurked the caltrops and the prickly pear. There was room enough, a space at least forty feet wide and half again that long of smoothly packed clay.

  We moved out on the clay and I endeavored to appear awkward and unsure of myself. Yet at this moment I suddenly remembered my leg. Would it make a difference? I did not believe so. It was too late now to think of that. What I must do was to discover Gomez' rhythm, the cadence of his movements. In fencing as in boxing timing and judgment of distance were all important, and the way an opponent moves and his reach must be quickly learned. My chance of victory would be greater if I moved at once, before he discovered I knew something of the art of the saber. Now he thought me what he had said, a buckskin-clad savage, to whom the use of the sword was completely foreign.

  We circled, and I held my weapon awkwardly. Stepping in, I watched his step back and timed his movements. He was smiling now, a taunting smile. "I shall have her for myself," Gomez said, "before I use her in trade."

  He was trying to anger me, to draw me in, so I did as he wished and made as if to attack, and then retreated as he attacked. His movements were wide, flamboyant and careless. My blade caught his thrust, parried, and slid along his blade. He moved even as my point touched his shoulder. He backed away, circling, looking at me with a question in his eyes. I had been too good on that one. He would be more cautious now. But he was not, he attacked again with wide-sweeping cuts and I retreated. He came on, suddenly impatient, yet I had taken his measure and caught him out of time. I thrust, quick, low, and hard.

  Whether it found a break in his chain mail or drove through, I did not know, but my point went in, deep and hard. Cutting left with the edge, I withdrew sharply, and blood followed.

  His face was ghastly. It had suddenly turned mottled and yellow and he staggered, trying to regain his poise. He tried an attack, but his timing was gone and I thrust again, this time at his throat. Turning the blade at the target I cut sharply left and laid open his throat. His blade dropped and he tried to speak. Then he fell over on his face.

  There was a chorus of shouts and some wild yells. Looking up I beheld a circle of Indians, at least fifty of them on horseback, watching.

  Keokotah came from the trees. "Utes," he said. "Speak well."

  I lifted my sword to them in a salute, and then bowed with a wide, sweeping gesture.

  Keokotah stepped toward them, speaking. They listened and watched as he used sign language with the words.

  He who appeared to be chief listened and then spoke.

  "He says you are much warrior," Keokotah said. "Offer them gifts. Tell them we are friends in their land. We wish them to come often to trade. Tell them we have come to bring the Utes presents and wish to stay in this small corner of their land and help them against their enemies, the Komantsi."

  There was a brief exchange. Keokotah said, "He wishes to see your presents." Then he added, "I think you've a friend. He likes the way you fight."

  Wiping my blade, I returned it to Diego, who was now talking to the men of Gomez. Picking up Gomez' sword I wiped it clean. Then I took it to the Ute chief and presented it to him with a bow.

  Gravely, he accepted the sword, and I said, "I, your friend, present you with this sword to be used against your enemies. Your friends are my friends. Your enemies are my enemies."

  Bowing again, I took two steps back and then turned to the gate. Now was the time to show them my medicine. Inside the gate, waiting, was Paisano.

  "Food, Komi! We must feed them! We must feed our new friends!"

  Paisano walked from the gate, a huge, massive beast, and I heard gasps of astonishment. Coolly, I gathered the reins and stepped into the saddle. Calmly, gravely, I walked Paisano out upon the clay to mutters of awe and astonishment. Saluting them again, I rode Paisano back into the gate as the women began to emerge with trays of food.

  Much depended upon this first meeting, and well I knew it. They had seen me win a victory and they had seen me ride a buffalo, which to them was big medicine, but now to more practical things.

  Showing the chief and some of the elders to seats on a log outside the gate, I warned all against walking in the grass. Then I brought out several bolts of red calico, a dozen knives, another dozen of hatchets. The Utes came to stare at what to them, at this time, was a veritable treasure.

  All things are valued according to their scarcity, and a time might come when this gift would seem as nothing. What was worth little to us was worth much to them because they were things they could not get elsewhere.

  Keokotah's woman and the Ponca woman brought food to put before our guests, and they seated themselves and ate.

  Suddenly, two Natchee Indians emerged from the gate, each holding a torch. For a moment they stood, until all eyes were upon them. Then slowly, with grace and poise, Itchakomi Ishaia emerged between them .

  Looking neither right nor left she walked down the open space before the chiefs, and it was only then that I noticed that one of our benches, covered with a buffalo robe, had been placed opposite them.

  She seated herself, and the torch bearers moved to right and left. For a long moment she said nothing, as all stared.

  Then she said, "I am Itchakomi Ishaia, Daughter of the Sun, Priestess of the Eternal Fire." She waited again until one might have counted to five very slowly, and then she said, "I walk with this man, who is Jubal Sackett, the Ni'kwana, master of mysteries!"

  Chapter Forty.

  Never had I been so proud of my wife as at that moment. Indians dearly love ceremony, as do many of us, and there could be no doubt in the mind of anyone that she was no less than a beloved woman.

  Keokotah, who knew much of the Ute language, which was similar to that of tribes he had known, spoke to them, translating her words and telling who she was.

  "In the cave," he indicated the place near our fort, "lives the fire that burns forever. She is its guardian, its priestess.

  "He--" he pointed at me, "brought the fire from heaven. The fire is the gift of the Sun. I have seen it."

  "And I!" said a Natchee torch bearer.

  "And I!" the other repeated.

  Diego moved to my side. "She iswonderful! " he whispered. "She has won them all!"

  Awed, I looked at her. This beautiful woman, this goddess--could she be mine? Beautiful, yes, but intelligent also. She had come among them when the time had been right, and they would never forget her.

  I smiled to myself. "And she didn't have to ride a buffalo to do it!"

  Long after they were gone, the effect remained with me. Surely, I would remember her always in that beaded white buckskin costume, a band about her
dark hair, standing between the torches. She had beauty then, and magic, also.

  One by one the Utes went to see the sacred fire, to look upon it and pass on. When they rode away with their gifts I knew we had won some friends. More than my buffalo, more than my fighting, more than my gifts, it had been Itchakomi who had done it.

  "They will be friends now," Keokotah commented complacently. "We will have no trouble."

  Yet as I looked down the darkening valley, I wondered. Suddenly, I shuddered. We used to say when that happened somebody had just stepped on our grave.

  Perhaps--

  Suddenly, just for a moment, I seemed to see a vast beast rising before me, a mighty monster with tusks like spears, lifting his great head, winding his trunk back against his brow, a red-eyed monster who looked at me and started to move, coming at me. Instinctively I reached for a spear, and there was none, and I was alone.

  I shuddered again.

  That, now? After all of this? Would it come now? But how could it be? There was no such beast. An elephant with long hair?

  Yet that night I slept and slept well, with no nightmares, no dreams.

  We had given much meat to feeding the Utes, and if we were to last the winter it must be replaced, so now was the time for hunting. Also, there was the matter of the sulphur. If we could find a workable deposit we could make our own gunpowder.

  "Komi," I suggested, "let us go together to the mountains. We will visit the caves, hunt, and look for sulphur. Also, we can take a bit of food to eat as the English do on a Sunday."

  "How do they eat?"

  "On Sunday they do not work, so sometimes one family, sometimes several, will go together to the seashore, a lake, or a river and there in the shade of trees they will eat their food. It is a quiet time for all, a relaxing time.

  "The children will run and play, the older people will laze about, talking, sleeping, sometimes singing. It is sometimes called a picnic."

  "Good! We will eat a picnic. Paisano will carry the lunch and some robes to sit upon."