by Tim Tingle
“My name is Jim Davis, and I am of the Davis family from Virginia. Before I tell you where Danny is, let me have one more look around.” Davis rose and walked to a single window, covered only by wooden shutters, at the rear wall of the shop. He opened the shutters and looked up and down the roadway. Seeing nothing unusual, he crossed the shop and quietly creaked open the front door.
“Looks like we are safe for now,” he said to Jane. “Why did you come here looking for Danny?”
“I heard soldiers talking to my father, asking him to keep a lookout for Danny. You are his best friend. You helped him escape. He will come to you as soon as he can.”
“You are right,” Davis said. “He is here now. Danny,” he whisper-called across the shop. “It’s safe to come out.”
From behind the stack of boards, Danny stepped forward. He hung his head and mumbled, “It is good to see you, Jane.”
Davis smiled and shook his head. “Danny Blackgoat,” he said. “I have never seen you so shy.” When Danny said nothing, he realized the two Navajos were more than friends. “I’m gonna guard the door for a few minutes,” he said, leaving Danny and Jane alone. In a short while, Jane joined him at the door.
“I better go,” Jane said. “And do not worry. I will walk in the shadows, and if anyone sees me, I will tell them I am lost.”
“It is nice to meet you, Jane. I guess Danny told you he will not be here in the morning.”
“Yes,” Jane said. “I know I will see him again. He always surprises me.”
“Danny Blackgoat is full of surprises,” Davis said with a smile. As they turned to look at him, Danny crawled through the open window and leapt to the ground, disappearing into the night.
Davis smiled at the truth of his words. “Jane,” he said, “maybe you can stop by often, during the day. Just for a short visit. That way if you really need to let me know something, or if I have news your family should hear, the soldiers will already think of us as friends. Your coming here will not seem unusual.”
“Yes, I will do that,” Jane said. “Good-bye for now.”
Davis closed the door quietly behind her, then walked to the rear of the carpentry shop to close the window shutters. “I’ve got a Navajo boy climbing out my window, a Navajo girl hiding in the shadows around my front door, it’s the middle of the night, and the soldiers want to hang me. How did I ever get myself into this mess?”
He stood for a moment and thought of the evening.
Would I do it all again? he asked himself. Yes, I would. These Navajos are a good people, and I’ll help them any way I can.
He climbed into bed with a smile on his face, and before he drifted off to sleep, he said a quiet prayer. “May Jane return safely to her family, and may Danny Blackgoat leave the fort before the soldiers find him.”
Only one of his prayers was answered.
Chapter 13
Soldiers in the Shadows
Jane arrived at her family’s campsite to hear her father snoring and rolling out of his blanket.
“What was that noise!” he shouted. Jane hurried to his side, pretending he had awakened her.
“Nothing, Dad. You must have been having a bad dream. I didn’t hear any noise.”
“Oh, I am sorry, Jane. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Soon Jane and her family were asleep again, but Danny Blackgoat never made it to his family.
Throughout the day, the corporal had asked questions of anyone who knew Jim Davis or Rick. The gravediggers told him of the coffin Davis had removed that day.
“Jim Davis claimed that empty coffin was filled with mud, and that’s what made it so heavy,” said the sergeant. “But he was very careful not to let us look in the coffin.”
“And he sure did close the door to his shop in a hurry,” added the private.
“I spoke to some soldiers who just arrived from Fort Davis, where Jim Davis was a prisoner before he came here,” the corporal said. “They claimed they saw this Indian boy and shot at him before he got away. They said he might be coming here, where his family lives.”
Like a mosquito buzzing around in the dark, the corporal could not get Danny Blackgoat out of his mind. “He stole a horse from the United States Army, and he must pay for it,” he said to himself over and over again. When the corporal had entered the carpentry shop and surprised Davis, he saw no one else in the shop.
But there were two coffee cups! he thought.
As the sun sank beneath the low-lying hills to the west, the corporal had his usual evening meal with the men serving under him. He then returned to his barracks for a quiet evening of poker playing with the other officers.
After losing two quick hands of poker, he slapped his cards to the table and rose to go. “I have some business to attend to that will not wait,” he told his fellow officers.
“Anything we can help you with?” asked a lieutenant.
“No, it’s about a young Indian runaway. I think I’ll take care of this myself.”
He left the barracks with his long-range rifle over his shoulder, loaded and ready to fire, and his pistol at his side. If I were that boy, I’d want to be with my family, he thought to himself. But he can’t go there till after dark. I think the gravediggers were right. He is with Jim Davis, hiding somewhere in his carpentry shop. But he won’t stay there, not tonight. He knows we’ll be looking for him in the morning. He’s not safe anywhere in the fort. That Navajo boy will try to escape from the fort tonight!
On his way to the carpentry shop, the corporal stopped by the enlisted men’s barracks, where they had their own poker game going.
“You two,” he said to the best marksmen. “Sergeant Tolar and Sergeant Chester, come with me. Bring your rifles, pistols, and plenty of ammunition.”
“What is it, sir?” asked a young soldier, newly arrived at the fort. “Is there an attack on the fort?” The other soldiers smiled at his inexperience, knowing they would be alerted with the sound of bugles during an attack.
“No, at ease, men,” the corporal said. “The man we are hunting is unarmed, but he is Indian, and we will shoot him if he runs. Is that understood?” he asked.
“Yes, sir!” they both replied.
“Good. Let’s go now.”
They hurried after the corporal, moving from the barracks to the stables where the horses were kept and fed. As they neared the carpentry shop, the corporal held up his hand, and the men stopped.
“The carpenter is a rebel prisoner who arrived from Fort Davis a few days ago. I think the Indian boy is hiding out with him. We want to capture the boy first, but if we can’t, we will shoot him. He stole a horse, and I want him to hang, for the other thieving Indians to see. A body hanging over the campsite, swinging back and forth as the buzzards feast on his bones, that would be a message hard to ignore.”
The marksmen nodded.
Out of habit the men approached the door to the carpentry shop, but the corporal stopped them with a wave of his arm. “There is a rear window to the shop,” he whispered. “I want both of you to circle the building. Stay in the shadows. And remember, we want this boy alive. If you have to shoot him, shoot to wound, not to kill.”
The soldiers dashed around the corner, anxious to do what they were trained to do best. The corporal gave them a few minutes, then stepped to the door. He took a deep breath before knocking.
“Let us see what secrets you have for us now, you rebel traitor,” he said to himself. He never knocked on the door. Pow! A gun blast sounded from the rear of the building, then another. Pow!
The corporal flung the door open and ran across the shop to the rear window. Jim Davis had opened the curtains and was peering into the dark night.
“What is it?” Davis called out. He was about to call Danny by name when the corporal entered the building.
“Out of the way!” shouted the corporal, shoving Davis to the floor. “Did you hit him?” he called to his men.
Pow! Pow! came the reply.
Chapter 14
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Navajo Blood
Danny leapt to the ground but knew right away he was not alone. A strong hand, a soldier’s hand, reached out and grabbed his arm. He shook himself free and ran with the speed of a deer to the wall.
“He’s over here!” the soldier shouted. “I almost had him.”
Danny rolled to the ground just in time, as a rifle blast flew over his head. He spotted two soldiers coming in his direction. The guards in the tower came to life, shouting, “Who’s firing the guns?”
“Army marksmen here, after a Navajo boy! See if you can find him!”
Two guards carrying lanterns hurried down from the tower and joined the soldiers. Danny saw no trees or bushes to hide behind, nothing but open space between him and the wall, as guards with lanterns searched the grounds for him.
If they see me, they will shoot me, Danny thought.
Corporal Doyle gripped the ledge of the window and lifted himself to the ground. In the moonlight he saw the marksmen running to the wall of the fort. There is no way that boy can escape now, he thought. The guards watch the walls night and day, and he’ll never make it through the gate. The corporal joined his men at the wall.
“You won’t believe this,” Sergeant Tolar said, pointing to a pile of bloody stones scattered near the wall. Kicking the stones aside, the corporal saw a small hole beneath the wooden boards and blood still dripping from the bottom of the boards.
“Barely big enough for a dog,” said Sergeant Tolar.
“Big enough for a skinny Navajo boy,” said Corporal Doyle.
The corporal spit on the ground and cursed.
“What did you find?” came a voice from the tower. The bouncing light of a lantern approached the men, and a guard soon joined them.
“Looks like somebody dug an escape hole,” said Corporal Doyle, pointing to the blood-soaked stones.
“I don’t know how that could happen,” the guard replied. “We watch this wall night and day, from the tower and by foot patrol.” He shook his head and cast a nervous glance at the corporal.
“Well, somebody’s not doing their job,” the corporal said. “We will get to the bottom of this oversight in the morning. Right now we have a prisoner to catch. He’s leaving a bloody trail wherever he goes. He shouldn’t be hard to find.”
The marksmen stood at attention and waited for orders.
“Sergeant Tolar, go back to the barracks and let the officers know we need ten horsemen, with their rifles loaded, at the gates of the fort as soon as possible. “Yes, sir,” said Sergeant Tolar, saluting and hurrying away.
“You,” he said to the guard, “get me two men with lanterns. Now!”
Before leaving the site, Corporal Doyle knelt to the ground and picked up a stone. He touched his finger to a crimson glob of blood, shining in the lantern light. “Your blood is still wet on the stone,” he whispered to himself. “You cannot be far away.” He stuck the stone in his pocket and rose to his feet.
When the men with the lanterns appeared, he said, “We have a wounded Indian boy who escaped through a hole beneath the wall. We don’t know how bad he is hurt. He might be running away. He might be dying in the rocks nearby. If he is alive, capture him but do not kill him.”
“Yes, sir,” the men shouted.
“We want to make as much noise as possible. We want these Indians to be afraid, so no one will help the boy. Understood?”
They nodded, and the corporal whispered, leaning close with a mean stare in his eyes, “Now, fire your rifles over their heads and let us spread the fear!”
The soldiers lowered their lanterns and aimed at the sky.
“Fire!” shouted the corporal.
Pow! Pow! Pow!
The midnight moon shone down on the camps of sleeping Navajo families. Hearing the gunshots, men jumped to their feet. Children cried, infants screamed, and women pulled their children close. Corporal Doyle smiled at the sounds of fear—moving across the night like waves of sand in a desert storm.
“We will find you,” he said, “and you will wish you had stayed at Fort Davis. A rattlesnake bite will seem like a blessing when I finish with you.”
Doyle and his men exited the gate and moved through the Navajo families. They passed through hundreds of camps, where men and women wrapped their children in blankets and covered them from even the sight of the soldiers. The corporal kicked the smoking remains of campfires, asking, “Did any of you see a wounded Navajo boy running from the fort?”
Many of the Navajos turned away, unable to understand his words. Even those who spoke English wanted nothing to do with this nightmare and said nothing in reply. But many knew of Danny Blackgoat. They knew of his escape, they knew he was nearby, and they would help him any way they could.
“If anything looks suspicious, yank away the blankets!” shouted Doyle. “Take no chances.”
But he gave this order too late. Danny Blackgoat was close to the fort, and the soldiers had already passed him by. He lay in a blanket held by a young woman, a family friend from Canyon De Chelly. His own grandfather had found Danny, fallen and bleeding on the ground, soon after he crawled under the stone escape hole.
“How did you know I would be here, Grandfather?” Danny had asked him.
“My grandson, as soon as I heard the rifles, I knew where to find you. I dug the hole months ago, for no reason, just a vision that someday it might save your life. I was right, wasn’t I?” his grandfather said, smiling.
“Thank you, Grandfather,” Danny said, holding his thigh, just above his knee, where the bullet had hit him and flown through his flesh.
“I knew you would never rest until you entered the fort. I knew that when you were in danger and the soldiers were chasing you, you would spot the stones at the base of the wall. I knew you would think ‘Why are those stones here? They hide something.’ I knew you would dig and find the hole.”
His grandfather rocked back and forth, holding Danny as if he were an infant.
“Jane has been visiting with us for some time now,” he continued. “She comes early in the morning, before the soldiers are on the lookout for anyone leaving the fort. She started a routine, so no one would suspect her of anything. She is, after all, the daughter of a white man who drives a wagon for the soldiers.
“Jane has a bucket and gathers water for her family almost every morning. She visits us, bringing us any news of you, Danny.”
Danny nodded, in too much pain to speak.
“Now,” said his grandfather, “we should be very quiet. I cannot move you till the soldiers return to the fort.” The elder Navajo reached into a leather bag and pulled out a handful of ground corn. Holding Danny close to his chest, he reached for his wounded leg.
The husband of the young woman helped Danny’s grandfather remove the blood-soaked trousers. After making certain the bullet had passed through Danny’s flesh, his grandfather stuffed the wound with the ground corn to stop the bleeding. But the bullet had sliced a deep hole in Danny’s leg, and the bleeding did not stop.
His grandfather took another handful of ground corn and rubbed it into the bullet hole. Danny winced in pain, and his grandfather placed his palm on Danny’s forehead.
“You will live, Danny Blackgoat. This I know.”
Hearing the calming words of his grandfather, his teacher, Danny relaxed and the pain fell away. The soldiers continued shooting their rifles into the sky, terrifying the Navajo children and angering the adults.
An hour before sunrise, as the sky offered a hint of the coming morning, Sergeant Tolar returned to the stone tunnel. Thinking he spotted a trail of blood, he knelt to the ground.
“Corporal Doyle,” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “He left a bloody trail! We can find him, over here!”
Soon he was joined by the corporal and several soldiers on horseback. The corporal carried a lantern. “Cavalrymen,” he said, “follow the trail till you find him. He can’t escape now, and if you find anyone helping the boy, bring them in as well. They are as gui
lty as he is for helping a horse thief escape.”
He turned to Sergeant Tolar and handed him the lantern. “The hillside is rocky. You’ll have no trouble staying up with the horsemen,” he said. “Lead the way with the lantern and keep your eyes and ears close to the ground.”
The men saluted a reply and turned their horses to the hillside, where splatters of blood sketched an easy path to follow.
Chapter 15
The Bloody Trail
The men eased their horses up the steep hillside as Sergeant Tolar held the lantern close to the ground. The trail was easy to follow.
“He’s been hit good,” the sergeant said. “Lotta blood leaving that boy. He’ll be lucky to make it till morning.”
“The corporal wants him alive,” said a cavalryman, “so let’s try to make him happy.”
Halfway up the hillside, the bloody trail took a downturn. “He knows he’s too weak to climb the hill. We’ll find him in that camp,” Sergeant Tolar said, pointing to a gathering of Navajo families camped nearby.
The blood grew thicker now, easier to follow. Soon the soldiers burst upon an old Navajo man and a young husband and wife. The wife clung to a blanket, holding someone inside.
“You better hope that boy is not the wounded one we’re looking for,” Tolar said, certain he had found Danny. He grabbed the blanket and the men lifted their shotguns to their shoulders, ready to fire if they were threatened.
“What are you doing?” the Navajo husband asked, standing to protect his wife. A soldier leapt from his horse and hit him in the jaw with the butt of his rifle.
“No,” said the woman, clutching the blanket with both hands.
Tolar flung the blanket aside. Instead of Danny, he saw a pair of young Navajo children, wrapping their arms around their mother and hiding their eyes from the glaring light of the lantern. “Where is the boy?” shouted Tolar.
“These are my daughters,” the woman said. “I have no sons. Please leave us alone.”