Waiting until everyone in sight was looking away, Clint slipped out of the wagon and ducked around the battered wooden structure. There was no doubt the wagon was left over from one of the attacks. The planks Clint brushed against were scorched and chipped in several places. He even found a few bullet holes as he ran his hands along the wood to make sure he didn’t accidentally step away from cover.
With his back to the wagon and the rest of the camp, Clint could look out onto a wide-open stretch of rocky land. The sun was down and the stars were scattered across a clear, inky sky. There was even half a moon out to cast some pale light onto the ground, making the prospect of running for his life seem awfully inviting. But he knew he might not have to run.
He’d dealt with Indians several times. Clint had even dealt with the Navajo more than once. He knew the tribes were just like any other group of human beings. Some were good and some were bad. He knew this tribe was on the warpath. But no matter what tribe they were or what they were up to, every Indian knew the value of a good horse.
Eclipse wasn’t just a good horse. He was one of the best things to walk on four legs. There wasn’t a man in his right mind who would leave a horse like that behind.
Rather than go running into the night like some kind of fool, Clint kept sneaking around the edge of the camp until he could hear the combined shifting of a couple dozen hooves. That sound, along with several deep, snuffing breaths, told him he was getting close to the spot where the Indians were corralling their livestock.
Clint wasn’t exactly feeling his best, but he forced himself to crouch down low and move quietly. Every one of his joints ached and his head felt like it was about to pop like a tick, but he managed to get close enough to see the makeshift corral.
The horses were being guarded by two Indians carrying rifles. They sat on either end of the horses, which were tied to a row of posts that had been driven into the ground. Clint could tell the members of the tribe valued their horses very much, since they kept the corral so close to the central tepees. That sliver of knowledge wasn’t an even trade for the inconvenience that the location posed.
If Eclipse was anywhere nearby, he’d be in that corral. And if Clint was going to get into that corral, he was going to have to get a lot closer to most of the armed braves in the camp. It wasn’t an inviting prospect, but there weren’t many better ones.
Before he could go much farther, Clint saw one of the Indians that had been sitting by the fire stand up and walk toward the wagon where Clint had been held.
Just when Clint was thinking his escape would have to be sped up a bit more, he saw another figure rush toward the fire to step directly in front of the inquisitive Indian. It was Fawn. She spoke a few hurried words to the other man and got him to walk back to the fire. After that, nobody else seemed too interested in checking on Clint’s whereabouts.
TWENTY-FOUR
Clint made it all the way to the makeshift corral without much trouble. He got close enough to see that Eclipse was there and appeared to be unharmed. Just to be certain, Clint made his presence known to the Darley Arabian. The stallion’s ears pricked up and he started walking toward Clint’s outstretched hand. Rather than make Eclipse move too much, Clint met him halfway.
“You ready for a run, boy?” he whispered as he gave the stallion a quick once-over.
Eclipse strained against his tether but kept from tugging too hard on the post.
Clint’s saddle was gone, but that didn’t bother him as much as the emptiness he felt at his hip where his holster should have been. His life had been saved by that gun more times than he could count. Even though he could put some work into another pistol, Clint felt confident that he had a better-than-average chance of getting his own gun back.
There were a good number of Indians in the camp, but most of them seemed to be in or around the largest tepee. Clint spotted a few armed men outside the tepee, the ones by the fire, and a few random others milling about one of the broken wagons. With a little bit of scouting, Clint thought he could see where the Indians kept their weapons. At the very least, he’d also be able to get a good idea of the number of braves in that camp so he could have something definite to report when he made it back to Fort Winstead.
With so much activity in the large tepee, the guards outside of that spot had their eyes mostly focused away from it. They cast their eyes about to look for intruders or watched a few of the nearby squaws. Fawn seemed to be doing her part as far as that was concerned, and she kept at least two of the men occupied with small talk or the occasional smile.
Ironically enough, the safest route for Clint to take at the moment was directly around the back of the large tepee. There was only one man posted back there, but he sat on the ground cross-legged, staring away from the camp with at least two yards between himself and the tepee. With all the talking and scuffling coming from within the tepee, Clint figured he could sneak directly behind the man without him knowing.
As Clint made his approach, he got to within a few feet of the lone guard without causing so much as a curious twitch in the other man. Since his luck seemed to be holding out, Clint figured he might as well find out where his gun was from someone who might actually know. He ignored the pain in his head and nearly every other part of his body as he crept up behind the lone Indian. Timing his steps to the rise and fall of voices from the nearby tepee, Clint made it to a spot directly behind the Indian.
Just as the Indian was shifting in his spot, Clint reached out to place one hand over the Indian’s mouth and the other arm around the Indian’s neck.
“Don’t make a sound or I’ll snap your neck,” Clint hissed into the Indian’s ear.
The Indian struggled and kicked, but his limbs were already losing steam as Clint put more pressure on his windpipe. He grabbed at Clint’s head, but Clint simply leaned his head back and switched it to the other side of the Indian’s skull. By the time the Indian tried to pull Clint’s hands away, his movements were already too weak to get the job done.
Cinching in his grip a bit tighter, Clint whispered, “If you understand me, just nod.”
The Indian kept pulling at Clint’s arm and kicking at the ground.
“Fine, then,” Clint said. “I guess I’ll just kill you.”
Not only did the Indian stop struggling, but he also nodded as quickly as he could, considering his current predicament.
“Good. That’s what I thought.” Easing up on the pressure, Clint gave the Indian enough room to breathe, but not nearly enough to get free. “Where do you keep the weapons that were taken from your prisoners?”
“We don’t…take prisoners.”
“You took me,” Clint growled as he once again tightened his grip around the Indian’s neck. “Where’s my gun?”
“Ahiga…he took it. He carries it now.”
“And where’s Ahiga?”
“In the…council,” the Indian replied as he knocked his head back against Clint. “The council being held there.”
Clint reflexively looked at the tepee behind him. Judging by the hushed voices from inside, most of the people were listening while one man was doing the majority of the talking. If Clint sat still and paid attention, he’d be able to make out what was being said. For the moment, he had plenty on his plate.
“Are you the only man guarding this spot?” Clint asked.
It took a moment for the Indian to answer, so Clint tensed the muscles in his arm before the other man could think too long about it.
“Yes,” the Indian snapped. “Your Army doesn’t know about this place.”
Clint nodded. “That’s better. Now sleep tight.”
TWENTY-FIVE
The Indian guard lay on his side next to Clint. It hadn’t taken much more pressure to put the man down, but Clint had made certain to wait until the man had stopped moving for a bit before letting go of his neck. Clint didn’t know exactly how much time he’d have until the guard woke up, but he figured he could at least stay put long enough to li
sten to what was being said inside the tepee. Keeping one hand on the unconscious Indian’s arm so he’d know when the man stirred, Clint kept his ears focused on the council meeting and his eyes open for any sign that he might be discovered.
Most of the talking inside the tepee seemed to come from one man who had a weathered, aged voice. After a few sentences, Clint knew enough to be certain this wasn’t Chief Tolfox. Apart from the tone of the man’s voice, one thing that struck Clint was the fact that most of the men spoke English.
“We have heard these promises before,” the old man said, “and your words have only led to blood being spilled.”
“My promises have paid off,” another man replied. This one Clint recognized as Tolfox. “My actions have put money in your pockets and allowed your tribe to flourish.”
“We must live in our way. The white men can kill each other for money. We take what we need from our land.”
“And your land is being cut away!” Tolfox said. “You can talk all you want about the white man’s money, but that’s the currency of this land! It may not have been that way before, but that’s how it is right now. Any one of you who disagrees with me can say so!”
There was a quiet pause and a few grumblings, but Clint didn’t hear anyone speak up against what Tolfox had said. In fact, when Tolfox continued, Clint could imagine the smug grin that would go along with the tone in his voice.
“I see these people agree with me,” Tolfox said. “Perhaps it is time for them to accept their true leader.”
Unlike the previous statement, that one sure got a noisy response. Several voices flared up, but one of them stood out from the rest. It was a deep, bellowing voice that sounded like something closer to thunder. “You may pose as our chief to the white man,” the thundering voice warned, “but do not try to take that place here.”
Clint couldn’t see what was going on inside the tepee, but he could feel the tension as if it were something that seeped outside through the hide wall and wooden posts.
Several people spoke in Navajo. A few even spoke in a different Indian tongue, but soon they were all quieted.
“Enough blood has already been shed, Ahiga,” the old man said. “We speak in council to keep from spilling any more.”
“And he makes us speak in the white man’s tongue,” Ahiga growled.
Tolfox immediately replied. “I’d be happy to discuss matters in my own language if you’d prefer.”
“You are among our people!” Ahiga said. “You are speaking to our chief! You should speak using our words!”
“We speak about the white man,” the old man interrupted. “We speak about the white man’s money and the white man’s Army intruding on our land, so we will speak in the white man’s tongue. We do not have the time to find another plot of neutral ground.”
There was a bit more grumbling, followed by some calming breaths. Those things were enough for Clint to feel a lessening of the tension that had been so thick in the air a few moments ago.
“This is the last time we try to deal with this man,” the old man announced.
Clint thought the old man might have been referring to Tolfox, but Tolfox’s was among the voices who agreed to what the old man had said.
“In the past, he has at least kept his word,” the old man continued. “This time ends with death.”
“It hasn’t ended yet,” Ahiga said. “It will end with death, but that death will be Farelli’s.”
“Was he there when this last blood was spilled?”
“No. He must have known what was going to happen, which is why he made certain not to be anywhere near us.”
“What do you say to this?” the old man asked.
Tolfox was the one to reply. “This could be true. Farelli speaks with a forked tongue. We have always known this, but he never had the spine to try something as bold as this.”
“He does not respect us,” Ahiga growled. “He cheats and lies like every other white man.”
Ignoring Ahiga’s words, Tolfox said, “Farelli meant to cheat us, but I don’t know about the man he sent in his place. That one seemed to be true when he spoke. Some of his men seemed true as well.”
“And what of the man that was taken?” the old man asked. “Did he know or was he one of the liars?”
“We’ll find out as soon as he is awake,” Ahiga replied. “Fawn tells me he was hurt and has not opened his eyes.”
“But…he lives?” the old man asked.
“Yes. He lives.”
When Tolfox spoke this time, there was more venom in his tone than all the other times combined. “If these men lie, why should we listen to this one? If he is who I think he is…”
“Who is he?” Ahiga asked. “Tell us.”
“I think he is a hired gunfighter. He was probably brought to kill us.”
“From what I have been told, he would have had his chance to kill if he’d wanted that,” the old man pointed out. “My word stands. He is not to be hurt until we learn more about him.”
“And what if he does not talk to you?” Tolfox asked.
“Then we will set him free.”
“And abandon our home?”
“Home?” Ahiga bellowed among plenty of other rumbling from others within the tepee. “We sleep within these crippled wagons and you call it a home? You are no better than the Army! At least they give us some other patch of land to make our home.”
“You want to eat the scraps the Army feeds to you?” Tolfox asked.
The old man quickly jumped in. “We will not fight among ourselves.” From the pained grunts and groans Clint could hear, it sounded as if the old man was straining to move or get to his feet. “Our dealing with your friend Farelli is over. We do not need his money, and the lands he promised us are already about to be taken away.”
“He has kept our tribes from coming to harm,” Tolfox added.
“No,” the old man snapped. “He has kept your tribe from being harmed. Ours gets barren land and empty words.”
“He has paid us both handsomely.”
“This time he has only paid in blood. It is the last time. Go now, back to your land, and do not come back again.”
Tolfox was quick to say, “But our tribes have—”
“You have a greedy heart and a trickster’s tongue,” the old man said. “Now we have all seen the trouble you bring. If the Crow wish to deal with us, let them send another to speak for them. Ahiga, talk to the man who sleeps and see what he knows about Farelli’s lies. If he doesn’t know, be sure to tell him. It is best for us all to know the tricksters among us. I am tired, so I must sleep.”
The old man spoke some words in Navajo. Clint picked out just enough to know he was asking for someone to help him get to his bed.
“But there is more we can do!” Tolfox protested.
“No!” Ahiga growled. “We are through. Go. Now.”
Clint followed that advice as well.
TWENTY-SIX
“Stand aside, woman!” Ahiga said. He was a tall Navajo with hair that hung straight down past his shoulders to frame a face that looked like an angry mask carved into stone. He wore beaded bands around his upper arms that had markings matching the ones stitched into the scabbard he wore around his waist. Although he’d grabbed hold of Fawn’s shoulders, Ahiga only used enough force to move her to one side.
Fawn struggled to maintain her ground, even though it was obviously a losing battle. However, she was able to block half of the door to the grounded wagon with her arm and one leg. “No. You’ll hurt him.”
“What does that matter to you?”
She paused for a second and then thought of something that brought a relieved smile to her face. “Our chief has said that he should not be harmed.”
“I know what he said. Now step aside.”
Having run out of things to say, Fawn lowered her eyes and shuffled the rest of the way from the wagon.
Ahiga had one hand upon the flap at the back of the wagon, but stopped before s
tepping inside. “I saw the way you looked at him,” he told her. “You tended to him as if he was your own.”
She shrugged, neither confirming nor denying what he said. Judging by the assurance etched into every last one of Ahiga’s features, he wouldn’t have been swayed by much of anything anyway.
He shook his head slowly, pulled the flap open, and stepped inside.
Fawn closed her eyes and clenched her hands into small fists. Her muscles tensed as if she were ready to run, but her brow was furrowed with the knowledge that there was nowhere she could go. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long for the inevitable storm.
“Fawn!” Ahiga bellowed. “What is the meaning of this?”
She waited silently in her spot.
When Ahiga stuck his head out of the wagon, he asked, “Did you know about this?”
“Know about what?” she asked in a timid voice.
Ahiga reached out with one hand to grab hold of Fawn’s wrist so he could pull her into the wagon. Not only did she need to move her feet quickly to keep from falling on her face, but she needed to duck her head in time to keep from smacking it against the side of the wagon. As soon as she was inside, she felt Ahiga’s other hand clamp around the back of her neck.
Allowing herself to be pulled further inside like a dog that was about to get its nose pushed into its own mess, Fawn was pointed toward the back of the wagon.
“This,” Ahiga said. “Did you know about this?”
Fawn looked up to find a genuine surprise. Clint was sitting with his back against the wagon and his legs casually splayed in front of him. In fact, he even waved when he saw he had both of the others’ attention.
“No…I…I didn’t think…” Fawn stammered.
Keeping one hand on Fawn’s neck, Ahiga drew the long blade from the scabbard at his side and held it toward Clint. “That’s right. You didn’t think,” he said to her as he shoved Fawn back outside. “Bring another man here, and not one of the fools that was supposed to be guarding this one!”
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