by Logan, Jake
Although Jack kept grousing as he always did, Slocum took some comfort from the fact that he hadn’t spotted any other Apache keeping watch from a position that lent itself to an ambush. Also, Flying Spear actually rode with his back to them in a show of implicit trust. Add those things to what had already been said outright and Slocum figured he and Jack had earned the Apache’s favor. If they hadn’t gotten it after battling Cha’to and his pack, Slocum didn’t know what the hell it would take.
They rode along a trail that skirted around the spot where they’d killed the wolves earlier that morning. Despite the fact that Slocum had covered so much ground, fired so many rounds, and come face to face with beasts that could very well have been spit up from the devil’s belly, it was still early in the day. Sometimes, there was so much living and dying packed into such a short amount of time that it was easy to lose track of how much had actually passed. Even the Apache rode with their backs straight and their heads held high as if they’d fully rested in the brief respite.
The trail led up into the Potrillos, but only high enough for Slocum to get a good look down at the desert floor. The terrain was manageable and their horses traversed it well enough. That is, until Jack’s gelding nearly lost its footing and almost dumped him off the side of a steep slope. He hung on with his one good hand, gritted his teeth, and clenched every muscle at his disposal until the horse leveled off and continued plodding after the rest of the group. When Slocum offered to help, he was waved off angrily. Wasn’t the first time. Probably wouldn’t be the last.
The Apache settlement was in a shallow basin along the western edge of the mountain range, surrounded by trees that were higher than the closest rocks. Before he caught sight of the first hint of a camp, Slocum could smell the cooking fires. His stomach reminded him of how long it had been since he’d had a decent meal by snarling louder than the wolves he’d been hunting. Not only was there meat being cooked, but he could also smell something that could have been bread or some sort of wheat cakes.
From a distance, the tops of the Apache teepees blended in almost completely with the trees surrounding them. If he hadn’t known what he was looking for, Slocum might have passed them by. At the moment, however, there was no way he could have missed the settlement. Smoke rose from the fires, and many voices were raised in celebration. By the time Flying Spear led them into the trees, some of the voices blended together into a spirited song.
“Looks like they knew we was comin’ !” Jack shouted over the gleeful noise.
Slocum turned to look at the other man to see if he was kidding. He couldn’t tell if the smile on Jack’s face was proof of that or not, so he let it rest. “Just don’t say anything stupid to ruin the party, okay?”
“Why would I do something like that?”
“And don’t mention what you’re after. Just give us a bit of time to see where we stand.”
“You still don’t trust them all the way?”
Slocum chewed on that for a moment while watching Flying Spear and the other archer return greetings from the first among the tribe to spot the arriving horses. His knee-jerk response would have been that he trusted these men as much as he would any others who’d fought and bled alongside him. He’d dealt with Indians from other tribes, and this wasn’t the first time he’d crossed paths with the Apache. Perhaps it was that previous experience, more than anything else, that made Slocum stop to think before answering.
There were many tribes and they all had a wide assortment of people in them, just like any other society. There were plenty of things that set them apart from the rest, but they were still folks trying to find their way like any others no matter what color their skin happened to be. The Apache were different. They separated themselves from other tribes just as much as they separated from the white men. Their tactics in war were renowned for their efficiency and brutality. When they weren’t charging across a battlefield, they were even deadlier. Some federal troops only guessed that an Apache raiding party had taken out the rest of their men because of what was left behind. When Apache wanted to kill without being seen, they might as well have been ghosts.
In the end, it was his knowledge of their ruthlessness that gave Slocum the most comfort. If these Apache had wanted him or Jack dead, they would have already made their move. Having superior numbers as well as the benefit of familiar terrain at their disposal, there was no need for them to lie. From what he’d seen of Snake Catcher and Flying Spear, Slocum doubted those two would lower themselves to the level of stringing along an inferior enemy.
“Just sit tight and keep your eyes open,” Slocum told the man riding beside him. “Let’s see if we can get some of whatever they’re cooking.”
“Amen to that!” Jack proclaimed.
The camp was larger than Slocum had anticipated. Laid out in a simple horseshoe formation, a semicircle of teepees had been erected on the perimeter with a few smaller tents pitched throughout a space that was roughly the size of a small town square. A fire blazed toward the back of the settlement, and a corral was roped off toward the front. Flying Spear led them to the corral and climbed down from his horse’s back with ease. The other archer motioned for Slocum and Jack to follow suit and even helped tie their reins off beside a wooden frame with tanned hides stretched inside to form a low water trough.
Where the hunters’ camp had seemed quiet and desolate, this one was teeming with life. Indians wearing long, flowing buckskins smiled with deeply wrinkled faces framed in silver hair. Children ran up to catch a glimpse of the newest arrivals while others scampered around on all fours to reenact tales that had already been spread about the early morning hunt. When Slocum looked down at one round-faced little boy, the kid squatted down, stared up at him, and howled.
“They say you are the great hunters who stood with Snake Catcher to bring the mighty Cha’to to his knees,” Flying Spear explained.
Jack did his best to maintain his dignity while flopping from his saddle using his awkward one-handed technique. “Well, ain’t they right?”
“Children believe in many ridiculous things,” the archer replied. “That does not make them right.”
Slocum swatted Jack’s shoulder good-naturedly. “He’s got you there.”
“I shot some of them wolves, too, you know.”
“I know. Tell it to them!”
Without hesitating, Jack hunkered down and locked eyes with the feral little boy. Baring his teeth, he snarled and then lifted his chin to howl up at an imaginary moon. The little boy was all too happy to join him.
Flying Spear watched Jack awhile before shaking his head and moving along. Slocum was all too happy to join him.
“Any chance we can get something to eat?” Slocum asked.
“Of course,” Flying Spear replied. “The feast is being prepared in your honor.” He stopped and turned in a few crisp movements. Lifting his chin just a bit more, he said, “You fought bravely, John Slocum.”
“Just John is fine.”
“You fought bravely, John. Much braver than I was expecting.”
“And what were you expecting?”
“I thought I would have the pleasure of watching you run away out of fear or try to escape before fulfilling your vow to fight. Then, I would have gladly put an arrow in your back.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I am not sorry.” Reaching out to place a hand upon Slocum’s shoulder, he added, “I am honored to fight with you and proud to share the feast that is being prepared.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Slocum said earnestly. “And I’d like to apologize on behalf of my friend over there.”
When Flying Spear glanced over, he found Jack snarling and yapping while the little boy went through the motions of shooting him with arrows. “He did better than I thought he would during the hunt. I also expected to shoot him while he was running away.”
“I was expecting you to shoot him, too,” Slocum said with a shrug. “Guess we don’t always get what we w
ant.”
Flying Spear broke into a wide grin. He looked over to Jack, started laughing, and then walked to the group of hunters gathering by the fire.
Jack saw the laughing Indian and climbed to his feet. He was in good spirits until the boy tried to pull him back down again by tugging anxiously on his bandaged right hand. Although Jack winced and pulled his arm away from the child’s eager grasp, he kept his good nature intact as he patted the boy’s head with his left hand. As he walked over to Slocum, he said, “Didn’t think an Injun could smile like that.”
“Actually,” Slocum replied, “neither did I. You did a good job during the hunt, Jack. Better than anyone was expecting.”
“Is that what you two were talking about?”
“More or less.”
“That’s what I thought. My ears were burnin’. I knew that one there liked me, though,” Jack added as he nodded toward Flying Spear. “I could tell by the way he was always watching what I did. Like he was just waiting for me to do something great.”
Now Slocum was chuckling as he shook his head and let the other man dream. “Come on. Let’s get some of that food before it’s all gone.”
Walking across the camp was more of an ordeal than Slocum had anticipated. Although there wasn’t a lot of ground to cover, they were distracted nearly every step of the way by wide, beaming faces eager to either congratulate them or ask for a retelling of what had happened. Most of those faces belonged to children, but there were a few young ladies who also approached Slocum and Jack. The Apache women weren’t as boisterous, but Jack’s willingness to stop and brag impeded their progress across the camp more than an army of enthusiastic youngsters. Finally, Slocum left him behind so he could make his way to a spot where a woman sat in front of a flat clay pot that was being warmed over a shallow bed of coals.
She wore a simple tunic that was long enough to cover the legs she kept tucked beneath her while tending to whatever was simmering. Long, straight black hair flowed down her back and was held in place by several leather cords adorned with beads. Full cheeks and lips made her one of the prettiest sights in the entire camp, and she became even prettier when she smiled at Slocum.
“Hello, miss,” he said. “Don’t know if you understand what I’m saying, but—”
“I understand,” she told him.
“Good. And you speak English pretty well, too.”
“You know that from two words? Very impressive.”
“You got me,” Slocum chuckled as he sat down across the coals from her. “But you do speak very well. Better than my friend anyway.”
She looked over to where Jack was still talking with an Apache woman with generous hips and breasts who seemed to find everything he said hilarious and fascinating. “Imala must like the way he speaks.”
“Yeah, but who knows what lies he’s telling her. My name’s John.”
Although her smile faded a bit, it was more out of quiet reservation than displeasure. She averted her eyes momentarily, but when she pointed them at Slocum again, he could see they were as brilliant as two finely polished pieces of amber. “I am Nitika.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
She looked down at the shallow pot she was tending, reached inside, and removed a flat piece of bread that resembled a cross between a griddle cake and a tortilla. “I made this for you.” A bit of color flushed into her dark cheeks as she quickly added, “For all of the returning hunters.”
Slocum took the bread and sampled it. Although clearly made from oats and some other grains, there was a sweetness just beneath the surface that tasted better the longer he savored it. “Hope you made a lot because that’s awfully good.”
“There is also meat being cooked there,” she said while motioning toward one of the smaller tents. “Or I could get some for you.”
As much as Slocum wanted both of them to stay where they were, he noticed several members of the hunting party walking to and from the makeshift smokehouse with large portions of what smelled like venison in their hands. When Jack caught the scent, he looked at the cooking fires like a dog with its ears pricked up.
“Maybe I should hurry up and get some of that meat myself,” Slocum said, honestly thinking that Nitika might not be able to move fast enough. “Just so long as you promise to be here when I get back.”
“Just go. There is much more for you to do than talk to me.”
Slocum was certain she was right, but he couldn’t think of anything that appealed to him more at that moment.
15
The feast was an unending stream of breads, meats, and cakes. Slocum had barely gotten ahold of some venison before Jack came along to tear off a chunk for himself. Until Snake Catcher appeared behind them, Slocum had lost sight of the hunting party’s leader.
“Come,” Snake Catcher said while walking inside. “Our chief wants to speak with us about the hunt.”
“Can’t we eat first?” Jack groaned.
Before any of the Apache could voice the disdain that appeared on their faces, Slocum dropped a heavy hand onto Jack’s shoulder and shoved him away from the meat. “If you’re in such a hurry, I’m sure you can take what you can carry, get on your horse, and ride away.”
“Fine,” Jack said while stuffing venison into his mouth like a squirrel filling his cheeks with acorns. “But there better be some of this left when we’re through.”
Slocum continued shoving the other man all the way into the tent where Snake Catcher waited like a grim sentry.
The interior walls were decorated by paintings and scorched black in the middle by all the fires that had been stoked there throughout the years. There was a fire going now, which was just large enough for the flames to be seen above a ring of stones and a wooden frame that held a small pot high enough to cook its contents without burning the wood. Fragrant smoke curled up from the pot, giving the air a vaguely dreamlike quality.
Inside, Flying Spear and three men from the hunting party sat talking in subdued tones to tribal elders with long, silver manes of coarse hair. The oldest kept his clouded eyes fixed upon the brewing pot while nodding as if to a faraway song that only he could hear.
“Sit there,” Snake Catcher said while motioning to an open space on the ground between Flying Spear and one of the other Apache who’d taken a large role in bringing down the pack of wolves using nothing but a tomahawk.
Jack held up a dainty finger and said, “I got a question.”
Tightening his grip on Jack’s shoulder, Slocum pulled him close enough to fiercely whisper, “I swear to all that’s holy if you ask about food, I’ll stuff your head into that fire.”
After looking down at the fire, over to Slocum, and back to the fire again, Jack shifted his eyes toward Snake Catcher. “Forgot what I was gonna say.”
Slocum patted Jack’s back with enough force to make him stagger the few steps required to get him to where they were supposed to sit down. Although the conversation didn’t stop with their arrival, the rest of the men gathered in the tent did take a moment to size up Slocum and Jack with lingering glares. Even the members of the hunting party stared them down as if seeing the white men for the first time.
Motioning toward the old man with the faraway look in his eyes, Snake Catcher said, “This is our chief. Gopan.”
“Pleased to meet ya,” Jack said as he tried to stretch his body up enough to reach out and shake the chief’s hand.
Slocum pushed him back down again while easing himself into a seated position and placed his hands upon his knees. When Jack turned to look at him, he took note of how Slocum was sitting and had enough sense to mimic it. “I’m John Slocum and this is my partner, Jack Halsey.”
As annoyed as Jack had been a moment ago, his countenance became much more agreeable when he was referred to as a partner. Appeased for the moment, he sat quietly and let Slocum do the talking.
Gopan’s voice rumbled like a tremor emanating from the ground beneath the camp. His lips barely moved, and his eyes never strayed
from the fire as he spoke in his own language. The man beside him looked older than the trees ringing the campsite, but still younger than the Apache chief. “He asks why you men joined the hunt for Cha’to.”
“We were already tracking the wolves when your hunters found us,” Slocum explained.
“The wolves hurt your people?”
Since the chief hadn’t spoken, Slocum assumed the question came from the younger of the two elders. “The one you call Cha’to attacked my friend.”
Not needing any more incentive than that, Jack held out his right hand and tore at the bandages. When he finally pulled away enough of the bloody dressing to reveal his ravaged fingers, he displayed them proudly and declared, “That animal ripped the hell outta me! I hired John here to help make myself whole again!”
So much for respectful silence.
Although the Apache took time to examine Jack’s hand, none of them seemed overly impressed by the damage that had been done. The man sitting beside the chief leaned over to speak to the eldest Apache while motioning toward Jack. Gopan didn’t show much of a reaction, which wasn’t a surprise considering his face looked as if it had been carved from a petrified tree trunk.
Flying Spear leaned over to Slocum and said, “The man beside Gopan is Ilesh. He is what you would call our shaman. He is not from our tribe, but he is a great help to us.”
“What’s he saying?”
“He tells your words to our chief. Gopan knows much of the white man’s tongue, but prefers to listen to the words of our people.”
Snake Catcher had taken the other seat next to Gopan. When the chief turned toward him and motioned for the hunter to get closer, Snake Catcher did so with great reverence.
“Now Gopan wants to hear the story from one who lived through it,” Flying Spear explained.
“Will you get a chance to say your piece?” Slocum asked.
“We all will. By the end of the night, you will grow tired of hearing about it.”