The blow brought a cry of alarm and outrage from Elizabeth. She started to get to her feet, but Juan Pablo’s wife, who stood near her, clamped a hand on her shoulder and forced her back down on the ground.
“For too many years, my people have done what the white man told them to do,” Juan Pablo said. “They have treated us like animals! They have told themselves they are being generous to us by allowing us to live on our own land, while at the same time they try to take more and more of that land away from the Diné. But soon they will all be gone. We will drive them out.”
“A couple dozen of you?” Matt asked. “How are you going to do that? You won’t stand a chance.”
“More men will come, from all over this land you white men call the Four Corners.” Juan Pablo sneered. “As if your states truly mean anything. They are false boundaries.” He swept an arm around him. “Everything, as far as a man can ride on a good pony, belongs to the Diné. And when the other clans hear that we are driving the whites from our midst, they will come to help us. The uprising will spread and soon will be complete. Then all those who are not Diné will either leave ... or die.”
There was a slim chance Juan Pablo was right, at least partially, Matt thought. He had studied enough history to know that most revolutions started small. The ones that succeeded grew until they reached the point where they couldn’t be stopped.
But that wouldn’t happen here. It couldn’t. There weren’t enough Navajo to stand up to the army. Even if Juan Pablo was able to get all the clans to rise in rebellion, the cavalry would come in and crush them. Many of the men would be slaughtered, and the rest would be rounded up and probably forced back to Bosque Redondo with their families.
It would be a tragedy all the way around.
Juan Pablo was too worked up to see that. His eyes glowed with the fervent belief of a would-be messiah. He saw himself as the one who would lead his people to well-deserved glory.
Instead, he would just lead them to death, Matt knew.
It wouldn’t do any good to say that. Juan Pablo was long past the point where he could hear it.
Still, Matt had to try. He said, “If you let us go, Miss Fleming and I will try to help your people. We’ll tell everyone that the Navajo land should be left to the Navajo.”
Juan Pablo shook his head.
“You think those who have built the town of Flat Rock will abandon it? You think the white ranchers who have driven their cattle onto our land will take them away?”
He was right about that, Matt thought bleakly. Once settlers had moved into an area, they hardly ever gave it up. The government would have to force them to do so, and Matt didn’t figure there was much sentiment in Washington for something like that.
“There’s no reason you can’t all learn to live together,” he said.
A bark of fierce laughter came from Juan Pablo.
“Foolishness,” the Navajo declared. “The rattlesnake and the scorpion are more trustworthy than the white man.”
Matt sighed. He was at the end of his rope. He just wished there was some way he could save Elizabeth.
Maybe Caballo Rojo wouldn’t allow Juan Pablo to kill her. The headman had let her stay here in the canyon and try to teach the children. He must have thought she was doing some good for his people.
But as the sun dipped below the peaks to the west and a red glare filled the sky, Matt looked at Juan Pablo and saw the fanatical glare on the man’s face.
Caballo Rojo was no longer the most powerful man in this canyon.
Juan Pablo was, and he would delight in exercising that power.
Suddenly, one of the Navajo men came running toward them, shouting in what sounded like alarm. Juan Pablo swung around sharply.
The words flowed swiftly as the newcomer reported to Juan Pablo. Matt couldn’t follow any of what was being said.
But he didn’t like the cruel smile on Juan Pablo’s lips as the man turned back to him.
“Your friend has returned,” Juan Pablo said. “He approaches the canyon now, with two more white men.”
Matt’s heart sank. Under any other circumstances, he would have been very happy to hear that Sam was back. Now, though, his blood brother was riding into a trap and didn’t know it. If there was just some way to warn him ...
Matt opened his mouth to shout. He didn’t know if the sound would carry beyond the canyon walls, but he could try, anyway.
Before he could make a sound, Juan Pablo stepped forward and struck swiftly with the rifle he held. He rammed the butt into Matt’s stomach, causing Matt to gasp and double over as much as the ropes would allow.
Juan Pablo brought the rifle up and crashed the stock against Matt’s jaw. The brutal blow drove Matt’s head back against the thick stake to which he was tied. The double impact sent red explosions cascading through Matt’s brain.
When those explosions faded, nothing was left except an all-enveloping blackness.
Chapter 32
The sun was down by the time Sam, Stovepipe, and Wilbur reached the Navajo canyon, but the western sky was still filled with a reddish-gold glow.
During the ride down here from the mesa where the rustlers had been holed up, Sam and Stovepipe had discussed the situation and agreed that everything they had discovered so far supported the theory they had put together.
“Big question is, who’s behind it,” Stovepipe said. “Got to be somebody in Flat Rock.”
Sam nodded.
“There’s another big question,” he said. “Where are those rifles?”
“Also in Flat Rock, or somewhere close by. That’d be my guess, anyway. I don’t reckon the boss would want them too far away from him until he’s ready to try deliverin’ ’em to the Navajo again.”
“I wonder how come he’s waited this long,” Wilbur put in.
Stovepipe pointed a thumb at Sam.
“I reckon that’s because of our new pard here.”
“Me?” Sam said.
“Yeah, you and your friend Bodine. You spooked the fella who’s in charge of this bunch. He wanted to make sure you weren’t gonna cause too much trouble before he tried deliverin’ the guns again. That’s why folks keep tryin’ to shoot you.” Stovepipe frowned. “You know you might as well’ve painted a big ol’ target on your back, the way you rode into Flat Rock and started pokin’ around.”
Sam chuckled.
“Well, I was trying to stir up a hornet’s nest,” he said. “I guess I succeeded.”
“I’ll say you did,” Wilbur agreed.
Sam pointed to the mouth of the canyon up ahead on their right.
“That’s where we’re headed ,” he told his two companions.
A worried frown appeared on Wilbur’s face.
“Those Indians aren’t gonna try to lift our hair, are they?” he asked.
“They were friendly enough when I left,” Sam said.
That was only partially true, he thought. Caballo Rojo had tolerated the presence of the blood brothers, and Juan Pablo had barely contained his hostility toward them, only because his clan headman said so.
Sam had been gone for several days, and he knew that things could have changed during that time. But he hoped that he and his companions could ride into the canyon without putting their lives in too much danger.
Anyway, Matt was there, so Sam didn’t have much choice in the matter. He had to find out how his blood brother was doing.
They rode into the mouth of the canyon. Sam glanced up at the spots on the walls where sentries were usually posted. He didn’t see anybody, but that didn’t concern him greatly. The light was growing dimmer, and anyway, the Navajo were seen only when they wanted to be seen.
Sam looked along the creek. The first of the hogans wouldn’t be visible until they were deeper in the canyon. He listened and heard the bleating of sheep somewhere up ahead. That was a perfectly normal sound, and he probably would have thought something was wrong if he hadn’t heard it.
But at the same time, his nerves h
ad grown taut. Something was wrong, he realized, although he didn’t know what it was.
Stovepipe must have shared some of the same instincts. The lanky range detective began, “I’m startin’ to get a bad feelin’ about—”
He didn’t have a chance to finish. Men suddenly rushed out of the brush on both sides of the riders. Sam twisted in the saddle to see who was attacking them. He had time to recognize the Navajo clothing, then one of the men reached up in an attempt to grab him and haul him off his horse.
Sam kicked the man in the chest and knocked him away. He started to yank his mount around, calling to Stovepipe and Wilbur as he did so.
“Get out of the canyon!” he told them. “Back the way we—”
Something crashed into the back of his left shoulder and made him slump forward over the neck of his horse. Sam thought at first he’d been hit by an arrow, but then he realized that would have been a sharper pain. From the way his arm had gone numb, he figured out that he’d been clouted by a club.
The Navajo warriors swarmed around the three riders. Wilbur drew his gun, but a club knocked it out of his hand before he could fire. Men grabbed Stovepipe and dragged him off his horse. Sam found himself hauled to the ground as well.
Heavily outnumbered as they were, Sam knew their chances of winning this fight were slim. He had no idea why Caballo Rojo’s men were attacking them, but that answer could wait for later.
Right now he just wanted to break free and get out of here.
That wasn’t fated to happen. Another club smashed into the back of his knees and made his legs collapse under him. Men pummeled and kicked him as he went to the ground.
Sam couldn’t see Stovepipe and Wilbur any more, but he doubted if they were faring any better. He could hear the commotion as the struggle continued nearby.
Sam grabbed an attacker’s leg and heaved, upending the man. That gave him a little breathing room. He launched a kick of his own and landed it solidly in another man’s groin. As the Navajo warriors fell back for a second, Sam rolled onto hands and knees and started to lever himself to his feet.
Before he could get up, a club struck him in the back of the head, sending him sprawling to the ground again. He landed with his face in the reddish dirt. The taste of it filled his mouth. He felt consciousness slipping away from him and tried desperately to hang on to it, but the effort was doomed.
The last thing he was aware of before oblivion claimed him was the brutal thud of moccasin-shod feet landing on his ribs.
Red light flickered and glared against Matt’s eyelids, gradually rousing him from the stupor that gripped him. He groaned as he moved his head from side to side in an attempt to shake loose some of the cobwebs from his brain.
The movement was a mistake. It made Matt feel like he was spinning crazily through a hellish void. When he forced his eyes open and saw flames leaping up in front of him, that only reinforced the feeling.
But it was just a campfire, he realized after a moment. He sagged against the ropes binding him to the post. His captors had built a fire that lit up the area in front of Juan Pablo’s hogan.
And he was no longer the only prisoner, Matt saw to his horror.
A few yards away, Sam Two Wolves sprawled motionless on the ground. For a terrible few seconds, Matt thought his blood brother was dead.
Then he saw the slow rise and fall of Sam’s chest and knew that he was still alive. Relief flooded through Matt.
It was tempered by concern, though, because Sam was unconscious and Matt couldn’t tell what had happened to him. Sam might be badly wounded and dying even as Matt stood there staring at him.
Two men Matt had never seen before lay near Sam. Both were white and looked like cowboys. They appeared to be out cold, too. All three men had their hands tied behind their backs.
Matt looked around for Elizabeth and didn’t see her. She might be in Juan Pablo’s hogan, he thought. Juan Pablo wasn’t visible, either, but two of his followers stood nearby, holding rifles and scowling at Matt and the other prisoners.
Sam groaned, causing Matt’s attention to snap back to him. After a moment, Sam shook his head and blinked his eyes open. He winced as the garish light from the fire struck his face. Then he lifted his head a little and started to look around.
“Over here, Sam,” Matt called softly.
Sam muttered something Matt couldn’t make out. He blinked again as he stared toward the post where Matt was tied.
“Matt?” he said. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” A grim smile curved Matt’s mouth. “I’d come over there and let you loose, but—”
“You’re not going to say that you’re a little tied up at the moment, are you?”
“I was thinkin’ about it, yeah.”
“I can see that. Is that Juan Pablo’s hogan?”
“Yeah.”
“I take it this is his doing?”
One of the Navajo guards spoke sharply in his native tongue. He gestured with the rifle, and Matt knew he was telling them to be quiet.
Matt ignored the guard and said, “That’s right. He plans to lead the clan in an uprising and try to get the other clans to join in. But they won’t stand a chance.”
“They might with nearly five hundred new Springfields to lure the other clans into joining them,” Sam said.
Matt’s eyes widened.
“Five hundred Springfields?” he repeated. “What are you talkin’ about, Sam?”
“If Juan Pablo is the leader of this would-be rebellion, then he has some white allies. The gang that bushwhacked us in the first place stole a shipment of rifles bound for Fort Defiance. They were about to deliver them to the Navajo when you and I came along and fouled up the works.”
Matt struggled to wrap his mind around what Sam was telling him.
“You know this for a fact?” he asked.
“At the moment, I don’t have any proof, but I’m reasonably sure the theory is correct.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Matt said. “Who are those two rannihans with you?”
Before Sam could answer, the guard who had tried to get them to stop talking earlier stepped closer and aimed a kick at Sam’s head. Sam rolled out of the way and pulled his legs around in a sudden move, sweeping the Navajo’s legs out from under him. The man let out a startled yell and then hit the ground.
“Maybe not the smartest thing you’ve ever done,” Matt said as the guard scrambled back to his feet with murder in his dark eyes.
At that moment, Juan Pablo stepped out of the hogan. He barked an order at the guard, who stopped in his tracks and then moved back with obvious reluctance.
Juan Pablo stood over Sam and said, “When the time comes for you to die, half-breed, I will kill you. You betray your blood by siding with the white men. You no longer deserve to live.”
“What about you?” Sam demanded. “You’re liable to get a bunch of your people killed if you go through with your plans.”
“And those who are left will mourn their deaths. But the people who live will be free. The white men will be gone.”
Matt said, “It’ll never happen, Juan Pablo. The government won’t let it. They’ll send in the army to wipe you out.”
“This is our land. We know how to fight here better than the white man’s army.”
Much as Matt hated to admit it, Juan Pablo had a point there. The Navajo knew this country, knew how to survive here, knew how to strike hard against the enemy and then hide. Normally a peaceful people, content to farm and hunt, to weave blankets and make jewelry, when aroused they could be fierce, implacable foes. Kit Carson had learned that, back in the old days.
Rooting them out of this wasteland and rounding them up wouldn’t be easy ... but the army had almost limitless resources to do so.
That wasn’t the case with the Navajo. They could fight a war and deal out plenty of damage ... but in the end they would lose.
Juan Pablo didn’t want to hear that. So Matt asked him, “What are y
ou going to do with us?”
“You will all die, of course. When the sun comes up tomorrow morning, you will be killed.” Juan Pablo’s lips curved in a cruel smile. “You will be the first to die from the weapons that will save our people.”
“What do you—” Matt began, but before he could finish the question, Juan Pablo turned and strode away, taking the guards with him and ignoring the prisoners now as if they were no longer worthy of his notice.
It didn’t really matter. Matt had a hunch he knew what Juan Pablo meant by that threat.
Sam did, too. He said, “The Springfields. Juan Pablo’s going to get those army rifles tonight.”
Matt nodded.
“Yeah, that’s the way it sounded to me, too. We’ve got to get loose and find a way to stop him. He’s gonna get a lot of people killed for no good reason.”
As if to punctuate Matt’s statement, a swift rataplan of hoofbeats sounded in the night, fading as the riders moved away.
“That’s Juan Pablo and some of his men going to take delivery on those rifles,” Sam said.
“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “And they’ll bring ’em right back here so Juan Pablo can have his little firing squad in the morning.”
One of the men who had been brought in with Sam began to stir. He lifted his shaggy head and shook it. After a moment his bleary-eyed gaze landed on Sam.
“Thought you said these Navajo were friends of yours, Sam.”
“I said they didn’t kill us and they let Matt stay here to recover from those bullet holes. That’s a big difference from being our friends.”
“Yeah, I reckon.” The man looked at Matt with his deep-set eyes. “You’d be Matt Bodine?”
“That’s right,” Matt said. “Who are you?”
“A fella who wishes we’d gotten a mite more hospitable reception. Name’s Stovepipe Stewart.”
Sam said, “And this other fella is Wilbur Coleman.” Sam lowered his voice. “They’re range detectives, Matt. They’ve been helping me track down the men who bushwhacked us and figure out what it’s all about.”
“Stolen Springfield rifles, I’m bettin’,” Matt said.
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