Eyes of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  But Jamie knew that the odds of any of them spotting anything were slight. He knew that when the attack came, if it did, it would come silently and deadly and with no warning. And he felt the attack would come at or near the river. Hannah knew Little Wolfs mind as well as Jamie did.

  Jamie had spoken with the men who had found the battle site, months back. The bodies had not been buried, but one scout said the body of what appeared to be an older man had been partially covered. Jamie would bet that was Tall Bull; Little Wolf had been wounded so badly he could not properly bury his father. That his father’s bones were scattered, left for the animals, and not wrapped and presented in the traditional manner to the Gods, would only serve to heighten Little Wolfs madness and craving for revenge.

  The closer they came to the river, the more convinced Jamie became that Little Wolf was alive and waiting for him.

  He stopped often to scan the terrain ahead of him. To sit his saddle and sniff the air. For just as the white man smells differently to an Indian, an Indian smells different to a white man. If one knows what to sniff out. And Jamie certainly knew.

  A few travelers had passed them, heading east. Sam was curious as to why Jamie had not questioned them.

  “Because they wouldn’t know anything, Sam. Little Wolf will let a hundred people pass his hiding place. He wants me. He wouldn’t expose himself for anyone else. Not until I am dead.”

  “His hate must be wild,” Swede commented, one second before a rifle cracked and he was knocked from the saddle.

  Fifty

  Jamie left the saddle and was in the trees along the river in two blinks of an eye. He did not have to look back to see what those in the wagons were doing. They had rehearsed it so many times it would be second nature. When he did look around him from a concealed spot, the wagons were circled tightly, the stock inside the circle, and the defenders forted up. Out of the corner of his eye, Jamie had seen Swede jump to his feet and run for the wagons, his left arm bleeding. So the wound was not a serious one.

  Jamie took stock of their situation and found it pretty good. Little Wolf, if this was Little Wolf and Jamie felt certain it was, had chosen his ambush point well, and the time of day. It was about an hour before dusk, a time when any travelers would be holed up for the evening.

  The odds of anyone coming along to aid them were slim to none.

  Jamie had been riding with his bow and quiver of arrows on his back. He had his rifle and two pistols and his knife. He strung the bow and notched an arrow. Then he waited motionlessly.

  “You die this day, Man Who Is Not Afraid!” Little Wolf called out.

  Jamie did not reply. It seemed to him he had played this scene before. With a rueful smile, he hoped he fared better than the last time.

  One of Little Wolfs band foolishly exposed his upper torso and a half dozen rifles roared from the wagons. The Indian was dead before he hit the ground. Another tried to dart across the road and Moses’s shotgun belched fire and smoke, the heavy load catching the renegade in the belly and flinging him back into the ditch.

  Two down. How many left? Jamie thought. A dozen? Twenty? More than that? Jamie doubted it. Twelve or fifteen at the most. If it had been a larger band, they would have tried another method of attack, he felt. But with Indians, one just never knew. Trying to second guess a seasoned warrior had cost many a white his or her life. To fight Indians, one had to think like an Indian. Most whites could not — Jamie could. And Hannah would be quietly coaching those in the circled wagons. The sides of one of the wagons had been reinforced, and would stop a bullet. The kids were in that wagon, belly down on the floor of the bed.

  For anybody west of the Mississippi River, these were dangerous times, and the kids had been well schooled on what to do and what not to do in case of attack.

  Jamie had located two of Little Wolfs band. During the first seconds of the ambush, they had shifted locations to work closer to the wagons and their cover was not good. Jamie slowly lifted his bow and let an arrow fly. He heard a grunt of pain as the arrow struck true. The Indian rose to his feet, the arrow embedded in his side, and a rifle cracked from the wagons, the ball taking the warrior in the head.

  Three down.

  Jamie laid aside the bow and picked up his rifle. He sighted the second warrior he had spotted and squeezed the trigger. The rifle roared and the Indian’s face blossomed in crimson. He died in a sitting position, his back to a tree.

  Four down.

  “They’ll talk now,” Hannah whispered to the others within earshot. “They’ll decide if their medicine is good or bad.” She had doctored and bandaged Swede’s arm. He squatted behind a wagon wheel, a pistol in his good hand.

  One renegade decided on his own that his medicine was very good; that he was invincible. He charged the wagons, screaming. A very stupid thing to do.

  Rifles and pistols roared and the renegade was stopped cold in his tracks and slammed to the ground.

  Five down.

  Jamie heard the rustling of brush as the remaining Indians pulled back. This was not going according to plan. They were taking too many losses and gaining nothing. They would have to think about this.

  Jamie moved from his position and worked his way through the trees and brush along the bank of the river. But he need not have done so. The sounds of galloping horses reached him. Little Wolf and his band had decided to wait for another time. Their medicine was not good on this day.

  When he was certain the renegades were indeed gone, and would not be back this late afternoon, Jamie looked at the dead. Two Comanche, two Kiowa, and one Ute, he thought; but he wasn’t sure about the last. He walked over to the wagons.

  “How’s Swede?”

  “I’m all right,” Swede answered. “I jumped from my horse when the ball hit me. It’s just a flesh wound. Will they be back, Jamie?”

  “Not this day. Their medicine is no good. They’ll probably wait until we leave civilization behind before they hit us again. But they will hit us. Count on that.”

  “Is this where you fought Tall Bull?” Hannah asked.

  “Four or five miles south of here,” Jamie said. “I think. But here is as close as the road comes. Were any of the children hurt?”

  “Not a scratch,” Kate told him. “The Indians really didn’t get off that many shots.”

  “They’ll be back,” Jamie said grimly. “And maybe sooner than we think.”

  Little Wolf returned that night, just as the guard was changing. And when he struck the attack came hard, without a lot of skulking about. They came on horseback, and several managed to leap their horses into the inner circle. Swede took one’s head off with a mighty swing of a double-bit axe and the horse, panicked with a spray of hot blood across its flanks, galloped across the small circle and leaped out into the night, dead hands still gripping the mane.

  Jamie jerked a renegade off his horse and snapped his back across his knee like breaking a stick of kindling wood. He looked up at the sound of a shot and for a second, his eyes were on Kate, standing with a rifle in her hands, a dead Comanche at her feet.

  That broke the mounted attack.

  “They’ll be coming on foot now,” Jamie called. “Everybody load up every gun and stand to your posts.” Then he had an idea. “Little Wolf!” he shouted. “Can you hear me?”

  “I hear you, Man Who Is Not Afraid. Are you trembling? Have you pissed your pants in fear?”

  “Not hardly, Brother.”

  “I am not your brother!” Little Wolf screamed. “I was never your brother!”

  “Do you know what our father said to me just before he died?”

  “Nothing! He would say nothing to dog shit like you!”

  “You are wrong, Brother. After I shot him, he called out and said, ’I died at the hands of a true warrior.’ ”

  “Liar!”

  “That’s not all he said, Brother.”

  “I am not your brother!”

  “Tall Bull said, ’My son. My son. Only Man Above knows how
much I loved you.’ ”

  “He did not say that. He never loved you. Only me. He loved only me. Lies roll off your tongue like water over a falls. You are a liar!”

  “You’re not Shawnee, Little Wolf. You’re white. Like me. You were taken as a baby. Little Wolf and Deer Woman adopted you. Just like they did me.”

  “I am not white!” Little Wolf screamed. “I am Shawnee. You are a liar!”

  “A Shawnee with eyes the color of a bright new leaf in spring?” Jamie called out. “I doubt it. Your skin is as white as mine, White Boy.”

  Little Wolf cursed him until he was out of breath.

  “That’s your new name, Little Wolf. White Boy.”

  Little Wolf went wild with rage. He cursed and stomped around in the trees. He was so angry he could not speak any words that made sense.

  “Besides being white, you’re a coward, too,” Jamie continued to taunt him.

  “I will cut out your heart and eat it!” Little Wolf shouted.

  “No, you won’t,” Jamie’s words were calmly spoken. “Tall Bull couldn’t do it, and he was ten times the warrior you are. You are nothing. You are puke on the ground.”

  Little Wolf was so angry he could not speak. He screamed in frustration.

  “Why are you doing this, Jamie?” Kate asked.

  “Hush,” Hannah shushed her. “If Jamie can make Little Wolf fight him one on one, when Little Wolf is dead, the others will be leaderless and leave.”

  “But Jamie might be killed!”

  “No, he won’t. I’ve heard Tall Bull and Deer Runner and Stalking Bear and the others say a hundred times that Jamie was the better of the two... there was no comparison. Little Wolf never bested Jamie and he won’t this time.”

  “Show me you have the courage of Tall Bull,” Jamie shouted into the night. “Meet me one on one, White Boy. If you have the courage to face me alone. Which I doubt, since I’m sure you still squat to pee.”

  It was only with the greatest of efforts that Little Wolf managed to finally get his terrible temper under some sort of control. He was very nearly hyperventilating and one of his men went to the river to wet a cloth for him to use to bathe his face.

  “Don’t do it, Little Wolf,” a Comanche said. “He’s only trying to bait you.”

  “What did I tell you all?” Jamie raised his voice, as if speaking to those behind the wagons. “I told you Little Wolf-White Boy was nothing but a damn coward.”

  Something snapped in the already crazed mind of Little Wolf. He threw down his rifle and shouted, “Then step out, White Hair!” he shouted. “Face me with knife in hand, if you have the courage.”

  Jamie smiled and leaned his rifle against a wagon wheel. “Let me hear you give the orders for your followers not to interfere no matter how it goes,” he called.

  Little Wolf gave the orders in a harsh tone, then called out of the darkness, “Now you do the same with your people, Man Who Is Not Afraid.”

  “No interference,” Jamie said, loud enough for Little Wolf to hear. “They go free if by some miracle I should fall, Little Wolf. Let me hear your word of honor on that.”

  “They will go free. They will not be harmed. I give you my word. But I will not need help from Man Above to kill you.”

  “Confident bastard, isn’t he?” Swede muttered the question.

  “He’s a fool,” Jamie said, then drew his big Bowie knife from its sheath and stepped out of the circled wagons.

  From out of the cool night, Little Wolf walked toward him, knife in hand. “I have been dreaming of this moment for years,” Little Wolf said.

  “In a couple of minutes, White Boy, you’ll be able to dream forever,” Jamie told him, sarcasm thick off his tongue. “You’ll have the sleep of the dead.”

  Little Wolf screamed and leaped at him. Jamie sidestepped and Little Wolfs knife cut nothing but night air.

  “Clumsy,” Jamie said. “You move like a fat cow.”

  Little Wolf cursed him.

  “Our father would be disgraced at your behavior, White Boy.”

  Little Wolfs knife whistled close to Jamie’s belly. Jamie laughed at him and clubbed him on the side of the head with a big fist.

  Little Wolf backed up, shaking his head to clear it of a sudden painful buzzing from the blow.

  Jamie pressed him, moving his left hand from side to side to distract his foe. He lunged and the tip of his razor-sharp knife drew first blood as the point slashed across Little Wolfs belly. The wound was not serious, but it was painful, and sudden fear leaped into Little Wolfs eyes at the ease with which Jamie had cut him.

  Little Wolf backed up, conscious of the warm flow of blood leaking down across his lower belly. He feinted but Jamie would not play that game. All his false move got him was a cut across his left arm, between shoulder and elbow. Little Wolf felt more fear clutch at him as he stared into the eyes of Jamie, who was confidently smiling at him in the light of the moon.

  “Shoot him!” Little Wolf suddenly yelled to his warriors.

  It was not unexpected and Jamie tensed, ready to leap at the sound of a rifle or pistol being cocked.

  “No,” a Kiowa said. “This is a test of honor. We gave our word and we will not break it, Little Wolf.”

  “I gave you all an order!” Little Wolf screamed. “Obey me.”

  “You are a coward,” a renegade Comanche called. “We are through with you. Die alone, Little Wolf.”

  A few seconds later, Jamie heard the rush and pound of hooves as Little Wolfs band left him.

  “Leave,” Jamie told the man who was once his brother. “Go and take care of Deer Woman. Ride out.”

  “I cannot,” Little Wolf said softly. “And you know I speak the truth.”

  “Then step forward and taste my blade.”

  Little Wolf cried out and jumped. Jamie stepped to one side and cut the Indian across the back, rendering his left arm useless as his big blade severed muscles. Blood gushed and Little Wolf almost went to his knees. Slowly, he turned to face Jamie.

  There was pain mixed with resignation on Little Wolfs face as he said, “Did my father really say all that you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am adopted?”

  “Yes.”

  Little Wolf tried to jump at Jamie. He lost his balance and fell heavily to the ground. He cursed and pulled himself to his knees. “Kill me!” he cried.

  “No,” Jamie said. “I will not.”

  “You must!”

  “I will not.”

  With a wild scream of hate and fury, Little Wolf drove his knife into his own stomach, burying the blade to the hilt. When the first waves of intense pain had passed, and with blood leaking from his mouth, he said, “I have no right to ask this of you, Man Who Is Not Afraid. But will you bury me near the place where my father’s bones are scattered?”

  “Yes, Little Wolf, I will do that.”

  “Take my horse. I will not need him where I go. For my father is afoot in the darkness as well. He’s a good horse. I stole him from a stupid Pawnee.”

  “I will make sure you have weapons to take with you to the beyond.”

  “Thank you, Man Who Is Not Afraid.” Little Wolfs voice was growing weaker but other than that, he made no sounds of complaint, even though the pain must have been terrible. He remained on his knees, both hands clutching the handle of the bloody knife buried in his stomach.

  Hannah came out from the wagons, carrying food wrapped in a cloth. “You will not go hungry as you journey into the darkness, Little Wolf.”

  She placed the food beside him, away from the growing puddle of blood around his knees, and returned to the wagons.

  “I must say this as my time slips away,” Little Wolf said. “You are the greatest warrior I have ever met, Man Who Is Not Afraid.”

  Little Wolf fell over on his side, closed his eyes, and died.

  * * *

  At daylight, Jamie took the wrapped body of Little Wolf to the spot where he had killed Tall Bull and the others.
Only Hannah accompanied him. He recognized the area by the human bones scattered about, including a rib cage. Jamie stood for a few minutes, looking at the old battleground, then he sighed and made ready for the simple service. He presented Little Wolfs body to the gods, with weapons and food. Hannah gave a Shawnee prayer for the dead and sang to the Gods. Then Jamie and Hannah returned to the wagons, walking through the brush and the sparse timber, holding hands.

  “You’re awfully quiet, Jamie,” Kate remarked.

  “Seems like to me you’d be happy that all this is over,” Sam said.

  “I do not wish to ever return to this place,” Jamie said. “For the ghosts of Tall Bull and Deer Runner and Bad Leg and Little Wolf will forever wander here, unable to leave.”

  “Do you really believe that, Jamie?” Swede asked.

  “Yes,” Jamie said, and swung into the saddle.

  Fifty-one

  After all these months, no traces of blood remained on the stones in the plaza or on the long and shot-gutted walls of the Alamo. Jamie entered the place alone. Kate had started to follow him through the gate, but Hannah held her back.

  “Not yet,” she said. “He’ll call us.”

  Jamie walked the grounds and looked into each room. In his mind he could hear the voices of the dead. Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie, William Travis, Kimball, Martin, Bonham, Dickerson, Pollard, McGregor, Holland, Cloud, Autry, Esparza, Fuqua, Jameson, Walker, Evans, Baugh, Malone, Moore, Sewell, Bailey... and the one hundred and sixty-one others, including some sixteen or so whose names are forever lost from the roll call of the gallant.

  Jamie could not bring himself to look into Bowie’s room. He had seen the bloodstains still on the walls of the other rooms, and could not bring himself to see Bowie’s blood splattered. Juan Nunez had personally spoken with several Mexican soldiers who had fought at the Alamo, and deserted soon after, sick to their hearts at the savagery they had both witnessed and taken part in. They had told him that all the bodies of the defenders had been horribly mutilated, then burned. Both of them had sworn to Juan that they would never again take up arms against a fellow human being . . . unless of course, it was an Indian. They didn’t count.