Keokotah saw them first, seeing the sunlight upon their armor when they were far away. We hid our women in the cave where I had found niter, a place difficult to find and easy to defend.
Old Asatiki came to me. His people were ready to fight. The Spanish had raided among them for slaves, something I knew was forbidden by their king, and the Pawnees wanted no more of it.
“Wait,” I advised, “but be ready. We talk first. If talk is no good, we fight. But each choose a man, and at the first sign of trouble, kill him.”
There were twelve soldiers in half armor and about twenty Indian allies of a tribe I did not know. There were two officers and a priest. One of the officers was Diego, but this time it was Gomez who was in command.
Gomez reined in his horse near me, his eyes going from me to the fort. It was an impressive building, that I knew, the stockade of upright poles and the fort itself large enough to house us all and in a dominating position.
“We went to your valley and did not find you,” Gomez said.
“We have enemies,” I suggested, “and you have them also. The Komantsi.”
He shrugged. “They have not come against us. When they do we will grind them into the earth.” He looked around. “Where is the woman?”
“Woman? Do you see women? We are warriors here.”
Anger came quickly to him. He did not like being frustrated, and he was in a position of power. I was wearing my guns, but they were concealed beneath the poncho I wore. My only visible weapon was the spear in my hand.
“We have come for the woman you would not sell,” he said. “All here belong to His Majesty.”
I smiled. “And His Spanish Majesty has forbidden the enslavement of Indians.”
His expression changed. “His Majesty does not understand conditions here. He will change that rule.”
“At your behest? Since when does a minor captain instruct the king?”
His expression was not nice to see. ” ‘Minor’ captain? We shall see.” He gestured to his soldiers. “Take him. He will tell us where the woman is.”
They started forward. I stepped back into the rocks where their horses could not easily follow and threw my spear. Gomez leapt his horse after me and the spear missed, striking a soldier behind him, glancing from his helm, and stunning him. Two soldiers fell, arrows in their throats, and suddenly the Pawnees raised up around them. One warrior leapt to a horse behind a soldier and wrapped an arm around his throat, wrenching him from the horse. As the soldier fell another Pawnee killed him.
As suddenly as it had begun, the attack was over. The soldiers broke and fled. Brave men they were, but their hearts were not in this fight and I suspected none of them liked Gomez, who was a petty tyrant.
Diego was the last to turn away. “This was not my doing,” he said, “but he is in favor and not I. Protect your woman.”
He rode away after them, and I noticed that several of the retreating soldiers gathered about him. Three soldiers and an Indian lay on the ground, and one soldier was limping away.
All but three of us had been hidden, so our attack had been a surprise. I suspect Gomez had expected resistance and welcomed it. He could have seen the lodges of the Pawnees, but they were some distance off. Their fires were smoking and they looked to be occupied. He had not expected them to be hidden in the trees and rocks.
The Pawnees stripped the coats of mail and the helmets from the soldiers. I recovered a musket and a fallen sword.
Clouds gathered over the Sangre de Cristos, and there was a feeling of rain in the air. Gomez and his men had fled down the valley, but I did not for a moment believe we had seen the last of them. They would come again, for he dared not return without the woman he had undoubtedly promised. Diego would not have been so careless or overconfident, nor would Gomez when he returned.
We had revealed our strength, and he had more men. He also had muskets, and our Pawnee friends were soon to leave. I had wished for the iron shirts for my men, but the Pawnees had taken them, although I still had my own, found so long ago upon the banks of the Arkansas, and it was a better, tighter coat of mail than these.
Keokotah came from the trees, where he had used his bow. “I go,” he said. “I follow.”
It was an idea that had occurred to me, also. To follow and strike them in their own camp, strike them before they could gather to come against us.
Gomez was no fool. Overconfident, yes, but he would be so no longer. He was a tough, seasoned soldier and he had good men with him. The men we had killed would have mates who would resent their death. From now on there would be no surprises, no quick victories.
On one of the dead soldiers I found a powder horn of gunpowder for the firing of his musket. It was a treasure, more to be valued than gold.
Night came and I checked the loads in my pistols. There was food in the cave and water. The women would be safe there. If I went now to see them, my going might betray their presence, so I stayed away.
The Pawnees were in their camp, and I was alone in the fort. Keokotah had gone out, scouting Gomez and his men. There was no thought of sleep, for I must be ready for an attack at any moment.
Seated by a high port that allowed me to survey the approaches, I ate some nuts and waited. My bow was beside me with a quiver of arrows. Nor did I like the waiting. I would rather be out there in the darkness with Keokotah, but if our fort was taken then all our carefully hoarded food would be lost.
Where was Paisano? He had been turned loose but would stay close.
The hours dragged. I paced the floor, went from port to port, looking into the night. Inside there were no lights, and I needed none.
There was no moon, but the stars were out. From the high ports I could see beyond the stockade. Nothing moved. Nothing—
My eyes held on an edge of brush. Had there been movement there? Or was my vision tricking me? Or perhaps a leaf moving?
Taking up my bow, I waited.
There!
Another movement! Something or somebody was creeping closer.
A quick scurry of feet in the grass, and then another. Two, at least, and right under the stockade. Taking up an arrow I bent my bow.
A head, ever so slowly, appeared over the wall. I waited.
Then suddenly the shoulders and chest appeared, and a leg was thrown over. I loosed my arrow.
It was no more than twenty paces, and the target for. an instant was sharp against the night. In the stillness I heard the arrow’s impact, a man’s grunt, and a fall. He fell on the inside, and I could see his body lying still. But was he dead? Was he even badly wounded? Might he not be waiting to suddenly rise and rush to the gate to open it for the others?
He moved, and I let go a second arrow.
And then I heard them coming, not one, but many. And I was alone.
THIRTY-FOUR
My eyes were accustomed to the darkness. Each shadow near or within the fort was known to me. I went down into the yard. I could not win this fight while seated in safety. I had my spear, my guns, and my blade.
They were coming over the wall when I reached the yard, not one but at least three. I met the first with a sharp, upward thrust of the spear. His hands were grasping the wall, and he saw the spear too late. He let go with one hand to ward it off and fell, right onto the point. The force of his fall tore the weapon from my hands just as I heard a sharp scuffing of moccasins behind me.
Swiftly I turned, striking wildly with the blade. It sliced something, and then I was facing two men, one with a spear. I had fenced long hours with my father and the others back at Shooting Creek and my blade was quick to deflect the spear’s point, and thrust. He staggered back, for the thrust had gone deep, but the other man was at the gate, removing the bar.
Running toward him, I was too late. The gate burst open—a rider! I drew a pistol and fired, and then dropped the muzzle to reload.