“An excellent horse,” I said, “very strong, very fast.”
“We see.”
Together we walked back to the fort, Asatiki with us.
“Wait,” I said when we neared the fort. “I shall bring him out.”
One thing I had seen in that hasty glance was a powder horn on the saddle, and I wanted that. In fact, I wanted the saddle as well. Hastily, I stripped saddle and bridle from the horse and rigged a hasty hackamore with a bit of rope. Then I led the horse outside. The powder horn, by its weight, was almost full.
They looked at the horse and walked around it. I waited. Had they seen it with its equipment they would have demanded all of it, as I would have done.
“The horse,” one said, “and a musket.”
Taking a firmer grip on the lead rope I turned the horse back toward the gate. “The horse is a good horse. Too good. It is an even trade, horse for prisoner. If you do not like it, take the prisoner and burn him.” I kept on walking toward the gate and as I started through one of the Indians spoke up. “We take! Give us horse!”
The other Pawnee threw Diego at my feet and grabbed the lead rope and started away.
“No good,” Asatiki said. “You get two, three prisoner for horse.”
“Maybe,” I agreed, “but I do not know the other prisoners. This man is a good man. Sometime,” I advised, “you have trouble. Speak to this man. If he can, he will help.”
Asatiki shrugged. “White man forget ver’ quick.”
My eyes met his. “Remember this, Asatiki. I did not forget this man. His people are my enemies. This man is not, and I remembered.”
Lifting Diego to his feet I cut his wrists loose. “Gracias,” he said, rubbing his wrists to restore circulation.
“Go inside and keep out of sight. They might change their minds.”
He did so, and I walked across to the man I had killed with an arrow. His musket was there among the rocks, and on his belt there was a powder horn. It was about half full. I retrieved my arrows as well and walked back to the fort.
Glancing back over the valley I could see Indians here and there, picking up what had fallen or gathering their wounded. It was time I went for Itchakomi.
“You have food?” Diego asked. “I am very hungry.”
There was jerky and I offered him some. “You stay here,” I said. “In a few days you can start back for Santa Fe. It will be safer then.”
“How many escaped?”
“Who knows? Several riders and some men who fled running.”
“He was a fool, that Gomez, but brave enough. He has fought in many wars but not against Indians. He did not know. He thought to frighten them with a show of power.”
“Indians,” I said, “do not frighten easily. War is their way of life.”
My eyes went to the valley. The last thing I wished to do was to betray the hiding place where Itchakomi was hidden. When night came would be soon enough, and she would understand that the fighting was over. Some of them must have heard.
“Gomez would not listen,” Diego said. “He would ride boldly into battle. He would awe them with his presence and the boldness of his approach.”
“He escaped, I believe.”
“Of course. He is a realist, and dead soldiers win no battles. He led them into an ambush but he did not stay to die with them. Next time he will be wiser.”
“Maybe.”
Getting to my feet I said, “Do you lie down and rest, Diego. I shall be back soon. You are safe here.”
The Pawnees who had wandered about were drifting slowly back toward their own village. A moment I watched, and then I walked out, pausing now and again.
There were bodies to be buried and plans to be made. Also, I must put all my powder together and see how much I had. Not enough, but what I had would tide me over until I could find sulphur and make my own. If I was fortunate.
And I must think about the sacred fire for Itchakomi and how to bring it to her. How important it was to her I was only now beginning to appreciate, but to give her fire without ceremony would be empty. It must have the proper trappings of magic.
My valley lay green and lovely, falling away to the south, walled by mountains on either side. Up there were the caves of which the Ponca woman had told me long ago. Beyond those mountains was a mineral spring that might contain sulphur.
This was my land, the land that I loved, the wild land, the lonely land, where men had left no scars, no beaten tracks, no signs of their passing. These few bodies that now lay about would be buried, or if left would be food for buzzards, coyotes, and ants. Whatever those men had taken from the land they would now give back, and the eternal round of birth and death would continue.
Someday I might also have a son or a daughter, and we might sit together by the fires of winter while I told them stories of Barnabas, their grandfather, and of England whence he came. Sakim, too, must be spoken of, who came from the magic lands of the Arabian Nights. My father had told me the stories before even Sakim, but from Sakim’s lips they had had a special magic, for he was of their world. He had lived the life.
This was my land. Here I would sink roots. Here I would grow and help things grow. Here, I hoped, my sons and daughters would grow and be here to greet the westward travelers when they chose to come.
Another musket lay where it had fallen. Somehow the Pawnees had missed it. It lay fallen among the rocks and brush, but there was no powder horn. Further on lay a dead Spanish soldier, a handsome boy, now minus his scalp. Another one who had come seeking his fortune, accepting the chances of battle in a far country. Others might be killed, he had thought, but not him. He would survive. Now all the bright dreams were ended with his hair hanging in a Pawnee earth lodge.
Asatiki was coming toward me, walking his strange, bow-legged walk, lifting his knees toward the outside as he stepped. He paused facing me. “It is time,” he said.
“Time?”
“We go. We go back to our lodges, back to our village. Our people wait and are wondering.”
“I shall miss you, Asatiki.” I held out my hand. “I have known a warrior.”
“And I.”
We stood together, looking down the long green valley. “If you come to us, you will be welcome. Our villages are north and east, along the second great river.”
“One day, perhaps.”
We stood a moment longer sharing the silence, and then he walked away. I watched his back as he retreated. We would miss them, and we would miss him.
Turning, I glanced toward where the cave was. They must know the fighting was over, but they had not appeared. Impatient to see Komi, I started across the grass toward where the cave was hidden.
The Pawnees were not waiting any longer, but they were going now. Pausing, I watched their thin line point itself into the mountains, watched them go, each with a burden of hides or meat. They now had seven horses, and I was still without one. Of course, I had Paisano.
As I neared the cave, I called out. There was no reply. Suddenly worried, I quickened my step and called again.
I reached the small opening and abruptly I stopped. In the dust outside the cave there was a confusion of footprints, but one stood out.
A large, clearly imprinted moccasin track. Only one man I knew made so large a track.
Frightened, I ducked into the cave, calling out.
Nothing, no sound, not so much as a whisper.
They were gone!
Somehow, during the fighting, while all had been engrossed, Kapata had slipped in and stolen my wife away, stolen her and the others.
One more futile call, and a moment of listening. My heart beating heavily I came into the open air.
Keokotah was there.
“They are gone. Kapata has taken them.”
He ducked into the cave and was back in a moment. “My woman is gone,” he said. “Do you get meat. I find trail.”
At a trot, I returned to the fort. Scarcely thinking. I made two packs of meat and what else we had.
How long had they been gone? An hour? Two hours? Three?
They would travel fast and they would strive to leave no trail. No trail unless to an ambush.
Quickly I loaded what powder I had into two powder horns and gathered a double handful of my silver bullets.