Jubal Sackett

I kindled a small fire and made a torch. Leaning down, I held it into the cave. I found myself looking into a room roughly oval and about ten feet wide but all of twenty to twenty-five feet deep. Several openings suggested further passages. The formation was limestone. I lowered myself into the cave, excited by my discovery. I scraped the wall with a bit of rock, bringing down a grayish-white dust.

Saltpeter!

Having nothing in which to carry it I took none with me, but crawling out I took careful sightings on nearby landmarks to find the exact spot again. Charcoal was easily had, so all that remained was sulphur.

Several times I had seen indications of ore while hunting, and at least one good outcropping that looked to be silver. And lead was often found in conjunction with silver.

Now I must conduct a serious search for sulphur, and if I could find it I could make my own gunpowder, as we had at Shooting Creek.

Excited, I started back to camp. Keokotah was awaiting me among the rocks. He stood up as I approached, Paisano following.

"I find tracks," he said.

I stared at him. "Indians?"

He spat. "Kapata!" he said. "He come, stay in rocks over there." He gestured toward the entrance to the gulch. "He watch, watch a long time."

Well, we had been expecting him. We had known he would come, yet--

"He come again. I think he come soon. He come forher , and he come for you!"

Chapter Thirty-One.

Itchakomi had come out from camp. "I see him," she said. "Yousaw him?"

"He thinks he hidden, but from lodge I see him. He does not see me, as I am inside. He is not alone."

Well, I had not believed he would be. So now we must be prepared. Our season of peace was over, even though it had been a watchful peace.

As we ate, I considered the situation, and was not happy with it. Desperately, I needed more powder and more lead for bullets. My guns were loaded, and there might be enough powder to load them one more time.

Not a mile from the lodge I had discovered a ledge of silver and lead, and I was less interested in the silver than in the lead at this point. I now had niter, and there was charcoal from our fires and more to be burned. Sulphur I needed.

We had arrows, and at every available moment, seated by the fire or on lookout, we worked at making more. Our life was to be guided by the skills of our hands, and all we would have we must either find or create ourselves from materials at hand. Fortunately, I had never known any other way of life. At Shooting Creek we had had utensils from the ships, but never enough. Most of what we had we made.

Desperately, I needed a source for sulphur, but I had found no deposits, although I kept a constant watch. Each foray we made into the country around was not only for hunting, but for sources of raw materials and for the best fuel. All woods were not equally good for making fires, particularly fires that would last and leave the best coals. For these the hardwoods were best, but there were not many to be found aside from oak.

Nor did I like our situation. We were committed to defending a position, when I preferred movement. I believed in attack as a principle of war, yet our lodge and the few possessions we had committed us to defense. Keokotah was no happier with the idea than I, and spoke his mind.

"I no like," he said. "He who attacks chooses the time and the place and the how."

My feelings were the same.

"Go!" Itchakomi said. "We fight. We are three women who can use the bow and the spear."

It was tempting, yet I hesitated. The place was not easy to attack, situated as it was, and their water supply was inside the lodge. I doubted Kapata would use fire, for he did not wish to destroy Itchakomi but to capture her and return with her to Natchez. Yet we were only two, and he would have a dozen at least. Our only chance was to cut them off and kill them one by one, a thing not easily done.

It was Itchakomi who reminded me. "You are shaman. You master of mysteries. The Natchee who walk with Kapata know this."

The Indian was a believer in magic, in medicine. He was a man of many superstitions, as were we the English, only the superstitions of the English were different. Superstition could be, might be, a formidable weapon. If I could create doubt, if I could make them hesitate--

The Natchee with Kapata knew their Ni'kwana had met with me and treated me with respect. Already I was known among them as a medicine man, so if I could build upon that and use it as a mantle to protect us all, so much the better.

It would be a feeble defense, yet I had lived long enough and learned enough to know that victories are won in the mind before they are won upon the ground. Perhaps I could offer them symbols that would project the idea of magic. They need not even know what the symbols meant or were supposed to mean.

Of this I said nothing to those who were with me. Keokotah, at least, was convinced that I had strong medicine.

When evening came I went out alone. Keeping under cover I gathered the skulls of four deer we had eaten that winter, and I suspended them from a tree branch over the trail leading to our lodge.

Four deer skulls, looking up the trail.

I knew where others lay and went to find them. Soon I had skulls suspended in groups of four at various places in the trees that surrounded our lodge.

Medicine to an Indian means power, and his life is spent in seeking the right medicine. He wishes for strong medicine for himself and those he follows, and he fears it in the possession of others.

The Indian in his native land did not seek for material wealth. He hunted, gathered, and lived. What he sought was stronger medicine, greater wisdom, a power within him that could equal the power of the spirits that surrounded him and could endanger him if he could not enlist their aid.

Kapata was driven by anger, hatred, jealousy, and the desire for power among the Natchee. Those who followed him believed his medicine was strong, but what if I could cause them to lose faith in him?

It was worth the chance. It was worth anything I might do.

Within the small pack I carried I had my own medicine bag, such as every Indian has, usually wearing it about his neck. Mine possessed not the things an Indian might carry but my own small medicine makers, one of them a prism, a burning glass. Now I took it from the bag and slipped it into a small pocket in my belt. I had no idea how I would use it, but somehow, somewhere, it might be useful.

Now I must think. I must plan.

We were well supplied with meat, and the women had gathered plants from the meadows and mountainsides or along the creeks. They were stores for winter, yet if need be those stores could feed those within the fort until the issue was decided.

Kapata was out there, waiting. Nor would he wait long. He was eager and angry, and now that he had found us he would want it over quickly.

Suddenly I thought of caltrops, the devices made to throw out in the grass to impede cavalry. They were made so when thrown into the grass a point was always up, and a horse who stepped upon one was either crippled or frightened of advancing further. In the ancient days of knights and castles they had ended many a charge. Now if I could make smaller ones and scatter them in the grass about our place, leaving openings known only to us, we might slow them or stop them. At least, it would help to fend off any night attack.

A caltrop was simply a four-sided object with a point on each face, and once I hit upon the idea I began cutting pieces of wood with projecting spikes or using porcupine quills or sharp bits of bone, whatever was available.

When the women saw what I was doing they immediately went to work. It needed but a minute to make one, and by nightfall we had many. Sighting on distant trees I chose paths we would know, but elsewhere I scattered the caltrops in the grass.

Wild animals rarely approached a place where people were, at least not in wilderness areas where food was plentiful, so I had no fear of crippling an animal. Paisano would be with us for his own protection, for other Indians might kill him for meat. In any event, he preferred to be with us inside our stockade.

We worked and we talked. Itchakomi was endlessly curious about my people and the land from which they had come. She also had come to love our songs. Not that I sang well, for I did not. However, I did sing the old ballads from England, Ireland, and Scotland sung by my father or Jeremy or O'Hara or one of the others.

On the second night after we had glimpsed Kapata, I took my bow and went outside and stood in the darkness, listening. This we had been doing at intervals, even before Kapata had appeared, and solely for the reason that sound carries better at night and we might hear our enemies.

All was very still. There were scattered clouds but many stars. Looking up at the stars I wished I could remember more of the constellations Sakim had taught us, but I remembered only a few.

There had been a brief shower earlier in the day, but now there were no more signs of rain. Tomorrow should be a clear day. Waiting, listening, I heard nothing. It was like many other nights.

Starting to go inside, I stopped suddenly. Had that been a sound? My heart seemed to slow, and my ears strained for the slightest sound. Slipping an arrow from my quiver I held it ready. It was very dark, yet from an opening in the logs, I peered out into the darkness, waiting.

There was a faint stir in the grass. An animal? My eyes could find no shape, no deeper shadow.

Then I saw them! Several shadows moved at once, coming toward us. I notched an arrow and waited. Distance was hard to estimate in the darkness, but I believed they had almost reached the edge of the area where we had scattered our miniature caltrops.

Should I call Keokotah and alert the others?

They needed sleep, and perhaps, just perhaps, they would not be needed. I lifted my bow, waiting.

They were closer now. I could make out dim shapes. Suddenly there was a startled, barely suppressed cry of pain. A figure lunged upward, and I loosed my arrow.

My target was scarcely thirty yards off, bulking black, and my arrow went true. He straightened up, I saw his hands grasping at his chest, probably at the arrow.

Others ran forward and right into our field of caltrops. In a moment they were leaping about. I tried another arrow but doubted if it reached a target. Then the night was silent except for a faint moan.

For an hour I waited, but there was no further sound, no further movement.

The arrow in my hands was returned to its quiver. I waited, paced the enclosure, and then finally went in and lay down upon my blankets. I doubted they would come back, for they had run into something unexpected and would have to decide what to do about it.

Tomorrow we would make even more caltrops. We had sown the grass with needles, and they had yielded us a minor victory.

Something moved beside me. It was Itchakomi. "What is it?" she whispered.

I told her in whispers, and after a bit we fell asleep.

Morning came, bright and clear, and we were out looking over the grass. I saw my arrow lying some distance out. The first arrow had gone straight to its target and had evidently still been in the warrior when they carried him away.

Looking out over the valley that fell away to the west of us, but ran north and south, I thought again that we had come upon one of the most beautiful spots in the mountains, and here we would stay. Kapata might try, but he would neither kill me nor drive me from this place, nor would whatever others came, Indians or Spanish. I wished no trouble with either, but here I had found my home.

How long before others of my kind came west? There was much land still in the east, but there would always be some restless one, some wanderer who would want to see what lay beyond the Great Plains.

Our corn was coming up! Our first crop and if we could keep the deer from it we would have a bountiful harvest. We had found wild strawberries and raspberries. There were several other kinds of berries whose names we did not know, and there was other wild fruit. We would make pemmican, and we could dry some of the fruit.

We found blood upon the grass, blood where the man I had hit had fallen. Had I killed him? Or was he only wounded? It made little difference to us, yet I hoped he was only wounded--not from a sense of mercy, but simply because a wounded man would be a burden to them.

For those who had attacked me when I had done them no wrong I felt no mercy.

We had won a small victory, but Kapata was a wily man and a fearless one. He would be back.

Always there was the need for fresh meat. We had supplies within our fort, but they were intended for winter and if we ate them now the winter would be a starving time. Moreover, we had other enemies. The Komantsi were coming, sooner or later, and of course there was Gomez.

From a ridge a mile to our south I collected some silver and lead ore from an outcropping. That it was largely silver mattered little. Whatever the value of the silver might be, it was worth more to me in the shape of bullets.

Sulphur? Where was I to find sulphur? In some volcanic formation or perhaps a mineral spring. Butwhere?

Keokotah returned from his hunt with three sage hens. He had found only old tracks of deer. Returning he had found moccasin tracks. They had come down from the east, keeping undercover until they had seen the skulls I had hung over the trail. There the tracks were confused.

"Much talk," Keokotah explained. "Many track, much moving! Nobody like skulls!"

Again I went to look for sulphur, but also to hunt. I found nothing. Too many Indians were moving about, and the game had been frightened away, had gone to the higher mountains, where I must go. Some of the peaks were volcanic, and I might find sulphur.

The next day when Keokotah started out, two arrows came at him. One cut a small gash in his shoulder, but the other missed. And they let themselves be seen. The implication was plain. They would kill us if we emerged, or we would die of starvation if we did not.

"Your medicine strong," Keokotah said. "The braves are far from home. He has not brought them victory. Soon they go."

Well, maybe. But we were eating food we had planned to eat in the coming winter. Moreover, their presence and their hunting would drive the game to the high mountains and the far meadows, game we needed to survive.

"I am going out," I said. "I am going after Kapata."

I did not wish to go. I did not want to hunt and kill, but they were there, holding us close. I did not think they would attack our fort again, because of my medicine skulls and because of their experience with the caltrops, but neither could we hunt or gather food against the coming winter, and my people looked to me, their chief.

We were here because of me, and if when winter came we starved, it would be because of me. Other enemies might come, but now there was Kapata and he was our enemy, my enemy, and the enemy of my wife.

I was going after Kapata.

Chapter Thirty-Two.

Thunder grumbled among the peaks when I went into the night to kill Kapata.

Itchakomi stood by the door when I walked out, and she said, "Come back, Jubal."

I kissed her lightly and replied that I would, and indeed, I hoped to. Yet when a man walks out with weapons his life is suspended like dew upon a spider's web, and well I knew the men I went against. Whatever else they might be they were warriors all, men who lived to fight and who found glory only in victory.

Catching a glimpse of a tall pine against the sky I chose my way with care not to tread upon one of my own caltrops in the darkness. When beyond the area where they lay I went softly into the wet woods and walked like a ghost from tree to tree, letting my moccasins test the way before resting my weight so as to break no stick in the night and give warning that I came.

We knew not their camp, only the possible location, so I must walk softly.

There had been a brief early shower, but now real rain was coming and soon the forest would be drenched. They would be keeping to shelter on this night, and their fire if not out would be dying.

For the first few minutes sight would be limited, but by the time I had been out an hour my night vision would be excellent. I circled wide, taking my time. If I surmised correctly, they would be near the mouth of the gulch. There was an area there where during a rain several small streams came down the mountain.

Before coming out from the fort I had gone over the route in my mind and had studied the possibilities for camping. They would want to be near water, of course. They would wish to be hidden, yet in a place easy of access. As I had gone in and out of the gulch a number of times when hunting or exploring I knew what their choices would be.

The place I chose to look was a small bench from which our fort would be visible by day. There was a seep nearby and a number of big, old trees. There was an overhang of rock, a sort of wind-hollowed cave that would provide shelter from the rain.

Moving carefully along a hillside I had once crossed in stalking a deer, I crouched in the trees to look over the bench. A small fire smoldered near the overhang and I could see the bunched bodies of sleepers.

The fire had been built where others before it had been, under a waterworn crack that allowed the smoke to escape, a sort of natural chimney in the rock.

The idea came gradually as I sat studying the layout. Not twenty yards from the cave a small stream trickled down among the rocks, its nearest approach to the cave being on a level with the top of the overhang. The stream veered off to the east, but the ground near it sloped to the west. At one time the stream must have flowed that way.

Why not again?

Easing back from my vantage point I went up the slope through the trees. Crouching in the darkness beside the stream I studied it and made up my mind. Keokotah was sure the Indians who had come with Kapata were losing their enthusiasm. Kapata had failed to give them the quick victory expected, and they had not taken the scalps they wanted. Maybe we could discourage them some more.

Following the trough where the stream had flowed in the long ago I came to its banks. What I had was just an idea. The stream was no more than two feet wide and perhaps a foot deep or less. As always there were fallen trees lying about. Choosing one, I upended it and tipped it across the stream. It fell with a splash.

Lifting another, I dropped it in the water alongside the first, making a crude dam. Instantly the water was diverted and started down its old channel. It ran along swiftly, dropped through the crack from which the smoke issued, and flooded the floor of the small cave.

A startled yell, and then another. The Indians scrambled out of the cave, filling the air with angry complaints. Squatting under a tree I watched for Kapata.

A few managed to save their blankets, although they were soaked. In the darkness I could not distinguish one from the other, so content with the mischief I had created I arose and skirted their camp in the darkness and then made my way to a quiet part of the forest where I remembered that some old deadfalls had created a sort of natural shelter large enough for a man. Arriving, I crawled in and slept.

Morning came with clear skies, and taking my bowstring from a dry inner pocket I strung my bow.

A smell of smoke led me to their camp, some fifty yards from the old one, which was still overrun with water. A pot was on the fire and a man bending over it. Lifting my bow I took careful aim and then let fly, the arrow taking him through the thigh just above the knee. He cried out, dropping the pot.

The others vanished as if they had been but phantoms, and I turned and went into the woods, moving swiftly away and around. When I next approached the camp it was from the bluff above the overhang cave.

No one was in sight but the Indian I had wounded. He had extracted the arrow, which lay on the earth beside him, and he was trying to stop the flow of blood from the wound. Nothing else moved and he had troubles enough, so I retreated back up the bluff a few yards, still keeping the camp in view.

After a while they began to filter back into their camp. I counted seven, including Kapata, who towered inches above all but one of the others. There was much grumbling.

Knowing I could not fight them all, I eased back up the slope and into the trees. What I wanted was to find Kapata alone, yet I had given them trouble. No one likes to endure discomfort, and if the Tensas could be disillusioned with Kapata's leadership they might simply go home. Already they had been long from home and endured much.

When the morning sun broke through the clouds I watched a distant rainstorm far across the valley against the vast wall of the Sangre de Cristos. Above the rainstorm the morning sun had painted the peaks as those first Spanish must have seen them, when they called them the "blood of Christ," for surely they were crimson as blood.

Lying quiet in the wet brush I waited for movement from Kapata's camp.

It was he I wanted, none of the others unless they got in the way. They had come hunting me and deserved no mercy from me, yet I had no wish to kill any man who did not seek me out.

Smoke lifted in a thin, questioning column. From a pocket I took a twist of jerky and bit off a piece, worrying it with my teeth to get a proper bite.

A fawn came from the brush and with high, delicate steps went down to the meadow. Truly we needed meat, but I was after bigger game and did not wish to kill a fawn. Let it grow into bigger meat.

One of the Tensas came from their camp and went down to drink at the creek. He was too far off and I had no desire to give away my presence. He stood up, a quick, graceful movement, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked around slowly, once seeming to look right at me, but I was well hidden.

He was a lithe, fine-looking brave, probably not yet twenty.

Another Indian came to join him and they stood talking, with much gesticulation. That they were angry about something was obvious.

Enemies they might be, but I could not escape the beauty of the situation, the green backdrop of the mountains, the forest, the small stream sparkling in the sun, and the two Indians talking. No sound came, as they were too far off, but their manner was eloquent.

A movement caught my eye, a movement from the slope behind them, but closer. The merest stirring and then nothing. Puzzled, I waited.

The two Indians squatted on their heels near the water. One wore three feathers, the other but one.

That movement again, lower down the slope. Suddenly I knew!

Keokotah!

Startled, I half came to my feet. Did he know of the hidden camp? Or was he so intent on the Indians he stalked as not to realize the nearness of the others?

Crouching, careful to move no leaf, I went down the slope toward them, to get within bow shot before anything happened. When I had Keokotah clearly in view and not over fifty yards away, I squatted down in the brush with a log before me.

The Indians were on their feet now. They would return to camp. Sunlight danced on the water, and the aspens trembled. The Indians turned, and one died, an arrow in his throat. The other Indian had started on, unaware. Yet when he had taken two more steps he turned to speak and saw his companion lying dead in the trail.

The first Indian dropped to his haunches and then dove forward into the brush. Keokotah was quick, and his arrow went through the calf of the brave's leg as he jerked it from sight.

There had been seven, but now there were six, with one wounded slightly. There was one in camp wounded, too.

Waiting in the brush, I saw no further movement and believed Keokotah had gone. Slowly, careful to move no leaf, I slipped back up the slope and circled for home. Our corn had grown tall, and circling through it I took time to pull a few weeds. It was not a large patch, but it would give us a few bushels of corn to supplement our meager diet. The earth was rich and our crop had grown well. When I looked up from the corn I saw smoke.

It was several miles away, back beyond where Kapata's warriors had camped. It was a single finger of smoke, lifting skyward. As I looked, the column broke. A single puff went up, and then another.

A signal, but for whom? Not for the Tensas, of that I was sure. It was too far away and in the wrong direction.

The Komantsi? I felt a chill. Those dreaded Indians, destroying all before them. Had they found my valley or the trail of the Tensas?

When I was near the stockade, Keokotah appeared. He had a bloody scalp at his waistband. I had seen the Tensa die, but how had Keokotah scalped him? I pointed to the smoke. He nodded his head.

"Komantsi," he said. "They come."

His tone was grim and I understood why.

Itchakomi looked up when we came in and gestured toward a pot on the fire. We ate in silence, saying nothing. She had seen the scalp and needed no explanation.

At the meal's end I bathed my hands at the stream and then went to her. "The Komantsi come," I said. "We have seen their smoke."

And I had found no sulphur.

To look for it was automatic now, for it was ever in my mind. At night now I spent some time casting bullets, killing my mold time and again. But the balls were of no use without gunpowder.

Sulphur was sometimes found in old volcanic craters, for it appeared in the last stages of volcanic activity. Sometimes pockets of the crystals could be found, often contaminated with arsenic.

When darkness was almost upon us and visibility cut to within a few yards, I went out to move my caltrops, not wishing to mark their absence by a worn trail. It would be necessary to move them every few days if there was much going back and forth. The moccasins these Indians wore had thin buckskin soles, and the spines would penetrate them. Unless there was infection the wounds were not serious, but one was sufficient to keep an Indian inactive for several days.

Kapata was no longer mentioned. His presence and his danger were very real, but that of the Komantsi even more. We kept our fires to a minimum and were thankful that our fort was fairly hidden in the trees and brush. It could not be seen except from quite near.

On the second day after his taking of the scalp, Keokotah went again to the mountains. It was a day of low clouds and impending rain, yet he went, hoping for game. Uneasy, I remained in the fort, watching restlessly for enemies, working at making bullets, planning forays into the mountains to look for sulphur.

Often I thought of the Natchee who had returned. Had they gotten through? Had they ridden the rough waters down and slipped by the Komantsi and the Conejeros? Had they found their way back to their villages beside the Great River?

We might never know.

So far as I knew I was the first Anglo white man to come so far west. But who could actually know? Always there was some venturesome one who would not be content with the limits set by others.

When spring came we would put in our crop again, and once more we would take to the mountains and seek out the far lands. There was in me a driving wish to see, to know, to feel.

Westward loomed the mighty peaks of the Sangre de Cristos, mountains where the caves were, mountains I must explore. And beyond them? Who knew?

A great valley, we heard, a greater valley by far than this where we lived. And beyond it? The sunlight glinted sometimes on snowcapped peaks, or so the Ponca woman said, of far-off mountains, incredibly high.

Night came and the stars, but Keokotah did not come and our hearts were heavy. We did not speak of him nor of our fears, but each knew what the others thought and each knew the fear in his own heart.

Yet he came! A stirring in the night, a faint sound at the door. I drew my knife and stepped forward to meet whatever was there.

The door opened. It was Keokotah.

"Ah!" I said.

He looked at me. "They are gone ... gone!"

"Gone? Who?"

"The Natchee, the Tensas ... gone."

"You mean they have given up and gone home?" This I had been expecting. The Indian does not like long, drawn-out battles. He wishes to do it quickly, get it done, and go home.

"Gone ... dead. All killed."

All? I could not believe it.

"Who?" Although I knew without asking.

"The Komantsi. They have killed them. Taken their hair."

"Kapata, too?"

"No Kapata. He is gone when they come, I think. I think he come back after. I see big tracks."

Kapata!Would we ever be rid of him?

Chapter Thirty-Three.

They came down the canyon in a straggling line, two dozen of them at least, with three horses and a half dozen miserable dogs. Most of the men were wounded and some of the women, and all were about to fall from exhaustion. They stopped abruptly when they saw us, hesitating until I walked out to meet them.

In sign language we told them we were friendly, and they explained they had been hunting buffalo across the eastern mountains when attacked. Their warriors had been scattered and the Komantsi had killed many. They were Pawnees, seeking a place to rest and gather themselves for another fight.

The old man who came forward to meet me carried himself with pride. He was Asatiki. He had lost half an ear in some bygone battle, and his body was criss-crossed with ancient scars. The mighty muscles of his youth had turned to sagging flesh, but in his eyes the fierce pride had not dimmed.

His people were beaten but not whipped, that I saw at once. They needed to recover from their wounds and make arrows for another fight. But they were ready to fight.

My gesture included the meadow. "Stay. We are friends. If the Komantsi come we will fight them together. Only," I added, "do not kill the young buffalo you see here. He is a medicine bull. He is Paisano."

The place they chose was several hundred yards from our fort, near a small stream and a stand of trees. They gathered sticks to build their fires and I went among them to treat their wounds.

"I am Sackett," I said, "a man of mysteries." The simple treatments I used were adequate, and I had gathered herbs against such an event. Best of all, these were a strong people and the air was fresh and clean.

In their own land they lived in earth lodges that would shelter twenty people or more, domed structures built upon a framework of timbers, but here they built of bark, for these were but temporary shelters.

Asatiki had no memories of his people that went beyond the time of his grandfather. He could tell me only stories told about the campfire in winter.

I spoke of the Tensa and Kapata. "That one is our enemy. If he comes among you, know him not. His medicine is bad. He carries the seeds of evil."

My questions were about the Komantsi. "Strange Indians," the old man said. "I do not know them. They come to steal Spanish horses, but they attack all they see. They boast of many warriors to the north, many who will come. Maybe they speak true."

He knew nothing more. There had been sporadic attacks before this, hit and run attacks by Komantsi seeking horses and stealing women.

His people, the Pawnee, had a very old tradition that the Pawnee came from the southwest and once lived in houses built of stone. Another story had it they came from the southeast. Arriving in the land where they now lived, they encountered the Skidis, with whom they fought. Later, the two tribes became friends, intermarried, and became as one people.

When we had talked much I asked about the yellow earth that both smelled and burned. There was such earth far to the southeast, he said. His Caddoan relatives used it for medicine. The old man had not been to the place where it was found, over a month of travel, but knew of it from other Indians.

Our corn was growing, and the hunting had been good. A small herd of buffalo had strayed into the lower valley. Keokotah no longer spoke of his village, and when I spoke of it he said, "My village is here."

Often I wondered about his visit to his own people at the time of my visit to the caves of the mummies. He did not speak of it, but I believed he had found himself no longer at ease among them.

The Englishman had begun it. In his loneliness he had talked long hours with the boy, until the thoughts of Keokotah had made him a stranger among his own people.

When alone Komi and I spoke of this, and she looked into my eyes and spoke of herself. "I, too, miss my people. Here we have no fire. There is no temple and no priest."

"Are you not a priestess?"

"I am."

"There can be a sacred fire."

"It would not be the same. Our sacred fire was a gift of the Sun."

"Am I not a master of mysteries?"

She looked long into my eyes, seeking the truth.

"Did not the Ni'kwana see me as such?"

"Yes, but--"

"If a scared fire will make you happy, I shall give you such a fire. I will give you fire from the sun."

"You?"

"Soon, when the time is right, I will bring fire from the sun."

She did not believe me. "You do not worship the Sun."

"The sun gives life to all things. Without the sun this would be a dark, dead world. Perhaps," I added, "the spirit we worship is the same, and only the names are different. The message from He who rules over us all may come to each people in a different way."

Our family had had little to do with organized religion, although my father when young had gone often to a village in Lincolnshire named Willoughby. This was the same village from which Captain John Smith of the Virginia colony had come. There had been a young minister there named Wheelwright, considered a dissident, but my father had liked his ideas and enjoyed his preaching. My brother Yance, who had married a girl from the Massachusetts Bay colony, had told me Wheelwright had come over the ocean and was known there.

That night I began again the study of the stars. My father and Jeremy Ring, who both knew of navigation by the stars, had taught us much. Sakim had taught us more. How much Itchakomi knew I had no idea, but I was sure she had been instructed in such lore. To produce a sacred fire I must choose the right time and the right place.

We had much of which to talk, for Itchakomi was endlessly curious about the English way of life, and often I wished I had listened more when my parents had spoken of their lives before coming to America. It had all seemed so remote and so unimportant to our lives in the colonies.

The Pawnee were skillful hunters and often shared their kills with us. In the first days we fed them and they simply rested. One woman died of her wounds, and two of the warriors were long in recovering.

It was an opportunity to learn their language and I did so, not enough to speak it well, yet enough to exchange information and for general talk. Their villages, they said, were along another river north of the Arkansas.

We gathered nuts, roots, and berries against the winter's coming, and fuel, also. Always, at home or on the hunt, we were alert for enemies, but when they came it was not the Komantsi but the Spanish.

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.

Chapter 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.

Yet I believe it was the shock of the gunfire more than its effect that stopped them.

My first shot killed a man. It could scarcely have been otherwise, for he was within ten feet of me and my pistol had a long barrel. He fell from his horse and it clattered over the stone-flagged yard. Then it wheeled and dashed out again.

The sudden shot ended the attack. Waiting, my heart pounding, I shoved the gate back into position and dropped the bar.

They were brave men out there but they had not expected gunfire, and they had lost two men--

Two?

Three had been coming over the wall. One I had impaled on my spear, the second with the knife. Yet the third, he who had run to open the gate?

Where was he?

My pistol went back into its scabbard. I had had to let go my knife when I had drawn the pistol. Now I squatted, groping for it.

Ah, I had it! Now?

There was a man inside, I was sure. A man who waited to kill me. An Indian, I thought, one of the Indians serving with the soldiers of Gomez.

He was here, somewhere in the darkness.

Yet three men were down, including the rider of the horse whom I had shot. He lay without moving. Had my shot been good, then? But where was the other? Somewhere in the shadows there was an enemy. If they attacked again he would attack when I faced them, attack from behind me.

What were they thinking outside? They could not know that they had a man alive inside the fort, yet they must know by now they had lost three or four men. It was expensive, but Gomez was ruthless. He had a contempt for all human life but his own.

Fire?

That would be in his mind, yet he could not know that Itchakomi was not inside the fort. He dared not risk burning his prize.

Crouching, I studied the shadows. Nothing moved, and the shadows were dark and deep. My spear was nearby, in the body of the fallen Indian. I might need it.

Where would my enemy be hiding? Each shadow was in my mind and one by one I checked them over for hiding places trying to remember each detail, each corner.

Where was he?Did he plan to open the gate when I was distracted?

The minutes plodded by on gentle feet, and my eyes searched the shadows. Had he gone around the side of the fort? Or inside? Suppose he started a fire?

There was a moment of wild panic. We would never be able to rebuild before snow fell, not if we were burned out. In the moment of anxiety I almost moved, yet somewhere my enemy was watching for me, even as I watched for him. Again it was the old story that he who moved first would die first.

How fared Itchakomi? Had their cave been discovered? Perhaps even now they were riding away with her. Listening, I heard no sound.

If we escaped this time I would begin a tunnel from the fort to that cave. In fact, a branch of that cave which we had not explored might come this way. A secret tunnel, such as my father had told me all castles had once had, a means of escape as well as a supply route if beseiged.

Outside there was a stirring, a movement. What could be happening?

An attack from more than one side? Crawling up ropes thrown over the wall? Explosives under the gate? One man boosting another? Ladders?

Slowly passed the minutes. Where was Keokotah? Had he been trapped somehow? My good sense doubted it. He was a ghost in the woods, a shadow in the night. I knew no one better at moving in silence, and I also knew he would be somewhere about.

Gomez would be thinking, deciding what to do. He wanted Komi, if not for himself, then as an offering for favors, and he had undoubtedly made promises to be given command of these soldiers. He had successfully returned home through the thick of winter, no mean feat in itself, and he had undermined the standing of Diego, superseded him in command, and now was back. He would not be driven off, and he would not give up easily.

By now he would be piecing together what had been witnessed through the gate during the brief moments it was open. He would be studying what had taken place, the shots fired and the fighting.

He would guess that I was alone or almost alone.

His next thought would be about the women. He would know there were at least three. For all I knew his Indians might have been lurking about, observing us, but in any event he himself had been in our caves in the other valley. He had seen Keokotah's woman and the Ponca.

He was a shrewd, tough man, one not easily fooled.

Somebody was riding near the palisade. The rider drew up and in a quiet, conversational tone Gomez said, "I know you can hear me, Sackett, and I suggest you send the Indian girl out. If you do we will ride off and you'll be free to do as you wish.

"I might," he added, "intercede for you and try to get you a trading permit. All we want is one Indian girl." He paused and when I made no answer he said angrily, "Don't be a fool! What's one paltry Indian girl? There are dozens about, just for the taking! Surely you aren't fool enough todie for her?"

To have answered him, and I was not thinking of it, would have been to give away my position to the hidden Indian, wherever he was.

He waited. Then he shouted, "Don't be a fool! Waste more of my time and you'll pay for it! I'll have you staked to an anthill!"

He would not try another direct attack. He had been sure of an easy victory, not knowing of the presence of the Pawnees. Now he had lost men, losses he could not afford, and his situation was perilous. To return to Santa Fe empty-handed would be a crushing defeat. His temper and his impatience had cost him lives, but victory he must have. If he was defeated here his enemies would destroy him in Santa Fe.

Again, I wished myself outside with Keokotah where I could observe what was happening and be free to move. In the darkness I could see but shadowy stirrings, but nothing at all now, for I dared not move.

How was my concealed enemy armed? Bow and arrow? A spear? A knife? If only a knife I could chance it but if he had either a bow or a spear he could strike from the darkness, and at the short range could scarcely miss.

Gomez must have a camp now. He would have built fires and his men would wish to eat, if they had not. He must have carried supplies, and those supplies would be vulnerable. Without them he could not persist in the attack or the search for Itchakomi.

Would Keokotah think of that? Indians, who depended less upon supplies in time of war, were less inclined to think of an enemy as vulnerable in that respect. The Indian at war lived off the country as he traveled, rarely having more than enough for a day or two. The Indian thought in terms of battles. He fought a battle and he went home. There was no thought of a continuing series of battles, for the obvious reason that he had no way of supplying an army in the field.

He rarely fought for hatred or revenge. He fought for glory. He fought to take scalps and to win victories of which he could boast. In the east the tribes associated with the Seneca who were calling themselves the Iroquois were fighting wars of extermination. We had begun to hear rumors of that before I left Shooting Creek.

Yet Keokotah was beginning to think much as a white man would. He had sat too long at the knee of his Englishman, and I prayed now that he might think of their camp and their supplies.

Our women had food for but three days, scarcely more even if they ate lightly. They could endure hunger, and there were few Indians who did not know it each season before the snow began to melt, when their hoarded supplies had been eaten and hunting was difficult and gathering impossible.

My eyes grew heavy, yet I forced myself to stay awake. Somewhere an enemy waited, and to sleep was to die.

Outside more enemies waited. Always before, wherever I might be I had known there would be a Sackett looking for me. No Sackett ever needed to feel alone, for others of the family would always come. That lesson our father had taught well, until it was second nature. But there were no Sacketts here. There was only Keokotah and the Pawnees.

I shook my head, blinking my eyes. They had almost fallen shut.

This could not be. I must move. I must hunt him down, this warrior who awaited me.

Slowly, carefully, keeping to deepest shadow, I straightened to my feet. My game leg ached from the cramped position I had held for so long. Listening, I heard no sound. The shadows were deep. Carefully, I lifted a foot, took a step, and put it down ever so gently. With infinite care, listening after every step, I began to search the shadows.

Nothing ...

Again I moved, and suddenly, from outside and some distance away, a scream!

A long, protracted scream, a cry of sheer agony, the last cry of a dying man!

Who?

Keokotah? I did not believe it. Rather someone he had found. Keokotah could die, but if I knew him at all, he would die in silence.

Carefully I worked my way through the shadows, spear poised for use, my hand only inches from my knife. My grip on the spear was firm. I did not want it wrenched from my hands again.

Something? Something there in the darkness. I drew nearer, the spear poised for a thrust.

It was a man sitting against the building, something dark over his legs. Leaning closer I saw his head was over on one shoulder, his eyes were wide open, and he was dead.

Dead? He was the one I had sliced in the fight. He had run to open the gate and then retreated here, to die. The darkness across his legs was blood, for my blade had cut him clean across the stomach.

Angry with myself for being held immobile for so long by a dead man, I walked back across the yard to the gate. The bar was firmly in place.

From the high ports I could see their campfires, and from afar, smoke rising into the dawn from the Pawnee village. The Pawnees had drawn off and not attacked again. Why, I had no idea.

Komi and her companions would be waiting in the cave, wondering, not knowing. My fear was they would venture out and so reveal their hiding place, which was a good one, even if lacking the pleasures of home. And sorely did I miss her.

There was a stirring, a preparation in the camp of Gomez, nor could I make out what was taking place there except that they were readying themselves for something. An attack upon me?

Gomez himself was riding to the fort, but he was alone. Out of arrow range he drew up and called out, "Sackett? We are going after your friends, yonder! When we have destroyed them we will come back for you. Have the woman ready. If you surrender her now, you can go free."

Which of course was nonsense. He was a vengeful man and would kill me in an instant if he had me prisoner. Or he would do as promised and stake me on an anthill.

"You have lost men," I said calmly. "You will lose more if you attack the Pawnees. You will return to Santa Fe with your tail between your legs like a whipped dog."

"I will have her," Gomez said. "I will have the woman."

He turned his horse then rode off to join his soldiers, and I began to wonder why he had taken the trouble to inform me of his intentions. His men began to form up, and he put himself at the head of them. I wondered at the stupidity of the man. Fine soldier he might be, back in Spain, Flanders, or wherever the fighting had been, but you do not advertise your intentions when going out to fight Indians.

Several times he seemed to glance my way, and then I realized he was trying to lure me out of the fort to help my Indian friends, which could only mean that somebody waited nearby to move in the moment I moved out.

Carefully, my eyes searched the terrain, lingering on every clump of brush, every tree, ev--

There were two of them, two of his Spanish soldiers, and they were lying in wait not fifty yards from the gate. One held a musket in his hands and was obviously waiting for me.

In a land of Indians these men would not last long, for they were but poorly hidden.

I made ready my bow.

Chapter Thirty-five.

The morning was clear and beautiful. The sun was still hidden behind the eastern mountains, but the valley was lovely in the dawning light. A few smokes lifted their slim columns toward the sky, but aside from Gomez and his soldiers, nothing moved.

Far down the valley some low clouds lay, and a few white puffballs of cloud lingered against the blue sky, each catching a rosy radiance from the rising sun. The soldier who thought himself hidden in the brush was eager. He edged forward, musket ready to aim, waiting for me to emerge.

His eyes were upon the gate, yet when I straightened up above the roof parapet the movement caught his attention. His head turned and he saw me, bow bent, arrow drawn back.

For a stark, shocked moment he stared, and I loosed my arrow.

There is no good time in which to die, but he must have seen my figure outlined against the morning sky, with mountains and forest behind me. Who he was I did not know, nor whether he had been born in Spain or in Mexico. No doubt he was a good enough man in his own world, and it was a pity he had to come into mine, and not by his own choice, either.

His last glimpse of this world was of the sky at dawn and my dark figure above the parapet. Could he see the bow? Could he see the arrow in flight?

He came erect suddenly, clutching at the arrow's shaft, his musket falling among the rocks. He tugged, staring at me and perhaps hearing the quick scurry of his companion's feet as he fled. My second arrow missed the companion, and I saw the soldier I had shot fall over the rocks.

Then I went down the ladder and to the gate and opened it. The sun was higher, the valley bathed in light. There seemed to be a stir of movement down near the cave where Itchakomi waited. Shading my eyes, I looked and saw nothing.

Only imagination. Suddenly and from a distance I heard a wild chorus of yells and then musket shots and a scream from a wounded man. The Pawnees had been lying in wait and had attacked before the soldiers were halfway to their village. The sides must have been almost evenly matched as to numbers, but the surprise had been complete.

Coming to a higher bit of ground, I stopped. All was confusion, dust, occasional gunshots, and then silence. The dust fell, and men had died and left their bodies on the sun-blessed hills.

Some horsemen rode away, fleeing the fight. Others scattered on foot, pursued by Pawnees.

Gomez, if he lived, had failed again.

Walking on toward the fight I came upon a scalped Indian, one of those who had come with Gomez. Then I saw two Indians holding a prisoner. It was Diego.

"He is a good man," I told them. "Let me have him."

They merely stared at me.

"This one is a friend," I assured them, but they continued to stare, clutching his arms.

Asatiki, the old warrior, came toward us, and I explained. "This one is good," I said. "He is my friend."

"He fought hard against us."

"Aye, he is a fighter. He did what he was supposed to do, and no doubt did it well, yet he did not wish to come against you and told me so. It was the other one, the one of the gray horse. He was their leader."

"He got away."

"I am sorry for that. He is bad medicine. This one is not."

"He is their prisoner."

"Are you not their chief?"

"I led the war party. I am their chief. I cannot command, only suggest. Each is his own man. He comes and goes as he wishes. They followed me because they wished, not because I demanded it. He is their prisoner."

Again I turned to them. "Will you sell him to me?"

They did not reply, just waited, looking at me. When the attack on the fort had first taken place and the gate had been briefly open a horse had been ridden through, its rider killed. That horse still stood there on the stone-flagged court. "I will trade a horse for him."

It was a horse I dearly wanted. A horse could make a difference in many ways.

"Good horse?"

"One of the best." I had no idea. The horse had looked good at the one glance I had thrown his way. I had had other things on my mind at the time and no time to waste, but what horse trader plays down his stock?

"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.

Keokotah was waiting for me. He pointed toward the canyon where grapes grew. "They have gone that way. They go to the river, I think."

"Of course."

We walked steadily on but my heart was numb. Once, I glanced back. Paisano was following us. My brain had only one thought.

Itchakomi was gone! Itchakomi, my love ... gone!

Chapter Thirty-Six.

Keokotah had followed this trail to the Arkansas not long after we had begun building the fort, but I had never gone to its end.

We ran, for our enemy was time. If they had boats waiting at the river we might never overtake them, and Kapata, now that he had captured Itchakomi, would waste no minutes.

It had been a long, bitter day, but we ran smoothly and easily. A mile, another mile. We slowed our pace. It would soon be dark, and their tracks would no longer be visible. Now we had to pick our way among the rocks, weaving through trees. In the bottom of the canyon it would grow dark quickly.

Also, they might try an ambush, although I doubted that.

Kapata had taken them during the fighting, with the end of the fighting still in doubt. He would not know if I were alive or dead, and I doubted if he would think of anything but getting safely away.

At the same time, I knew he would welcome a meeting with me. Particularly as he would like to show Itchakomi he was the better man.

Here and there we stopped to listen, while trying to make no noise ourselves. The canyon rocks carried sounds. How long had they been on the trail? At most, two hours. Hence they must be at the river or nearing it now.

They would have no campfire to help us to find them. They would offer no such invitation to the Komantsi that might still be about. My feeling was that the Komantsi had gone on to the south to steal horses in Mexico, but other enemies might be about. It was a time of change, and many tribes were on the move, displaced by others to the east who had obtained firearms.

We ran no longer, but walked, pausing often to listen. The canyon was behind us and we were moving into an area of scattered clumps of trees and occasional ridges. The general trend of the ground was sloping toward the river.

Here we were beset by a problem, for we had no idea whether they had gone directly to the river or had angled off to the east or west.

We stopped at a small stream, drank, chewed on some dried buffalo meat and listened. We heard nothing. It was completely dark and despite the stars overhead we could see nothing beyond a few feet.

Somewhere, within a mile or so, our women were prisoners. Itchakomi would be taken back to Natchez and the villages on the great river, but there was no reason to believe they would keep either the Ponca woman or Keokotah's woman alive.

"We will go now," I said at last. "You go toward the river and mountains. I will go toward the river and the plains. If you find nothing, come here at daybreak. If I am not here I have found them, and you can come to me. And if I return and you are not here, I will know you have found them.

"If either of us finds them, he will do what he can."

We parted in the night. He went westward and north, and I turned toward the east and north, angling across the country, feeling my way at first, and then weaving through the trees. My route was a zigzag, to cover as much ground as possible.

How many warriors did he have with him now? It would be a good-sized party, a dozen at least. He might have lost men. It was doubtful if he had recruited any.

The trees were thick along the slope, and I edged between them, taking each step with care and testing the earth before resting my weight. A snapping branch could be the end of me.

It was a slow, painstaking search, and I was filled with impatience. What I would do if I found them I had no idea.

On cat feet I went down over the rocks and into the trees again. Not far away was the river, and it was likely they had gone where they knew there would be water. They might not have a fire, but they would wish to drink and they would eat and rest.

There was a musty smell of rotting vegetation, the smell of pines--after a time the nose becomes sensitive to the very slightest odor. I was going steeply down a slope now, using the trees to help, gripping first one and then another.

How dark was the forest! My eyes, accustomed to the darkness, identified the trees and the shadows. A heavy odor in the air, a dampness on a tree against which I rested my hand. My fingers felt around on the bark and snagged a long hair.

A wet bear had come this way, perhaps within the last thirty minutes, a very large bear that had probably just swum the river. That stopped me. I had no desire to come upon a full-grown grizzly bear in the night.

Abruptly I changed direction, starting once more toward the river. Suddenly I stopped. What it was I had no idea, but I stopped on one foot, hesitating to lower the other.

Something, some sound in the night! I waited. A sound? Or a smell?

Something rustled, moved, and then I heard a faint mutter as of a sleeper in the night. Waiting, listening--a smell of fresh-cut wood! Of pine boughs for ... a bed? A bed for Itchakomi?

There were some Natchee Indians with Kapata. They would prepare the bower in which Itchakomi would sleep. They had done so, and she was near, very near.

With infinite care I drew back my foot and put it down, testing the earth as it came to rest. Slowly, carefully, I backed away. When a dozen yards away, I stopped and crouched at the base of a tree to think.

Their camp was here. They would move at dawn. Had I stepped into their camp I might have been overpowered by a half dozen braves.

At daybreak they would move. At daybreak Keokotah would come to join me, so I must stop them. I must not permit them to move.

Before daybreak I would attack. Or ... the thought came suddenly, should I challenge Kapata?

Should I challenge his courage? His leadership? Demand he fight me for Itchakomi?

If I appeared and challenged him, would he accept the challenge? Or would they all attack me at once? He was several inches taller than me, and he was heavier.

Dawn was hours away. I would rest, and when the day came, make my decision then. On a bed of moss near several trees, I lay down and slept, tuning my mind to awaken before the first hint of light in the sky, and when I slept the great beast came again, the red-eyed monster with the elephant's trunk and the long hair. It loomed through the trees and came at me. It had great tusks that curved out before it and one was red with blood. It charged, but I stood my ground. Why did I not flee? Why did I stand there, spear in hand, as it rushed upon me?

My eyes wide open in the dark I stared up at the canopy of leaves above, and then I sat up, wiping sweat from my face. Was it a warning? If so, a warning of what? Was it a pre-vision of something to come? Of my death, perhaps?

At least it was a monster that would kill me, not Kapata.

Where was Keokotah? Had something happened to him? Or was he even now lying somewhere near and waiting for the dawn, as I was?

Standing up, I moved my arms about and my shoulders, loosening the muscles. I checked my weapons. The sky was faintly gray, and easing myself down through the trees again, I could make out their camp.

The fire, Indians lying about, and among the trees, Itchakomi's bower, and wonder of wonders, three Indians lying guard before it!

The Natchee! Had they proved loyal, after all? Or would they protect her only up to a point? Kapata was half a Natchee, and a warrior respected among them. Yet, obviously, the Natchee had moved to protect her as a Sun.

Taking up my bow and spear I walked down from the trees into their camp, and it was a Natchee who saw me first. He came to his feet suddenly, facing me.

"She is my woman," I said.

"She has said this. She bears your child."

Startled, I stared at him. Was this true? Or was it a trick she had used that might protect her?

A child? Well, why not? Now there was more than ever a reason to fight.

All about me the others were rising. My eyes swept the camp. Kapata was sitting on the grass where he had slept, his eyes alive with hatred.

"I have come," I said, "to fighthim ." I glanced around again. "None of you.Him! He wanted my woman. Very well, let him fight for her."

They sat still, staring at me. The Tensa were fierce warriors and they wished to kill me, but I had challenged Kapata, so the fight was his.

Keokotah stood up in the trees away from the camp, overlooking all of it. "Let them fight," he said.

Itchakomi came from her bower and stood tall, looking across the fire at me. Crossing to her I took the twin guns from my waist and placed them on the ground at her feet.

"The voice that kills at a distance I shall leave with Itchakomi," I said. Turning on Kapata I drew my knife. "Come!" I invited. "We will see if a Karankawa can bleed!"

He came off the ground like a large cat, his knife drawn, and he walked across the intervening grass to meet me. His contempt was obvious. "You fool!" he said. "I kill!"

His reach was much greater than mine, but my father had taught us all something of English boxing, so when he made a sweeping cut from right to left I used a boxer's sidestep to my left. The wicked slash of his knife cut only the air where I had been, and my backward cut scratched the skin above his hip bone and drew blood.

Furious, he wheeled and came at me. The man was fast, faster than I would have believed, but I parried his blade with mine and we circled, warily. He thrust suddenly, right at my face, coming in with a long stride, and my head shifted only just in time. I had moved to the right, which put my knife blade too far from him, so I struck him in the stomach with my left fist.

It was totally unexpected. I doubt he had ever been struck with a fist before this, and it stopped him in his tracks. He gasped, for I had hit him in the wind, and before he could adjust I swung back with my blade. In stepping back, he fell and lay on the ground almost at my feet. I could have and should have killed him then but was averse to striking a man when he was down. So I stepped back, waving for him to come on.

He leapt to his feet and came at me and we circled and fought. Minutes passed, our blades clashed, there were lunges and parries. My boxing skills, little though they were, proved sufficient to counteract his greater reach. My refusal to accept the easy victory he had taken as a sign of contempt for him, and now he fought with unbelievable ferocity. A half dozen times I was nicked by his blade, and once I left a thin red line along his left arm.

The footing beneath us was uneven and scattered with broken branches, bits of bark, and small stones. Suddenly a stone rolled under my foot and I fell on my back and he came at me.

Thrusting up with my leg I caught him as he rushed upon me, my toe taking him in the pit of the stomach. I shoved up and back and threw him over my head to the ground beyond.

We came up as one and I thrust quickly, missed and fell on my face. Instantly, he was upon me, astride my back, and I knew his knife was lifting for the final stabbing blow. Swinging my arm up and back I drove my knife into his side between the ribs. His knife came down but I jerked hard to one side and the blade went into the earth alongside my neck.

Off balance, he was unable to properly resist my tremendous heave to get him off me and he fell free. Our knives clashed, but mine slipped by his and sank deep. He struggled to rise, throwing me back. Stabbed twice and deep, he came at me like a wildman, cutting and slashing.

Driven back, I slipped and fell, and he sprawled over me. Instantly I was up, and he came up also, but slower. He poised, eyes alive with hatred and fury, his blade steady.

"Now," he said, "I kill!"

He did not even seem aware that he was wounded, but rushed at me. Sidestepping away, I watched him. He was bleeding badly but was as intent on killing me as ever. He lunged at me, but I was prepared and sidestepped. But this time he was also prepared and moved aside with me. My knife was held low and I brought it up hard.

It went in to the hilt and for an instant we were eyeball to eyeball.

"You could have stayed in Natchez," I said in a conversational tone. I withdrew my knife, pushing him away. He fell to his knees, struggled to rise, and then just rolled over on the ground and lay still.

Kapata was dead.

Slowly, I turned about. Their eyes were on me. "Itchakomi is my woman," I said. "I have come for her."

A Tensa spoke, but I did not know his words. Keokotah explained. "He says she is your woman. They will go home now."

We watched them as they gathered their few belongings. I glanced at the three Natchee Indians, who stood uncertainly, unsure of their course.

"Komi? Are they good men?"

"I reminded them that I was a Daughter of the Sun. They guarded me. They knew their duty."

"If you wish they can remain with us. The choice is yours and theirs."

It had been obvious to me that they hesitated to return to Natchez. They had left with Kapata, who was considered a renegade by their people, but they were young and he had been persuasive. At the end they had proved their loyalty to Itchakomi.

She spoke to them and they listened, and then assented eagerly. They would stay with us, and I was not displeased. The addition of three strong warriors and hunters could only make us more secure.

"Now we shall go home, Itchakomi Ishaia. When again we come to our place I shall do what I have promised. You shall have your sacred fire. Never again will you be without it.

"Did not your Ni'kwana recognize me as a master of mysteries? Are you not a Child of the Sun? You shall have your sacred fire."

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

We walked again along the canyon trail, but now we walked in daylight, walked where no shadows were but those beneath the trees, walked among the blooming columbine, the cinquefoil, and the fireweed. We walked in quietness, for there was no need to speak.

Once, when we stopped to rest beside a spring, Itchakomi said to me, "You can do this? Bring fire from the Sun?"

"I can."

She was silent for a long time, stirring the water with a small twig, idly, thoughtfully. "I have missed the Fire." She looked up at me, her eyes large and beautiful. "I am happy with you, but I grew up tending the Fire. It is a part of me, a part of my life."

"I know."

"Have you known many Indian women?"

"Only a few. There was one. I saw her but once. She lived close to Jamestown and was friendly with the people there. Her name was Matoaka, but she was called Pocahontas. Pocahontas was what her father called her. In their language it means playful. She spoke our language quite well, I think."

"No others?"

"No Indians lived close to us. They came to trade and sometimes we went among them for the same reason, or to hunt with them."

"You do not take scalps. We heard that long before we met any of you, but we did not believe it. If one of our men falls in battle we take his scalp rather than let an enemy have it."

"Our child will be a Sun?"

"He will. If it is a boy, only during his lifetime; if a girl, for always. With us rank descends through the woman. Is it not so with your people?"

"Rank descends through the man."

"Hah! You must trust your women very much."

"Some of us do."

We walked on, and before us our valley opened and we looked upon the fort, our cornfield lying in the sun, and the wide meadows beyond where the long grass rippled in the slight breeze.

For a moment I stopped, considering. I must plant more corn, and melons as well. It was a rich valley, and here a man could build for the future. It was a wide land, a new land, and I was among the first to see it. Others would come. Oh, I had no doubt of that, for mine were a restless people, ever moving, ever seeking, ever reaching out.

They would come, and when they arrived I would be waiting for them. Some would have goods to trade, all would be needing food, advice, and knowledge of the country.

Now I had a child to consider, as well as a home for Itchakomi. But first, her sacred fire. We all are children of the sun. We had been given the sun to bring warmth and life to an otherwise dead world.

First, I needed to choose a place sufficiently impressive, and the rawboned mountain beyond our fort was such a place. I would clear a place of stones and debris, and then gather the fuel for a fire. And I would choose a day of bright sun, but first there was much else to do.

The Pawnees were gone. When time permitted I walked over their campsite and cleaned up what debris was left, little as it was.

Atop the mountain I cleared a spot of broken rock and debris, and then carefully constructed a cairn, or altar, using rocks that lay about, fitting them together with infinite care. The altar was four feet high and three feet to a side, with a large flat stone as the centerpiece. From trees not far away I gathered several old, long-deserted birds' nests, and about them I laid a network of twigs and small branches and then larger, heavier pieces. At the outer edge of the pile I placed a part of a bird's nest, several thin pieces of pitch pine, and shreds of bark. Unfortunately the wood of the white walnut could not be had, so I had chosen cedar instead.

Cedar was used in purification ceremonies in several tribes, and I believed it would be acceptable. We who are latecomers are forever curious as to the why of rituals, but the Indian asks no such questions. Having no written history or account of their rites, they have often forgotten the reason for certain rites, but the reason is not considered important. The ritual itself is enough. Many such ceremonies have continued for hundreds if not thousands of years. If Itchakomi would be happier with a sacred fire, she would have one, and her fire would be truly a gift of the sun.

With a wooden hoe carved by my own hands, I cultivated the corn. Often in the evenings I worked to create furniture for our house, and there was always much to do.

When the evenings were cool we walked out under the trees to look across at the Sangre de Cristos, bathed in the blood red of the setting sun, a red that lingered long after our valley was deep in shadow.

"What will your mother and sister be doing now?"

"Their home is in London now, I believe. They will be at home, or dressing to go out for the evening. I know so little of the life there.

"Brian will be with them, I expect. He will be quite the Englishman now, I believe. I wonder if he will have gone to visit the fens which were my father's home. The fens," I added, "are a vast lowland, some of it under water, but drained by many channels and openings. There is wild game there, many eels, geese, ducks, and pigeons, as well as deer.

"My mother returned to England with several valuable gems found in Carolina. She inherited property from her father, also, I believe. They will be well off."

"Is it important to be well off?"

"It helps. Life is very hard for the poor, and for a young woman to marry well it is important that she have independent means. I believe young men think more of improving their position than of love."

"Your sister will marry there?"

"I expect, but about Noelle, one does not know. She is a girl of independent mind. She will go her own way, like the rest of us."

Deer had come from the woods and were grazing on the meadow before us. From where we stood I could see at least a dozen and several elk, bunched near some rocks some distance away.

Paisano came up from where he was feeding and stood near us, and I scratched his ear. He was huge now, a great shaggy bull that was like a puppy around us. Buffalo were considered stupid animals, but I did not find him so. I had, with some effort, convinced him to stay out of my cornfield, which I had fenced off with poles. Fences, I had learned, mean nothing to buffalo, who usually go where they wish, but Paisano had learned that the cornfield was off limits for him, and as there was no shortage of grass, he left the cornfield alone.

Winter was coming, however, and I resolved to cut some hay, enough to feed Paisano occasionally and to keep him reminded of where his home was.

There were tools we needed, but I dared not approach Santa Fe, where I would be considered an interloper and would be imprisoned and then sent down into Mexico for a trial, if I got one. Diego had implied he was interested in trade, but we had little to offer. We had some buffalo hides, as well as a few skins trapped the previous winter. This year I resolved to make a more thorough job of trapping.

Hand in hand, Komi walked with me to the fort. Keokotah was there, seated by the fire. The others were sleeping or busy with some of the many activities of our day-to-day lives.

For days now I had been watching the weather, and the days of mixed clouds and occasional rain seemed to be dwindling away for the time. When the sun was bright and the day hot I would bring the fire down for Itchakomi. Now there was something else of which I must know.

"Keokotah, long ago you spoke of the animal the Poncas call Pasnuta?"

He remembered only too well my doubts, and his features stiffened, his eyes blazing a challenge.

"I was wrong to doubt you. We who have not traveled this country as have you think such animals only appear in other, faraway places. I would have you speak of this animal."

He knew nothing of my dreams or nightmares. These dreams were not like the occasional flashes of the future that had sometimes come to me, but I was disturbed by them. Was this a foresight of my hour of death? Was I to die impaled on a tusk or trampled under the feet of such a monster?

Keokotah did not answer but turned to the Ponca woman. "Tell him of pasnuta," he said.

She came over to us and sat cross-legged on the floor. "Pasnuta beeg! Ver' beeg! We kill pasnuta. Much meat at one time."

"They surround the beast," Keokotah said. "Drive him into a swamp or over a cliff or several will challenge him, seeming to attack, and while he looks at them others come from behind with spears."

"Where do you find them?"

The Ponca woman shrugged. "Wherever. Out on long grass. In mountains. Who knows where? We find, we kill. Much meat."

Her eyes lit with memory and remembered excitement. "Long winter, much, much cold! There is hunger in the lodges! Many long hunt, nothing! Spring no come! One day Running Bear, he find track. Beeg, beeg track! He say come, and many warrior go. They follow track. Push pasnuta in deep snow. They follow, follow, follow. Pasnuta get in deep snow, no can move good. Warrior surround.

"Pasnuta charge! He keel one. He throw one far, but that one fall in snow, not much hurt. They stick pasnuta with spear! Many spear! Much meat! No more hunger in the lodges."

"Do you see them often?"

"No many! One time many! Old man say so. In my life we keel three, maybe four."

All the descriptions tallied. They were hairy elephants, huge creatures, some with tusks, some without. Once there had been many, now they found them but rarely. They were fierce, but not hard to kill when there were a dozen or more warriors.

Yance, when wandering, had come upon some huge bones near a salt lick. The flesh had long been gone, but the skeleton of the beast had been intact. Yance had brought back, with the help of some Indians, two large tusks that we had sold to a trader who came into the sound with his ship.

It seemed preposterous, but who could say what did or did not exist? And I had learned to trust Indian stories. Yet what did this mean to me? Why was I dreaming of the red-eyed monster? And why when faced with such a terror did I not try to escape?

So passed the days. We hunted and then smoked and dried what we did not eat. We gathered from the forest, from the mountain slopes and the meadows. We ate what was needed and saved the rest. We gathered fuel for the winter to come, and watched for enemies who did not come.

Yet there were signs that Indians came often to this valley. From the old trails we found, these Indians came from the west. They were not the dreaded Komantsi.

One day when returning from a hunt I climbed on Paisano's back. He stood for a moment, but when I urged him on he walked off, unconcerned, carrying my weight easily. He had been handled much, had carried packs, and had been hand fed, so he had no fear of me. And he liked to be fussed over and scratched.

So I rigged a crude saddle that conformed with his body and devised a bridle that enabled me to guide him. An evening came when the sun set in all its red glory, painting the peaks with fantastic hues. From a ridge near our fort I watched the sunset and rode Paisano down to the fort.

Our Indians had not seen me astride him, for always I had mounted Paisano when well away from camp, and now they stood back and watched, awestruck. This was big medicine, and I knew it.

Komi came outside when she heard the excitement and watched me ride in. The time was right, for tomorrow would be a clear, bright day.

"Tomorrow, Itchakomi Ishaia, tomorrow I shall bring down fire from the sun."

When morning came the sun was bright and I went early to the river and bathed. When I returned to the fort I built a fire of cedar chips and using an eagle's wing, wafted the smoke over me. It was a cleansing rite used by Indians I had known, and I knew Itchakomi would know it for what it was.

Her religion meant much to her, and although our beliefs were not the same their roots were similar, and I would pay respect to what she believed.

When the time came to climb the mountain to the altar I had built she came forward with a crown of feathers to place on my head. The feathers were only on the forepart of the crown.

So in the hour before high noon I led the way, followed by Itchakomi, the Natchee, Keokotah, and the women to my altar, where I had laid the makings of my fire.

For a long moment I stood before the altar. Then I lifted my arms to the sun and stood for an instant, and then lowered them. In my hand I held the burning glass taken from the pocket in my belt. I brought the glass into focus and slowly moved it down until a pinpoint of intense light was on the gathered leaves.

An instant of the intense light, and then the leaves began to smoke. There was a low murmur of astonishment from behind me. The smoke lifted, and a black spot appeared on a dried leaf and began to widen. A small flame took hold and I nudged some dried moss close to the flame. It caught. The moss smoked, and then broke into flame. I slipped the burning glass back into its pocket in my belt and pushed the tinder closer.

The flame leapt up, the fire crackled, sticks caught fire. I stepped back and turned to Itchakomi. "The Sun," I said, "has given us fire."

Chapter Thirty-Eight.

We gathered our corn in the morning, breaking the thick ears from the stalks and carrying them in handwoven baskets to the fort. The ground was rich and there had been rain enough, and always there was sun. The best of the ears I put aside for spring planting, except for a couple that I hand fed to Paisano.

Along the mountainsides we gathered seeds, hunted, and watched the skies with wary eyes for the change we knew was coming. Our sacred fire had been moved from the high mountain to a cave, where it was sheltered from wind and rain. There we stored wood to keep the fire burning, stored it dry against the time of snow.

My pistols were loaded and there was powder enough taken from our enemies to load at least twice more. Working with the silver-lead ores from nearby I molded several hundred balls and stored them against the future.

Still I had found no sulphur, yet I had been told by Sakim that it occurred where there had been volcanic action, and many of the signs were near. A wandering Indian told us of a place far to the north and west, but there was no time for such a trek before snow fell.

Now darkness came before we were ready, and leaves began to fall from some trees, and fewer flowers were in bloom, only the lavender fleabane with the gold centers, fringed gentians, rabbit bush, and sulphur flower. The time of cold was coming, but the time of storytelling, too, when we would spend much time by the fire, remembering old tales from times gone by, and listening to stories the Indians told to their children. Soon Komi would be telling those stories to our child. It was a strange thought and a worrisome one. What did I know of being a father?

Of all things here I missed books the most. How I longed for something to read! The mind has no limits but those we choose to give it. The mind reaches out hungrily for learning, and mine now was finding too little upon which to feed. Each night I stirred Itchakomi to remembering, asking question after question to understand better her people, her religion, and her ideas, and I shared mine with her.

And then came an evening when the wind blew down from the Sangre de Cristos and our fire sputtered on the hearth. Venison broiled over the fire, and when Keokotah came in he walked at once to the meat and with his knife cut a thick slice. When he had eaten he said, "Now we fight!"

"What?"

"They come. All afternoon I have run to speak the message. Two come, but they come not together."

"Two men?"

"No two men. Two parties, one to make trade, one to make war."

The others gathered around. The Ponca woman put down her weaving.

"Diego comes. He has twenty pack mules. With him are six soldiers, two Indians. He comes to trade."

"You know it is Diego?"

"I speak him. The other is Gomez. He comes with soldiers and with bad Indians. He comes for war."

"How many?"

"Twenty men. He has four soldiers and many bad Indians. I think he wishes to catch Diego." Keokotah paused to chew his meat. "I speak Diego. Now he knows of Gomez. He comes this way fast."

There was silence in the room. We had enjoyed our weeks of peace, but we had known this time would come. Yet we were so few to defend against so many.

Would Diego fight beside us? I doubted it. He had come to trade, and to fight against his own people could be none of his planning, despite the fact he did not agree with them and disliked Gomez.

Diego had implied he was interested in trade, and he knew it would be good for the Spanish to have an outpost where they might resupply themselves when on forays against the Komantsi. With so many pack animals he would be bringing trade goods, but what did Gomez have in mind?

Itchakomi of course, but what else? Revenge, also, but that would not be enough. Gold? We had little gold, and of that he could know nothing. But gold was the overriding motive for all the Spanish exploration. He might assume that we had found gold.

Why else would we be staying here?

He would know the Pawnees were gone. He will believe we are alone. He will not know of our friends the Natchee who have joined us.

Yet we were few, and how were we to defend ourselves? I had but little ammunition, and the guns would no longer be a surprise.

"There are the Utes," Itchakomi said.

It was a good thought, yet danger might lie with the Utes, an even graver danger than with Gomez, for this was considered Ute land and we had moved upon it. There were indications that they came to this valley and camped here, although so far we had seen none of them.

From the beginning I had hoped to make them allies, for we had heard they were traditional enemies of the Komantsi, but I had no idea where they were nor how to find them, and they might attack without warning.

The fire crackled, and outside a wind blew cold. We did not look at one another, each huddled with his own doubts, her own fears. Our enemies were many, and we were few.

The walls of our fort were strong, but Gomez would have planned for them. He was a shrewd, dangerous fighting man, irked by his previous defeat and undoubtedly determined it should not happen again.

We could escape now. We could fly to the mountains and hide, but that would mean the destruction of our fort and our food supply. It would result in our starving in the snow, and Itchakomi was pregnant.

We could expect no help from anyone. Whatever was done must be done by us. Yet what could we do? The few defenses used on the previous attack would be known to Gomez. There would be no attacks by horse-riding men this time. They would attempt to capture the fort and us, but failing in that they would use fire.

Fire ... ?

"I will fight outside," Keokotah said. "I no good behind wall."

"As you will, but first come with me to meet Diego."

Turning to Itchakomi, I said, "Itchakomi, you will be in command within the fort. Do you keep your Natchees to defend it with you. You they know, and you they will protect."

"And you?"

"I shall go out, but I shall return." It was in my mind to do them damage before they reached us. Yet how? What could I do?

My hand reached for Komi's and we clasped hands in the shadows, watching the fire. I was not a man who spoke much of love, although I knew such speaking was treasured by women, but it was much in my heart and I thought of her always. Now, at this moment, I feared for her, and I feared what lay before us.

What to do? They depended upon me, trusted in me. Not only was I their master of mysteries, but I was their war chief.

Now, at the beginning of our second winter, we were snug and warm. We had much dried meat and many seeds, and we had corn. We had cut wood and piled it close at hand. We were prepared for winter, for storytelling time, and now our enemies had come and my people looked to me to save them, to keep them secure.

Always, I had planned to roam, to be free, to move as I wished, when I wished, but when one has a wife and children that is no longer possible, and when one has possessions he is as often possessed by them as possessing them.

Here it was warm and quiet, here was peace and comfort, here were my few friends.

But what could Ido?

First, to meet them outside. To hold them up in their march, to nibble away at their confidence, to lessen their numbers.

We had a good supply of arrows. We had extra spears. We knew the line of effective range for our bows. We had cut back trees and brush so any attacker must step into the open before he was within effective range of our walls. By night we had no such protection.

We had the small caltrops we had used before, and something else besides. During the summer, with something of this in mind, we had collected and dragged back to the fort many spined leaves of prickly pear and hedgehog or strawberry cactus. Knocking them loose and picking them up with forked sticks, we had piled many upon a skin and then dragged them back to the fort. Now, working in darkness and with forked sticks, we scattered them in the grass around the fort. The caltrops might stop a charge by horsemen, but these would stop men on foot wearing moccasins, which many of the Spanish soldiers now wore.

It was little enough. We had no protection against fire arrows, and they would certainly be used.

"We must rest now," I said at last. "Tomorrow Keokotah and I will go out to meet Diego. Then we shall see."

Now would my pistols be useful. There was ammunition enough to reload at least twice, and each pistol was good for twelve shots. It might be enough.

Yet even I, who am a good shot, will miss as often as I hit when shooting at moving, attacking enemies, some wearing partial armor. If I scored with even one-third of my shots I should be fortunate, fortunate indeed.

We slept, and on this night there was no red-eyed monster, and I slept soundly and well, but in the last gray light I slipped from under the robes and dressed quickly.

Bathing my hands and face, I gathered my weapons and started for the door. Komi was there, and for a moment we stood, holding hands and looking at each other. Then I took her in my arms. "Do not fear. I shall come back."

"I do not fear, and when you come, I shall be waiting."

Paisano was waiting. I put my crude saddle in place, mounted, and rode out the gate, which Itchakomi closed after me.

Trusting to Paisano's keen senses, I started south, knowing the country but letting him pick his way. Riding, I kept alert for the smell of smoke from the campfire of Diego.

Dawn was sending its first crimson arrows into the sky before I caught the smell of smoke. Then crossing a low hill I saw the glow of fire. Drawing up, I studied the small camp.

Men were up and moving about, loading packs on animals. They were less than four miles south of our fort. I recognized the tall, lean figure of Diego and rode closer, calling him by name.

"Is it you, then?" He walked toward me and then stopped abruptly. "What--!"

"It is all right," I said. "I ride a bull."

Swinging down I walked forward, the great beast following me. Paisano had grown into a huge, powerful bull, more than six feet at the hump and weighing well over two thousand pounds, perhaps closer to three thousand.

Diego swore and then spat. "What next will you do? What next?"

"I'll buy what you have to sell, if that is what you've come for. Unless you want a fight you'd better leave before Gomez comes. He's not far behind you."

"The Kickapoo told me. If he wants a fight he can have one." He paused, looking into my eyes. "I cannot join you, but if he attacks me, and you should attack him at the same time ..."

"It could happen," I said, "but first the goods."

Gomez was nowhere in sight when we reached the fort. We drove the pack mules through the gate, but I permitted only Diego and one man inside.

With two of the Natchee watching from the high ports, Diego displayed his goods. Four axes, four shovels, a crosscut saw, several bushels of colored beads, two dozen hatchets, and various other tools and equipment, including an adz. There were also three mule-loads of brightly colored cloth.

"Tools for your own use," Diego said, "and trade goods."

In my belt I had two dozen gold coins of Spanish origin, but I wished not to use them. My father had given them to me before we had parted at Shooting Creek, and I would hold them against some greater emergency than this. Yet there were hides we had, buffalo robes, and a few ingots of silver, melted down from the purest silver I could find while making balls for my pistols.

We bargained, but not too sharply on my part, for I wished him to do well. If he did well he would come again, and without him I had no source of supply.

At the end I threw in another ingot of silver, weighing almost a pound. "Come again, Diego, in the spring. We will make good trade, you and I."

A voice called down from above, and Itchakomi said, "They come!"

When the soldier had driven the mules outside, Diego turned quickly to me. "A gift," he said, placing a packet in my hand, "and if they find out I gave you this it is a hanging matter."

In that instant he turned and ducked through the gates and was gone. Outside I heard a clatter of feet as they drove the mules away.

The gate swung shut and I took the package and went inside.

Keokotah was outside, away in the hills that he loved, and he would fight from there as he wished.

Placing the packet on the table, I looked to my guns, and then I climbed to the high ports to look down the valley.

Diego was nowhere in sight, so they must have fled up the canyon behind us. Gomez was outside. From the trees he called out. "Surrender now and we will let you go free! Lay down your weapons and come out!"

Long ago my father had said, "Never give up your weapons. I know of no case where weapons were surrendered that was not followed by a massacre."

The packet on the table drew my attention. Opening it I looked down ... gunpowder! Several pounds of it.

"Thanks, Diego," I said. "Gracias!"

Chapter Thirty-Nine.

To Gomez I made no reply. Of one thing I was sure--no matter what other outcome this attack might have, one of us, Gomez or I, would die before it was ended. I wished only peace, and I felt sure that left to our own devices I could arrange a peace with the Utes. Only Gomez stood between us and the life I wished us to lead.

He shouted again, demanding our surrender. The skies were gray now, although heavy with clouds over the western mountains. The trees stood out, stark and black against the gray. The shadows of men, or rather their dark forms that seemed like shadows, moved at the edge of the woods and on the meadows below, reminding me of those other shadows, the dancing shadows in the cave.

Unbidden there came to mind the voice that had seemed to speak from where the skin-wrapped bodies lay. An eerie feeling as of some effort at communication had come to me, and standing alone in the silence I had asked if there was anything I could do.

A foolish thing, to speak into an empty cave where lay only the mummified bodies of the long dead, but as I had turned away I had heard, or had seemed to hear, a voice saying, "Find them!"

Find who? Where? Why?

Waiting in the darkness of the fort, the air soft with impending rain, I remembered, and was sad.

What had the dead left undone? Had they spoken? Or had the voice only been in my brain? Had there been some communication, some desperate wish, some great desire that lived beyond death?

I, who might die this day, thought of that. What desire could be so driving, so compelling that it lived beyond death?

For me there could be but one. The safety of Komi and my child to be. Nothing mattered beyond that.

Was it so with them? Was this the wish of the nameless dead? But too many years, perhaps too many centuries, had passed. Their children and their grandchildren would have died long since, and yes, their great-great-grandchildren, for the bodies, I believed, had been hundreds of years old.

"Find them!"

Find who? Find what? Where?

Suddenly Komi was beside me, in her hand a cup of the coffee that had come with Diego's trade goods.

"Komi? What do you know of the Ni'kwana? Who is he?"

"He is the Ni'kwana, the master of mysteries. What else?"

I shook my head. "I do not know, only--somehow he did not seem like an Indian. There was something about him, something different."

"Ah!" She was silent, turning her own cup in her fingers. "I have heard--I do not know, but I have heard--he was not one of us. I have heard there was a people, a very few, who came to live with us long ago. He was the last of them."

"You know nothing more?"

She shrugged. "They came from the river, long, long ago. I do not know whether they came from up or down the river, but they were priests, they were teachers. I do not know where they came from or when this was, only that they carne among us and taught many things. Our Ni'kwanas always came from that group. I do not know why that was, either."

She paused. "My grandmother was one of them. She was related, somehow, to the Ni'kwana."

Outside there was movement. I peered through a porthole in the palisade, but saw nothing.

"The Ni'kwana wished something more for you, I think. Why were you chosen to come west?"

She shrugged. "I was a Sun. It was I who could decide whether to go or stay. Only the Great Sun was above me, and he was unwell. It was my duty to come."

"And the direction you chose?"

"The Ni'kwana directed me. He told me he knew of a place far to the west where we would be safe. He wished me to go and see."

"It was where the river comes from the mountain?"

"No, it was beyond. It ... it might be here, but I--"

My mind was busy, searching, examining, prying. There was something strange here, something eerie, something frightening.

The Ni'kwana was old. He was the last of his kind except for Itchakomi Ishaia, who was at least part of his blood. Did he wish to save her from something? Did he wish, and this thought came unexpectedly, her tofind something, someplace?

Was her trip west directed back into the past of his people? Was he trying to protect her from something he knew was inevitable? To bring her back to their beginnings?

I spoke of this, speaking softly. "You must try to remember, Komi. He was your teacher, but what did he teach? Was there something only for you? Some story? Some idea?"

"Find them!"

Was there a connection between the mummified bodies in the cave and the Ni'kwana? It was absurd. Yet--I shook myself. My mind was too busy. Too much imagination. I must forget all this and tend to the business at hand. My first consideration was survival. There would be time, I hoped, after that.

Find them--find what? People? Things? Places?

Had something been lost? People left behind? Were there some lessons to be learned, and left somewhere?

The Ni'kwana had said he expected an older man. My father, perhaps? But then he knew my father was dead. But he could not have known that when he left Natchez and his people. It could not have happened by that time. My father had died later. The Ni'kwana had come expecting an older man, but when he saw me--

How much of what followed had been accident and how much direction? Had he, somehow,wished me to find the mummies? But that was ridiculous.

What remained was that I was here, in this far place, and I had married Itchakomi. An Indian marriage, but in its form not unlike the common law marriages that were legal in England, or had been. It was little enough I knew of such things, but there had been talk at home around the table of an evening or beside the fireplace, talk of weddings, customs, all that sort of thing. I should have listened more carefully.

But what child in his later years does not wish he had listened when his parents talked among themselves, about themselves, their families, the way they had lived? So often we do not realize how much we could have learned until it is too late and there is no going back.

It was growing light. Again the call for surrender. Impatiently, I replied, "Gomez!" If you are so eager for surrender, why don't you come and fight me? You and I alone."

There was silence and then his voice cool, mocking. "As the challenged party, I choose the weapons. That is the way in civilized countries."

"Why not? Belly to belly with pistols? Knives? Whatever you wish. Let us settle this, man to man."

"Of course!" His tone was genial, yet mocking still. "I choose the weapons."

"Choose them, then. If I win, your men leave now, at once."

Gomez laughed. "And if I win? I take all!"

"And I will be the judge!"The voice was that of Diego. "Four muskets will cover your people, Gomez. If there is any attempt, during the fight, to take advantage, they will kill!"

Gomez walked down from the trees. There was a fine swagger to the man. He stood there in his coat of mail, hands on his hips, smiling.

"Pistols, then?" I suggested.

He laughed. "Not pistols, my fine friend! You shoot too well! No, we shall have swords! It will be a proper duel!"

Diego started to protest, but Gomez waved a dismissing hand. "You I shall take care of later, Diego. Sackett offered me the choice of weapons. He challenged me! So now we shall see how our buckskin savage does with a gentleman's weapon!"

"Cover me," I whispered, and stepped through the gate, which closed behind me.

"What would you know of a gentleman's weapons?" I asked Gomez. "You are no gentleman. You are a coward, a betrayer, a slave dealer, and a pimp, who deals in women for other men."

He started to speak and almost choked on his fury. Then he calmed down. "We shall see! Swords, my friend! Let us see how you do!"

Diego's protest was brushed aside. Yet he called out to me. "Sackett! Think what you do! The sword ishis weapon!"

Perhaps it was, but there had been those hours and hours of fencing back at Shooting Creek when my father, Jeremy, and Sakim had all instructed me in the art. It had been nearly two years ... still, I had been rather good, the best of them, in fact, except for my father.

Diego came down from the trees. "You may use my blade," he said. Then leaning closer he said, "Think what you do! The man is a superb swordsman! He will make a fool of you and then kill you!"

I gripped the hilt of the saber. "A fine blade, Diego. I thank you for this. I shall try not to disgrace it for you."

"Save yourself, Sackett. Run! I'll not hold it against you! Get out before he murders you!"

"Murder? It is not easily done, amigo."

"Are you ready, then?" Gomez called. "I want to kill you, and then I shall have the wench. She'll make good trade back in Santa Fe!"

Sword in hand, I walked toward him. He would be good, probably very good, and I had never fought for blood with a sword. Fenced, yes. Hour upon hour, with some of the best, but this was different. This man intended to kill me or maim me.

Contemptuous of me, he would try to make a fool of me first. He would play with me as a cat with a mouse.

The earth outside of the gate was smoothly packed. Only in the grass lurked the caltrops and the prickly pear. There was room enough, a space at least forty feet wide and half again that long of smoothly packed clay.

We moved out on the clay and I endeavored to appear awkward and unsure of myself. Yet at this moment I suddenly remembered my leg. Would it make a difference? I did not believe so. It was too late now to think of that. What I must do was to discover Gomez' rhythm, the cadence of his movements. In fencing as in boxing timing and judgment of distance were all important, and the way an opponent moves and his reach must be quickly learned. My chance of victory would be greater if I moved at once, before he discovered I knew something of the art of the saber. Now he thought me what he had said, a buckskin-clad savage, to whom the use of the sword was completely foreign.

We circled, and I held my weapon awkwardly. Stepping in, I watched his step back and timed his movements. He was smiling now, a taunting smile. "I shall have her for myself," Gomez said, "before I use her in trade."

He was trying to anger me, to draw me in, so I did as he wished and made as if to attack, and then retreated as he attacked. His movements were wide, flamboyant and careless. My blade caught his thrust, parried, and slid along his blade. He moved even as my point touched his shoulder. He backed away, circling, looking at me with a question in his eyes. I had been too good on that one. He would be more cautious now. But he was not, he attacked again with wide-sweeping cuts and I retreated. He came on, suddenly impatient, yet I had taken his measure and caught him out of time. I thrust, quick, low, and hard.

Whether it found a break in his chain mail or drove through, I did not know, but my point went in, deep and hard. Cutting left with the edge, I withdrew sharply, and blood followed.

His face was ghastly. It had suddenly turned mottled and yellow and he staggered, trying to regain his poise. He tried an attack, but his timing was gone and I thrust again, this time at his throat. Turning the blade at the target I cut sharply left and laid open his throat. His blade dropped and he tried to speak. Then he fell over on his face.

There was a chorus of shouts and some wild yells. Looking up I beheld a circle of Indians, at least fifty of them on horseback, watching.

Keokotah came from the trees. "Utes," he said. "Speak well."

I lifted my sword to them in a salute, and then bowed with a wide, sweeping gesture.

Keokotah stepped toward them, speaking. They listened and watched as he used sign language with the words.

He who appeared to be chief listened and then spoke.

"He says you are much warrior," Keokotah said. "Offer them gifts. Tell them we are friends in their land. We wish them to come often to trade. Tell them we have come to bring the Utes presents and wish to stay in this small corner of their land and help them against their enemies, the Komantsi."

There was a brief exchange. Keokotah said, "He wishes to see your presents." Then he added, "I think you've a friend. He likes the way you fight."

Wiping my blade, I returned it to Diego, who was now talking to the men of Gomez. Picking up Gomez' sword I wiped it clean. Then I took it to the Ute chief and presented it to him with a bow.

Gravely, he accepted the sword, and I said, "I, your friend, present you with this sword to be used against your enemies. Your friends are my friends. Your enemies are my enemies."

Bowing again, I took two steps back and then turned to the gate. Now was the time to show them my medicine. Inside the gate, waiting, was Paisano.

"Food, Komi! We must feed them! We must feed our new friends!"

Paisano walked from the gate, a huge, massive beast, and I heard gasps of astonishment. Coolly, I gathered the reins and stepped into the saddle. Calmly, gravely, I walked Paisano out upon the clay to mutters of awe and astonishment. Saluting them again, I rode Paisano back into the gate as the women began to emerge with trays of food.

Much depended upon this first meeting, and well I knew it. They had seen me win a victory and they had seen me ride a buffalo, which to them was big medicine, but now to more practical things.

Showing the chief and some of the elders to seats on a log outside the gate, I warned all against walking in the grass. Then I brought out several bolts of red calico, a dozen knives, another dozen of hatchets. The Utes came to stare at what to them, at this time, was a veritable treasure.

All things are valued according to their scarcity, and a time might come when this gift would seem as nothing. What was worth little to us was worth much to them because they were things they could not get elsewhere.

Keokotah's woman and the Ponca woman brought food to put before our guests, and they seated themselves and ate.

Suddenly, two Natchee Indians emerged from the gate, each holding a torch. For a moment they stood, until all eyes were upon them. Then slowly, with grace and poise, Itchakomi Ishaia emerged between them .

Looking neither right nor left she walked down the open space before the chiefs, and it was only then that I noticed that one of our benches, covered with a buffalo robe, had been placed opposite them.

She seated herself, and the torch bearers moved to right and left. For a long moment she said nothing, as all stared.

Then she said, "I am Itchakomi Ishaia, Daughter of the Sun, Priestess of the Eternal Fire." She waited again until one might have counted to five very slowly, and then she said, "I walk with this man, who is Jubal Sackett, the Ni'kwana, master of mysteries!"

Chapter Forty.

Never had I been so proud of my wife as at that moment. Indians dearly love ceremony, as do many of us, and there could be no doubt in the mind of anyone that she was no less than a beloved woman.

Keokotah, who knew much of the Ute language, which was similar to that of tribes he had known, spoke to them, translating her words and telling who she was.

"In the cave," he indicated the place near our fort, "lives the fire that burns forever. She is its guardian, its priestess.

"He--" he pointed at me, "brought the fire from heaven. The fire is the gift of the Sun. I have seen it."

"And I!" said a Natchee torch bearer.

"And I!" the other repeated.

Diego moved to my side. "She iswonderful! " he whispered. "She has won them all!"

Awed, I looked at her. This beautiful woman, this goddess--could she be mine? Beautiful, yes, but intelligent also. She had come among them when the time had been right, and they would never forget her.

I smiled to myself. "And she didn't have to ride a buffalo to do it!"

Long after they were gone, the effect remained with me. Surely, I would remember her always in that beaded white buckskin costume, a band about her dark hair, standing between the torches. She had beauty then, and magic, also.

One by one the Utes went to see the sacred fire, to look upon it and pass on. When they rode away with their gifts I knew we had won some friends. More than my buffalo, more than my fighting, more than my gifts, it had been Itchakomi who had done it.

"They will be friends now," Keokotah commented complacently. "We will have no trouble."

Yet as I looked down the darkening valley, I wondered. Suddenly, I shuddered. We used to say when that happened somebody had just stepped on our grave.

Perhaps--

Suddenly, just for a moment, I seemed to see a vast beast rising before me, a mighty monster with tusks like spears, lifting his great head, winding his trunk back against his brow, a red-eyed monster who looked at me and started to move, coming at me. Instinctively I reached for a spear, and there was none, and I was alone.

I shuddered again.

That, now? After all of this? Would it come now? But how could it be? There was no such beast. An elephant with long hair?

Yet that night I slept and slept well, with no nightmares, no dreams.

We had given much meat to feeding the Utes, and if we were to last the winter it must be replaced, so now was the time for hunting. Also, there was the matter of the sulphur. If we could find a workable deposit we could make our own gunpowder.

"Komi," I suggested, "let us go together to the mountains. We will visit the caves, hunt, and look for sulphur. Also, we can take a bit of food to eat as the English do on a Sunday."

"How do they eat?"

"On Sunday they do not work, so sometimes one family, sometimes several, will go together to the seashore, a lake, or a river and there in the shade of trees they will eat their food. It is a quiet time for all, a relaxing time.

"The children will run and play, the older people will laze about, talking, sleeping, sometimes singing. It is sometimes called a picnic."

"Good! We will eat a picnic. Paisano will carry the lunch and some robes to sit upon."

We were like children, and happy children at that. Sometimes back at Shooting Creek when we were very young we had gone out like this with our father and mother and others of the family or our friends. It brought good memories, and as we walked along I shared them with Komi.

"I was the quiet one. I did not run and play as much as the others, but I loved it all very much. I liked just to sit and watch, although they were always trying to get me into their games. They could never understand that I was happier just watching them be happy."

As we neared the place where the creek flowed down from the mountains there was a meadow, a deep pool in the creek, and a place where aspen came close to the water's edge. The aspen leaves whispered in the slightest movement of air and it was quiet and serenely beautiful.

"Jubal, why don't we stay right here? We will find nothing up on the mountain that is half so beautiful."

Well, why not?

We spread our robes by the pool and I started a small fire to make coffee, of which we now had a good quantity from Diego.

When the smell of coffee was in the air I took up my bow and walked out, looking for a deer or an elk. The meadows I could see were empty, yet far away something stirred in the trees. Shading my eyes, I looked toward it but could see nothing. The mountain loomed above us. The Ponca woman who had been there as a young girl had said there were lakes up there, too. Someday we would go there, Komi and I.

It was time we started back. There would be time for hunting after we had eaten.

Where was Paisano? He had followed me, but now he was nowhere about. I called and then started back, walking slowly. The sun was warm and pleasant.

Far across the valley, back along the way we had come, I saw a lone figure. Someone was coming toward us, still a long way off.

Smoke lifted from our fire. Komi was nowhere in sight.

Putting down my bow I began gathering sticks for the fire, stopping now and again to call out for her. Still no response.

Worried, I dumped my load of sticks, glancing around. In the distance the lone figure was still coming, drawing nearer but still far off. Yet he was walking not running, and if it was somebody from the fort and there was trouble, he or she would be running.

Something large and dark moved in the edge of the woods. "Paisano?"

What could he be doing that he did not come when I called? And where was Komi? Our coffee would bubble away.

She might be looking for herbs, which we gathered against times of trouble. Placing my bow beside the quiver of arrows near where our coffeepot bubbled, I started into the woods.

"Komi? Come on! The coffee's ready!"

Walking through the small patch of woods I came on an open place covered with clumps of scrub oak. And as I came in sight of it, Komi burst from the woods, running wild and frightened.

"Komi!Here! "

She screamed at me, waving frantically for me to leave."Run!" she screamed the word, and I ran toward her.

"No! No!Run! "

Catching her arm, I said, "What is it? What'swrong? " She started to run again, tugging at me. "Please!Run!" Her panic bread panic in me, catching her arm I, too, started to run. Behind me there was a crashing in the clump of oaks, and glancing over my shoulder, I saw it.

A monstrous thing with great ears spread wide, two gleaming white tusks. Suddenly I was choking with horror. This was my dream! My nightmare! This beast, this impossible thing, this--

It saw us.

For one frightening, awful moment it stared, and then with a blast as from a great trumpet, it started for us. We turned to flee, and Komi tripped and fell flat.

It charged.

Lifting my gun, I fired, dropped the muzzle to load, and fired again. Whether the balls took effect, I could not say. I only know that as the elephant charged, I steadied my hand and fired again, aiming for the gaping mouth. I dropped the muzzle--

This was why I had not fled. Komi lay at my feet, struggling to rise. The mammoth, for such it was, was almost upon us. Then there was a bellow, and something charged across my vision.

Paisano!

Head down, he charged the mammoth and hit him just back of the foreleg, knocking the larger beast into the brush. Before it could so much as swing around, Paisano whipped his head about, ripping the monster's hide with a horn.

Struggling erect, the mammoth swung its great head around and lunged at Paisano. Amazingly, the buffalo veered away and then charged again, raking the mammoth left and right with his horns.

Grabbing Itchakomi's arm I jerked her to her feet. "Run!" I gasped. "Run and hide!"

I could not leave Paisano.

The huge buffalo had a streak of blood along his side where he had been raked by a tusk, but he charged again, smashing the mammoth back into the trees. Whether by accident or intent Paisano had attacked from the side, avoiding the tusks. Now the monster reached for a grip on a horn with its trunk, but Paisano lowered his great head and butted the mammoth again.

Steadying my hand, I held my fire, and when the monster swung his great head to bring his tusks into play, I shot him in the ear.

It was as if I had struck him with a fly whisk. He shook his great head and turned again to confront Paisano.

What could I do? The monster was three or four times the size of Paisano, but the buffalo bull was undaunted. He bellowed a challenge as the mammoth swung around and charged. Tusks low, trunk curled back out of harm's way, his little eyes red with fury, he drove at Paisano. I would have expected Paisano to meet him head on, but the buffalo bull was a wily fighter. He swung suddenly aside, avoiding the long tusks and hooking a short sharp horn at the monster's shoulder, ripping a gash.

My pistol was ready, and I waited my chance. The roaring of the bull and the trumpetlike blasts from the mammoth were deafening. Now they faced each other again, and Paisano was dwarfed by the mammoth. Moving carefully, I started to work myself around to one side to get in a shot. Paisano had come to my rescue and I could not desert him now. Suddenly Komi was beside me, gripping a spear.

"Get away from here," I said. "You'll be killed!"

"If you die I shall die with you. I can use a spear."

Blood dripped from Paisano's nostrils. He shook his huge head and began moving forward, warily, like a boxer moving in on an opponent. The great beast swung to face him, and then the mammoth seemed to see me for the first time. With a blast from his great throat, he charged. Holding steady I aimed for his eye and squeezed off my shot, using my left hand to steady the barrel.

Paisano swung his head and lunged, smashing the mammoth again in the side, where the leg joined the body. He struck with terrific impact, and the mammoth staggered and fell.

It struggled to rise, blood running from the eye socket, for a dread moment I thought the beast would rise, but it failed at last and sank down. Again it tried to rise, and mercilessly, Paisano charged, striking the monster in the head.

"Paisano!No! "

Many times I had yelled, but this time he seemed to hear me and he stopped, lowering his great head. Blood dripping in great, slow drops, he watched for his enemy to move. Now, no more than twenty feet from the mammoth, I could see the cause of its fury, its vicious attack.

It had been hurt. There was an arrow imbedded in its shoulder, and a great festering wound was there.

"Paisano. It is all right. Come now."

He would not move. Head lowered, he watched the mammoth, ready for it to rise.

Walking over I put a hand on his shoulder. "It is all right now, Paisano. It is finished. Come!"

Slowly, reluctantly, he turned and followed. Once he stopped and looked back, head up, peering. The mammoth lay where it had fallen, head up, but whether alive or dead I did not know.

As we sighted our camp a man was coming from it with a spear in his hand. I dropped my hand to the pistol, but he lifted a hand and called out.

It was Unstwita.

"You came back!"

"I say I come. I come."

"Alone?"

"Four other come. They come to walk behind Daughter of the Sun. To guard."

Five more, and that made eight fighting men. Five more to feed, but five more to hunt.

With water from the creek I bathed the long gash on Paisano's side. It was not deep. A nostril was torn. He had come from his fight in good shape. Rubbing his ears, I talked to him, softly. He rubbed his head against me.

Unstwita walked over to see the mammoth. The huge hairy monster had died where he had fallen, his head up, braced by his tusks.

He was huge, but old. Had he been alone, or were there others like him close-by? I had seen no tracks. Perhaps he had been migrating, searching for others of his kind. There was compassion in me for the great beast. How must it feel to be alone, with no others of your kind anywhere?

Perhaps there were others, but they were being hunted out of existence. Each had too much meat to offer, and the Indians had learned how to kill them. Someday I would tell the story of this monster, but who would believe me? It had coarse, shaggy hair as Keokotah had said, and which I had not believed. He was a fugitive, probably, from some much colder place.

Komi was beside the fire. She held out a cup of the coffee, which had not quite bubbled away. "Drink," she said, and I drank.

We stood together and looked up at the mountains that towered above us. Someday soon I would go up there. I had a feeling something waited for me, something I must find. There were caves up there, perhaps more than were known.

Long ago a voice in a cave had seemed to say, "Find them!" And something within me said that what I was to find was here, close-by.

My arm went about the waist of Itchakomi Ishaia. Perhaps this was what I was to find. Whether or no, I was content.

"Do you remember," I asked, "long ago when you told me of a dream you had? Of a boy who spoke to a bear? A bear with a splash of white on his face?"

"I remember."

"I was that boy."

"I know," she said.

The aspen leaves made a slow dance in the sunlight. A brief wind stirred the ashes of our fire.

"It grows late," Unstwita said. "We must go."

We stood, waiting a little, reluctant to leave. Unstwita said, "The Ponca woman has found your yellow earth. She will show you."

"Tomorrow we will come back for the tusks," I told Unstwita.

Now there were shadows in the valley, but sunlight on the mountain. My eyes followed a dim trail upward into the peaks where lay the secret lakes, the caves I must explore, and what else?

"Find them!"The voice had said.

Were "they" up there now, waiting?

Between Itchakomi and Paisano, I started walking back. Unstwita lingered, drinking the last of the coffee.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

There are seventeen other completed novels featuring members of the various Sackett generations. Readers interested in learning more about Jubal's mother and father, Barnabas and Abigail, and his brothers, Kin-Ring, Yance, and Brian, and sister, Noelle, can readSackett's Land, To the Far Blue Mountains, andThe Warrior's Path.

Succeeding Sackett generations are developed in these books, listed in more or less chronological order, starting with:Ride the River, which tells the story of Echo Sackett, the youngest female descendant of Kin-Ring, andThe Daybreakers andSackett, which begin the story of Tell, Orrin and Tyrel Sackett, the brothers who follow the trails blazed by their forefathers to help settle the west. Other novels featuring the Sackett brothers and their cousins of the same generation areLando, Mojave Crossing, The Sackett Brand, The Lonely Men, Treasure Mountain, Mustang Man, Galloway, The Skyliners, The Man From the Broken Hills, Ride the Dark Trail, andLonely on the Mountain.

In the near future, I'm planning to fill in additional portions of the Sackett family saga, including the story of the Sacketts in the Revolutionary War and Tell Sackett's early experiences in the Tennessee mountains and his service in the Sixth Cavalry during the Civil War.

Listed below are some additional points of interest about selected people and events written about inJubal Sackett:

GRASSY COVE:The place where Jubal broke his leg and survived until Keokotah returned for him is a lovely spot. Jubal intended future Sacketts to locate there, only a few miles from the Crab Orchard area where Barnabas met his death.

MAMMOTH, MASTODON, etc.:According to scholars mammoths died out around 6000 B.C. Nonetheless, American Indians record hunting and killing them. One such report occurs in the Bureau of Ethnology reportThe Ponca Tribe . Returning from their "long hunt" west to the Rockies, the Poncas saw a mammoth, as well as what was probably a giant ground sloth, near what is now Niobrara, Nebraska.

David Thompson, the distinguished Hudson's Bay Co. explorer, on January 7, 1811, came upon some tracks near the Athabasca River in the northern Rockies which the Indians told him were those of a mammoth. The Indians had assured him the animal was to be found there. Many Indian tribes had accounts of seeing or hunting the mammoth.

Near Moab, at Hys Bottom close to the Colorado River, there is a petroglyph of a mastodon. And in the Four Corners area near Flora Vista a small boy found two slabs on which were carved many glyphs, including pictures of two elephants. They have been called fakes, which is the most convenient way of getting rid of something that does not fit current beliefs.

PRINCE MADOC:Prince Madoc's existence is doubted by many (not by me), and much has been written from time to time. Perhaps the best account isMadoc, and the Discovery of America, by Richard Deacon.

ROMAN COINS:Several Roman coins have been found in Tennessee, Ohio, and Kentucky. Comments on these are made in Judge Haywood'sNatural and Aboriginal History of Tennessee. This history covers white settlements up to 1768 and was published in 1823. Haywood also comments on burials of bodies with blue eyes and auburn hair, wrapped in hides and left in caves.

TENNESSEE:Ramsey, in hisAnnals of Tennessee, says: "At the time of its first exploration, Tennessee was a vast and almost unoccupied wilderness--a solitude over which an Indian hunter seldom roamed, and to which no tribe put in a distinct and well-defined claim."

One hundred years before Daniel Boone, James Needham was sent into Tennessee to explore the possibilities of trade, traveling there in 1673. He had been sent by a trader, Abraham Wood, whose previous expedition in 1671 had provided too little information. With Needham was a young indentured servant, Gabriel Arthur, who was left behind to learn the Cherokee language.