The shafts of sunlight had stretched down from the small holes far above in the ceiling of the cave. Talka had been first to awaken. Anyone who knew him would have doubted that he had even slept at all. His was the role of leader. It was a duty he had not chosen for himself but one which he refused to relinquish. He led and he tried to protect those who looked to him as their chief. For most of his adult life Talka had led small hunting parties from his distant homeland to the desert that had once been occupied by Apaches. Yet this was probably going to be the last time the dry arid desert would be visited by the tribe with no name.
Once there had been plentiful game amid the dunes. Enough for both Apaches and his own tribe. But now most of the game was gone, like the buffalo further north. Talka knew that he would have to find another hunting ground.
After watering the horses Talka had roused the other braves silently and then turned his attention to the young white man they had saved from the merciless desert a couple of days earlier.
Hal Harper felt the hand on his shoulder and jumped up from his bedroll beside the flames of the strange eternal fire. He blinked hard and then focused on the amused face of Talka.
He sighed heavily.
‘Talka.’
‘We ready to go now, White Eyes Hal.’ The brave stood and helped Harper up from the sand. The light of the flames danced across both men as they moved to their mounts.
Harper tossed the blanket across the back of his horse and patted it down firmly. He then bent down and sleepily lifted the hefty saddle up. He threw the saddle over the blanket and then lifted the left stirrup up and hooked it over the saddle horn.
Talka and the other Indians watched as the young man reached under the belly of the horse and pulled both the cinch straps in turn towards him. They were fascinated by how complicated it was for a white man to ready his mount.
Harper saw the men beside him and glanced at them. ‘What ya looking at?’
Talka pointed at the saddle. ‘White Eyes Hal work very hard to get pony ready. We only need blanket. Why Hal and other white men need all that?’
Harper raised his eyebrows. It was a good question and one he did not have an answer for. But he had to say something to the men who had looked after him as if he were one of them.
‘White folks tend to fall off their horses a lot more than his red brothers, Talka. We needs all this stuff just to stay on the backs of our animals.’
Talka nodded and turned. He raised a hand and waved it at his followers. Within seconds they had all thrown themselves on the backs of their ponies. Harper held on to his saddle horn and thrust his left boot into the stirrup. He mounted slowly beside the waiting riders.
‘We go.’ Talka pointed ahead.
The ponies led the way with Harper at the rear of their small band as before. Again Talka led them expertly through the maze of strange stone columns which seemed to have grown out of the very cave floor itself. Then he guided those who trailed him into yet another long cave tunnel.
This time it was dark. There was no light from anywhere and yet the lead rider seemed to be able to navigate the twists and turns without any problem at all. The other braves stayed close and Harper was forced to use his ears to listen to where the horse ahead of him was moving in order to steer his own horse without colliding with the tunnel walls.
For more than an hour the line of riders trailed after Talka until all of them could see the sunlight ahead of them. It was bright, almost blinding, yet Talka continued leading them with his hooded eyes seemingly immune to its brilliance. Harper knew that this was no ordinary man. There was a greatness about him which the young horseman had to admire.
At last the ponies and the solitary horse reached the cave mouth and the light. The ponies increased their pace and trotted out first, as if they wanted to shake the chill of the cave off their coats. The heat of the sun was felt immediately by them all.
Harper was last to leave the cave tunnel. He pulled his hat off his back by its drawstring and pulled its brim down to shield his eyes.
He looked all around. The buttes and the mesas rose like golden statues created by mythical giants. He had never seen anything like these rocks which surrounded them before. In his long journey to this secret place there had been nothing to compare with the sheer grandeur of it.
But his awe was short-lived.
Suddenly, without warning, rifles opened up from far above them. The entire canyon shook with the deafening sound of bullets as they twisted down and bounced off the boulders to either side.
Talka swung his terrified pony around and pointed up at the plumes of deadly gunsmoke.
He yelled out his warning loud and clear.
‘Apaches!’