A whirlwind on horseback, they stormed out of the white rocks with ebony eyes blazing out of flat, red faces striped and smeared with yellow, blue and green paint, rifles and guns spitting fire. Shoeless hoofs pounding across the desert, saddleless riders yelping and screaming, they were led by a tall, muscle-knotted, bronze warrior with a hawk face, yelping and screaming the loudest.
Gallagher led the charge, not toward, but away from the attackers, signaling Rooster and the other men to follow. They didn’t need any urging, and there was only one destination that made sense—the wagon train that they had been following.
Ike Silver, Dolan and the rest of the caravan heard the shots and saw the riders galloping toward them with the band of Apaches in narrowing pursuit.
Every rifle and pistol in the wagon train was drawn and loaded for the inevitable battle and bloodletting.
Ike spurred his horse close to the wagon with Jake, the boys and Sister Bonney.
“Get down!” he shouted. “Get down!”
Gallagher and his men reached the wagons and vaulted off their mounts to the cover of the wagons with rifles at the ready.
Gunfire exploded from both sides until the Apaches saw something that nobody in the procession had seen.
On Ben Brown’s wagon, Colorados stood with both arms uplifted and shouted a command that no one comprehended except the Apaches.
The hawk-faced leader, holding the coup stick of a chief, reined in his animal in a whiffit of dust and the others swirled to a stop around him, murmuring in disbelief, then silence.
If the Apaches were surprised, the people in the caravan were stunned.
Nobody moved, waiting to see what would happen.
Colorados said something else and lowered both arms.
The hawk-faced leader nodded, then moved slowly on his mount. He stopped at the wagon near Colorados and started to speak in the Apache language.
“Talk so all will understand, Quemada.”
Quemada looked back at the other Apaches, then to Colorados.
“Since when does the Chief of the Mimbreros ride with his enemies and protect them?”
“Since they stopped the blood that was leaving his body and gave him back his breath.”
“So they can take you back to the white man’s prison.”
“Do you see shackles on these hands?”
“I see them on our land.”
“If they were not here I would be dead.”
“What would you do now, Colorados?”
Colorados jerked the coup stick from the grasp of Quemada and stepped off from the wagon.
“I will take my place—and you will take yours.”
Colorados motioned to one of the other braves, who slid off his horse and doubled up on horseback with another buck.
Coup stick in hand, Colorados mounted and rode close to Ike Silver.
“You gave me back my life. I give you yours.”
Colorados touched the pipe tucked in at his waist.
“You gave me something else.”
He pulled free an ornament from the coup stick and handed it to Ike.
“The claw of an eagle. The token of a friend—from my tribe to yours.”
Colorados wheeled his horse and rode off with a savage yell. The Apaches followed, screaming and yelping.
Quemada rode away with them—in silence.
Not until the dust cloud from the Apache riders dissolved on the far horizon did anyone in the caravan move or even speak.
“Now I’ve seen it all.” Gallagher, still holding his rifle, walked up close to Ike Silver and Dolan.
“Why, you big dumb Mick,” Dolan said, “you almost got us all killed.”
“Jake, boys, Sister Bonney, are you all all right?” Ike asked.
They all nodded and responded affirmatively.
“Everybody else okay?” Ike looked around.
Sister Bonney came off the wagon, put the rosary into her pocket, and pointed to one of Gallagher’s men.
“That man is bleeding!”
“Swenson.” Gallagher took a step. “How bad?”
Swenson wiped at the blood leaking from his pant leg.
“Just creased the fat, boss. Went right through.”
“Mister Swenson, you come with me,” Sister Bonney said. “We’ll stop that bleeding.”
“Odds bodikins!” Binky proclaimed, appearing from behind a wagon. “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers—and sisters—still stand in triumph over all mischance! Thanks to you, brother Isaac!”
“Thanks to Colorados.” Ike smiled.
“That one he called Quemada,” Dolan said, “didn’t seem too happy about the outcome. He wanted blood.”
“Yeah,”—Jake nodded—“ours.”
“Well, Sean,” Ike said, “Let’s put away the artillery. We can cover a few more miles before we make camp.”
“Right. There’s a water hole not too far ahead. Good place to bed down.”
“If we had any beds,” Jake observed.
“Mister Brown, you ready to roll?” Ike asked.
Ben Brown nodded.
“Look here, Mister Silver.” Gallagher wiped at his face. “Would it be all right if me and the boys ride along with you people . . . far as Fort Whipple?”
“Sure, Mister Gallagher. We can always use a few more good men. Saddle up.”
“Well, Obie,”—Jake smiled at the boys—“you said you wanted to see some Indians.”
Ike opened his hand and looked at the palm that held the token of a friend—the claw of an eagle.