Bly arrived while Samson was still working on Stryker’s wounded shoulder.
“Gopan. Know you not enough to stay where bullets cannot find you?”
“The scalp hunter called Big Phil shot him, thinking Gopan Nantan was Indeh.”
Bly looked at Dahtegte with no sign of surprise. “Big Phil is dead, then?”
Dahtegte nodded.
Enjuh.
“You have done well, Stryker,” Bly said. “Dahtegte calls you ‘Nantan.’”
Stryker bit his lip to keep a grunt of pain from escaping as Samson finished sewing up the bullet furrow in his deltoid.
“A little deeper and your shoulder joint would be gone. Six inches to the right and your heart woulda took a hit. What kind of magic do you use, Cap?”
“Lots of things can throw a man’s aim off when he’s shooting from half a mile away.”
“Gopan Nantan carries a shield,” Dahtegte said. “He will not die of arrow or bullet, I see.”
“Right now, it’s not a matter of when or how I die. It’s more a matter of where Yuyutsu is going and where we can set up to wait for him.” Stryker nodded his thanks to Kearns and struggled into his bloodstained shirt. “Bly. You’re the last one to see Yuyutsu, where’d you set up for him, and when?”
“Yuyutsu is a proud man,” Bly said. “Already he has raided the Nakaye in Mexico many times. His Power is great. His braves carry much ... boots ... no, booty. They must use horses and mules to return.”
“Where’s his village?”
“Warriors often live away from wife and children. Old men stay. Protect women.”
“So we don’t know where Yuyutsu’s headed, then?”
Bly shook his head. “No. But with so much booty, it is likely Yuyutsu and his warriors go to their home village, wherever it is.”
“How do we find the village, or at least get an idea about where it is?”
Bly swept a hand toward Dahtegte. Her eyes were on him, her gaze intense.
“Can you spot Yuyutsu’s village, Dahtegte?” Stryker asked.
She nodded.
“Will you?”
She nodded again.
“Thank you. Please do.”
Dahtegte sat cross-legged and cupped her hands on her knees. Softly, she began a chant, singing almost under her breath. As she chanted, eyes closed, she dug a pouch from her clothing, took a pinch of powder from it, and shook it into the slight breeze coming across the land from the southwest. Her chant all but died away. Stryker could see her mouthing words, but could not hear her voice. She stood and extended her arms away from her sides. Chanting almost without sound, she turned as if her arms were the needles of a compass. She stopped. Her right arm pointed almost due south. “There,” she said. “There in the Sierra Madres. Into the land of the Nakaye, but just a little. Less than fifty White Eye miles from here.”
“South? In Mexico?”
“I have said so.”
“Bly. Where did you talk to Yuyutsu?”
Bly pointed southeast. “That way. He must travel almost due west to reach his village.”
“Can we set up an ambush?”
“If you can travel forty miles before the sun rises.”
“We will.”
“Then follow me, but not too close.”
“Top?”
“Yo.”
“Get the Misfits down here, pronto.”
“Will do, Cap.”
In minutes, ten Misfits, including Stryker and Samson, sat in a circle so Bly could explain the night’s trek.”
“It’s time to put our thinking to the test,” Stryker said. “Bly figures we can set up an ambush to catch Yuyutsu—he’s a man with revenge on his mind, who hits Mexican villages regular, killing everybody and every thing. Bly talked to him last night. Now Bly’s gonna tell us how and where to set up a way to hit this wild man.”
Bly stood up. “Misfits can go far and fast,” he said, “I know. And this night will be a hard test of your strength and heart. We go south. On the side of the Sierra Madres, a canyon with steep sides forms the easiest way for the war chief Yuyutsu to return to his village. It is the only place where horses and mules can make the climb to his high rancheria. We will go fast. We will be ready when his warriors ride that trail. I have spoken.”
Stryker stood. “Drink plenty of water. Rest up while you can. An hour before sundown, we’ll leave.”
The Misfits went back to their hiding places, and in minutes it was as if they had never been there.
Can I trust that man? Stryker wondered as he rested next to an overhang in the wall of the cliff. Bly was an Apache. So was Yuyutsu. But Bly was a White Mountain Apache, and Yuyutsu was a Nedni, an outlaw. One who would not abide by any treaty agreed to by any other chief. That, and in his short time in Apache country, Stryker never heard of an Apache lying. In fact, Ed Peck, chief of scouts at Fort Whipple, told Stryker that telling lies could get an Apache in deep trouble with other Apaches faster than about anything else. That meant Stryker could trust everything Bly said. It was what went unsaid that he’d need to watch. Bly said he knew where Yuyutsu was and where he was going. And he said he could find them a place where they could set up an ambuscade to trap Yuyutsu. He’d said the canyon was the easiest way up to Yuyutsu’s base camp. He didn’t say it was the only way or the way the renegade would take.
His shoulder throbbed. He hoped that wasn’t sign of mortification. He slept.
“Cap?”
Stryker’s eyes shot open. “Yeah,” he croaked.
“Getting close to leaving time.”
“Um.” Stryker sat up. The stitched-up wound in his deltoid didn’t throb any more. Good. “Get the Misfits together.”
“Yo.” Samson moved away.
Little sound filtered its way to Stryker’s ears as the Misfits came. Bly and Dahtegte stood to one side. Stryker found a stump-size stone to sit on. The Misfits gathered round. He glanced at each.
“I’ll take it that your weapons are cared for and ready. I’ll take it you have a water jug. I’ll take it you have grub and can eat while you’re on the way. Top?”
“Yo.”
“You’ll lead the Misfits and follow Bly. When he shows you the canyon, you place the Misfits.”
“Yo. Pardon me, Cap, but where’ll you be?”
“Right there, if I’m able. But this shoulder may make me lag. I’ll keep Dahtegte with me, to help if I need it.”
“Yo.”
“You hear me, Misfits? Top Kearns is in charge until I get to our ambuscade. You all double time and jog once in a while and you’ll make forty miles in around four hours. I’ll be along soon as I can. The renegades may come along before I get there and they may not. At any rate, be ready.”
“Yo.”
“On your way.”
“Misfits. Follow me. And don’t you go thrashing through the bush like a herd a eley-fants.”
“Stryker’s Misfits gathered behind Samson Kearns. “If you’d lead off, Bly, we’d be more than ready to follow.”
Bly eyed the gathered Misfits. “Yes. No bull buffalo crashing along, please.” Then to Samson, “Follow me.”
“Yo.”
Bly moved away, his pace faster than a walk, slower than a jog. The Misfits followed.
“Dahtegte?”
“I am here.”
Stryker had not noticed Dahtegte, who stood just out of striking distance and just out of Stryker’s field of vision. “Will you please stay close to me and help if I need it?”
“I will be close. A warrior does not need help. Remember my words about friends, Gopan Nantan.”
“Are you not my friend?”
“No matter. Now I could help. But who knows what happens to me? Better to be your own friend. Make your hands and feet and heart take care of you. I will follow.”
Stryker stood still until he could no longer hear the Misfits. “I go,” he said, and started after his squad. When he glanced over his shoulder, Dahtegte was not there. Yet she promised to follow. She will, Stryker decided, and upped his pace to double time, which as an infantryman, he could keep up for hours, if not days.
The loss of blood from his shoulder wound sapped Stryker’s muscles of their usual stamina. After an hour, he slowed to an infantryman’s tramp, which covered about five miles in an hour. Not nearly fast enough to cover the forty-odd miles to the ambuscade canyon before dawn. Double-time, though, took him nearly mine miles before he slowed. An hour at a tramp, while only giving him five miles, he’d still be nearly a third of the way.
Dahtegte appeared beside him. She handed him a stalk from a hedgehog cactus, skewered on a stick with the thorns cut away. “Eat. Get water,” she said.
He ate it as if he were eating corn on the cob. Slightly bitter, the stalk tasted like green prickly pear fruit, but much wetter. He was about to toss the stick and uneaten core aside when Dahtegte touched his arm. He looked at her. She shook her head and held out her hand for the stick. He gave it to her, knowing instinctively that she would dispose of it where no one would notice.
“Your heart is your friend,” Dahtegte said. “Your legs are your friends. Call upon your friends. They will carry you far.”
Stryker grunted his assent. He went back to what he thought was double-time, but it was hardly more than a walk. His shoulder had begun to throb again, but it had not torn open. He put his head down and concentrated on his double-time shuffle. Somehow he realized that Dahtegte strode along in front of him, guiding his shuffle on a path away from cacti and thorny catclaw. He continued to shuffle in double-time, though his muscles ached and his throat turned scratchy dry.
“Walk now,” Dahtegte said, her voice barely reaching Stryker’s ears.
He slowed.
“We have come now more than half way to the canyon, Gopan Nantan. Your friends carry you good.” Again Dahtegte’s voice reached no farther than Stryker’s ears. “It is time to take some water,” she said. “Water is your friend, too, when you have it.” She handed him the bounty hunter’s two-quart canteen.
He drank two large swallows before Dahtegte took the canteen from his grasp. “Again later,” she said.
“Mmmm,” he answered. He continued his walk, concentrating on following Dahtegte, not too fast, but not at an amble.
Sometime later, she said, “Faster now.”
Stryker went into a passable imitation of double time.
False dawn drew a line of light across the eastern horizon when Dahtegte stopped at the mouth of a deep canyon that carved its way into the Sierra Madres. Perhaps water ran in the canyon during the late summer rains, but now it was bone dry. Dahtegte touched Stryker’s arm and handed him the bounty hunter’s canteen. He drank two swallows and returned it. He nodded his thanks.
“This is the place,” she said softly. “Bly will be here soon. We wait.”
Stryker sat on a knee-high boulder. The skyline brightened. In the gray of the pre-dawn, he could see the stark, nearly nude cliffs that formed the canyon. At its mouth, the canyon floor was at least half a mile wide and covered with knee-high buffalo grass.
“Bly comes. Top soldier comes.”
Stryker squinted but could not see the men. “Where?”
Dahtegte pointed at the canyon wall. Only then could Stryker see two figures making their way down toward the canyon floor.
He squared his shoulders. It would not do for Samson and Bly to see how much the trek had taken out of him.
As they approached, he stood. “Top. Bly. I take it the Misfits are in place.”
Bly said nothing, perhaps waiting for Samson to speak.
Dahtegte moved away. Maybe she wanted to give the men space and time in which to set up the ambuscade, but such was not the case. Before the three men could begin any kind of discussion, she’d returned.
“Apaches come,” she said, waving her hand toward the east.
A pebble landed near them.
“Lion,” Samson said.
The Cherokee scout shielded himself behind a large stone formation that stood between him and anyone approaching from the east. He signaled with flashing hands.
“Riders coming,” Bly said. “Apaches.”
“How are we set up, Top?”
“Sharpy’s on top of the canyon. The Greer boys are hold up on the far side, one low down, one high up. Ponies is up top on the opposite side from Lion. Paddy and Mick holed up on the near side—Paddy low down, Mick higher up. Chief McKinnister and Boogie Hill’re up the canyon where they can hit anyone that gets by us’ns down here.”
“Then you and me’s got to find our own holes to hide in.”
Samson pointed at a pile of rock that had broken off the face of the cliff in some ancient time. “I reckon there would be good for you, Cap, if you’re willing.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be around.” Samson smiled, but it was a smile of determination.
“Bly. Would a decoy work?”
Bly shook his head. “If he comes this way, he will take the canyon trail. If not, he will go another way.”
“Where?”
The more difficult trail is further south.”
“Can we cover it, too?”
Bly shrugged. “Not now.”
“Okay. We assume Yuyutsu will take the canyon trail. If he doesn’t, we’ll just have to find another way to get him.”
“Not a tough climb to your spot, Cap. It’s well hidden, with a good field of fire,” Samson said. “Shall we go?”
“Lead on.”
The jumble of rocks gave cover on the one hand and provided a good view down the canyon on the other. “This is good,” Stryker said. “Real good. Now, don’t let any of the Misfits go to shooting too quick, Top.”
“We’ll wait for Sharpy. He’s supposed to take the first shot.”
“If we was Apaches, we’d shoot the horses first,” Stryker said. “But I’ve got a feeling that setting Yuyutsu’s warriors afoot might put us at a disadvantage. See if you can’t tell the Misfits to shoot warriors, not animals.”
“Yo.” Samson left.
Stryker found himself alone in his blind, as it were. Where’d Dahtegte go? He waited.
One man rode south on the trail toward the Sierra Madres. Then, as the canyon closed in, two more came from each side onto the main trail. For a moment, they came together and sat their horses, scanning the canyon for anything unnatural. They consulted each other, then one peeled off and road back toward the east, probably to report to Yuyutsu.
The remaining scouts sat idle on their ponies. Idle, except their eyes repeatedly swept the canyon walls, scrutinizing rock and bush, tree and tufts of grass. Then the Apaches came.