Since, in Nate’s estimation, none of the savages possessed guns and they wouldn’t know how to use a pistol or a rifle if they had it, only one person could have fired at him. “Cain! You idiot! It’s King! Don’t shoot!”
A yelp of joy greeted his shout. “Sorry! I thought you were one of those devils! Come on in!”
Smoky Woman’s grip slackened as they neared the entrance, and Pegasus had barely stopped when she jumped off and ran into the outstretched arms of Solomon Cain.
Nate was dismounting when another figure strode from the cave. “Flying Hawk!” he declared in surprise, for not only was the warrior free but Cain had even given back the Ute’s bow, arrows, and hunting knife.
“Let’s get under cover and I’ll fill you in,” Cain said, motioning for Nate to go first. “We took the other horses inside so the bastards can’t steal ’em.”
The animals were between the entrance and the bend. Nate tied Pegasus in the feeble light from a single candle placed so as not to be visible beyond the opening. As he did his gaze fell on the slender object imbedded in his saddle. He had to wrench hard to pluck it out.
It was unlike any weapon Nate had ever heard of. The only thing he could compare it to were the darts used in popular games played in taverns back in the States. This dart was made of stone and had two slim raven feathers tied to a groove at the back end to add stability in flight. Simple, but extremely deadly.
“What have you got there?” Cain asked, walking over. He whistled softly. “So that’s what some of the sons of bitches were throwin’! I heard a couple go by me and one nicked my sleeve.”
“And I heard your shot. What happened?”
“You weren’t gone very long when I spotted a pack of savages sneakin’ up on me from the west. I let ’em get close, and when one jumped up and went to toss a spear I shot him smack between the eyes. Some of the others tried to nail me but I made it in here. Had to kick out the fire on my way, which made me a good target. But they didn’t want to get too close. Guess they were afraid of the rifle.” Cain paused to smile at Smoky Woman. “While I reloaded I could see ’em movin’ around out there. That set me to thinkin’. If they rushed me all at once, I wouldn’t stand a prayer. So I did the only thing I could. I ran on back and told Flying Hawk I’d free him if he’d help us. He agreed, but only till his sister is out of danger.”
And then what? Nate reflected. Once Smoky Woman was safe, what would Flying Hawk do? Kill Cain? The warrior was at the entrance, keeping watch.
“He was the one thought of bringin’ in the horses,” Cain commented. “Smart move too.”
“Have the savages attacked yet?”
“Nope. They were flittin’ around like butterflies until a few minutes ago. I figure they heard you comin’ and lit out.”
“They won’t give up so easily,” Nate said, tucking the dart under his belt next to a pistol. Hurrying to the Ute, he signed, “See anything?”
Flying Hawk grunted and pointed.
At the limits of human vision ghostly forms were gliding about like wolves around trapped prey, moving from one place of concealment to another. Sometimes two or three would meet, confer, and separate.
“Are they still there?” Cain asked.
“Yes. They must have let Smoky Woman and me through their lines so they’d have us all boxed in together.”
“Damn their hides.”
Nate heartily concurred. Primitive they might be, but the savages weren’t stupid. He must not make the mistake of underestimating them.
“I say we make a break for it,” Cain declared. “Load up the gold on the three horses and head out before the bastards charge us. We’ll be on foot, but it’s so dark they might miss.”
“Might,” Nate said, conjuring up a vision of what a hail of darts and spears would do to them and the horses. “But there are so many out there now that the odds are we’d never get fifty feet.”
“I’m willin’ to chance it if you are.”
“The only way we’d make it is if we left the gold behind,” Nate mentioned. “On foot, leading the horses, we wouldn’t stand a prayer.” He looked at Solomon. “Even if we leave the gold, one of us will have to ride double with Smoky Woman. The horse would take longer crossing the flat to the wash, and we both know what that would mean. Do you still want to chance it?”
“No,” Cain answered, gazing affectionately at the woman. “No, I reckon I don’t. And I sure ain’t leavin’ the gold.”
“Then I suggest we make a barricade using the supplies and the packs of gold.”
“The gold!” Cain exclaimed. “Not on your life. I want it in the chamber where it’s safe and sound!”
“Those packs are the heaviest things in the whole cave. We can put them on the bottom as the foundation for our barricade,” Nate said. “We have nothing else to use in their place.”
Clearly Cain hated the idea. His face scrunched up as if he’d just swallowed a mouthful of bitterroot. “All right,” he spat. “You’ve convinced me.”
Flying Hawk stood guard while Nate, Cain, and Smoky Woman worked swiftly. Fifteen minutes of industrious labor produced a makeshift wall three feet high and extending two-thirds of the way across the cave opening. Standing back to inspect their handiwork, Nate shook his head in disappointment. The barricade was too flimsy and incomplete to hold out a concerted rush for very long. But it was the best they could do.
Cain must have entertained the same thoughts because he said, “We can use my shovels to scoop out a wall of dirt to finish it off.”
And that’s what they did, or started to, when Flying Hawk spoke a word of warning and jabbed a finger to the south.
The ghostly forms were converging on the cave.
No words were necessary. Nate retrieved his Hawken and crouched near the gap between their barricade and the east wall, the most vulnerable spot. “Make every shot count,” he said softly.
Cain ran to the flickering candle and extinguished the flame with his thumb and forefinger. Then he took up a post close to Nate. To Cain’s right was Flying Hawk. Behind them, clutching a pair of flintlocks Cain had taught her to use, squatted Smoky Woman.
Smiling grimly, Flying Hawk notched an arrow to his bow string.
“Wait until I give the signal,” Nate said, and heard Cain repeat it in the Ute tongue. Their breathing was the only sound after that. Oddly, the savages weren’t making any noise as they charged, unlike typical Indians, who invariably whooped when engaged in a battle.
“King?” Cain whispered.
“What?”
“If something should happen to me, don’t let these bastards get their hands on Smoky Woman. We both know what they’ll do to her. Promise me you’ll take care of it.”
“I promise,” Nate said, hoping he wouldn’t have to. But if the worst did occur, he wasn’t going to let them take him alive either.
By now the savages were thirty feet off. Strung out in an uneven line, they bounded forward like a pack of hungry wolves, their manes of black hair blowing in the breeze. Some were armed with spears, some with war clubs, some with their unusual darts.
Taking a steady bead on one of the foremost runners, Nate held his breath, cried, “Now!” and fired. Cain’s rifle also cracked, followed a second later by the twang of Flying Hawk’s powerful bow.
There was no time to reload the Hawken. Nate set it down, drew both pistols, and extended his arms. The initial volley had caused some of the savages to slow, but the undaunted majority were still closing. He aimed at one and squeezed off his shot, aimed at another and emptied the second flintlock. Cain was also shooting. Four or five of the savages were down, several thrashing in agony.
Nate discarded the pistol and yanked out both his knife and his tomahawk. This was the moment of truth. Fully a half-dozen savages would reach the barricade in the next few seconds.
The bowstring twanged, reducing the number to five.
A burly Indian bearing an upraised club hurled himself at the gap and Nate moved to meet him. Nate blocked the downward sweep of the savage’s club with the tomahawk, then speared his butcher knife into his foe’s chest.
The man roared and jerked backwards, tearing the knife out. Heedless of the hole and his spurting blood, the Indian snapped the club up and sprang.
Nate deftly blocked the blow with the tomahawk, then lashed his knife in a tight arc, going for the savage’s throat this time. Nimble as a bighorn, the Indian swerved, shifted, and slammed his club into Nate’s side. Incredible pain sheared through Nate’s chest. For a desperate moment he thought his ribs had caved in. Doubled over in torment, he glanced up to see the savage raising the club for the death stroke, and with a sinking feeling in his gut he knew he lacked the strength to dodge.
An arrow abruptly skewered the burly Indian’s throat, sinking in almost to the eagle feather fletching. Driven rearward by the impact, the savage grasped the shaft and snapped it off as easily as Nate might snap a mere twig. Furious, seemingly unfazed, the man took a step and prepared to bash Nate’s skull in. A second arrow, however, transfixed the Indian’s chest, and he toppled where he stood.
Nate finally straightened, intending to thank Flying Hawk, but another savage had already taken the place of the first. This one carried a spear that he slashed at Nate’s face. Nate pivoted, the spear fanned his nose, and with a mighty surge of all the muscles in his left shoulder he sank his tomahawk into his enemy’s forehead. Like an overripe melon the brow split right down the middle, the keen blade cleaving the brain. Instantly the savage went into violent convulsions, nearly tearing the tomahawk from Nate’s grasp before he could rip it loose.
Nate turned, expecting more adversaries, finding none. Five bodies lay sprawled over or near the partially crumbled barricade, while the rest of the primitive Indians were retreating into the impenetrable cover of the night. Elated, he leaned on a parfleche in front of him, but only for a heartbeat. The savages, he realized, might regroup and mount another attack. Sliding the tomahawk under his belt and the knife into its sheath, he gathered up his guns to reload them. A groan made him look to his right.
Cain was braced against the back wall, a slain savage at his feet, a bloody knife in his right hand. His left shoulder sagged as if under a tremendous weight, and he swayed when he took a step away from the wall. In a flash Smoky Woman was at his side, supporting him.
“What happened?” Nate asked as he pulled the Hawken’s ramrod out. “How bad is it?”
“Took a damn club in the shoulder,” Cain answered, his lips drawn back in a grimace. “I think the bone is busted.”
“Sit down and rest. I’ll be with you in a bit,” Nate said. With Cain temporarily indisposed, his first priority was to reload all their guns, not just his own, or they’d never survive another onslaught. Flying Hawk, he observed, was staring intently at Smoky Woman.
“I can manage,” Cain said, stepping to the barricade. He leaned over to pick up his rifle, then groaned louder than before and slowly sank to his knees. “Hurts like hell!” he declared. “Almost blacked out there.”
“Hold on,” Nate urged, his fingers moving quickly. They needed Cain badly. Smoky Woman could shoot, but she was nowhere near the marksman Cain was.
Without him they would drop fewer savages when the next rush came, meaning more would reach the barricade and possibly overwhelm them by sheer force of numbers.
An unnerving silence now claimed the countryside. Nothing moved. The erratic wind had subsided to a whisper.
Relying on Flying Hawk to warn him if the savages reappeared, Nate concentrated exclusively on feeding black powder and balls into gun after gun. Soon he had all the rifles and pistols reloaded. His flintlocks once again under his belt, he dropped to one knee beside Solomon Cain, who sat slumped against the barricade. “Is the pain still bad?”
“I feel like a grizzly clamped its jaws down on my shoulder and won’t let go.”
“Let me take a look,” Nate said, gingerly touching the wounded shoulder.
Cain flinched, then hissed as if angry at himself and sat up straight. “I’m gettin’ right puny of late. Must be all this soft livin’.” He mustered a wan grin.
“I’ll try not to hurt you,” Nate said, but it was unavoidable. Twice he made Cain gasp as he probed carefully to measure the extent of the damage. One gasp came when he touched a bone that moved when it shouldn’t. “You were right,” he said after he was done. “Your clavicle is broken.”
“My what?”
“Your shoulder bone.”
“Of all the stinkin’ luck,” Cain muttered.
“I can try to set the bone and bandage you up. It won’t be as good as a sawbones would do, but it’ll hold you together if you don’t go out and wrestle any wolverines.”
Cain gazed at Smoky Woman. “Forget me. Those bastards may try again. You need to keep watch so they don’t catch us by surprise.”
“Your skin is split open. The longer we wait, the more chance of infection setting in,” Nate said. He nodded at the barricade. “We might wind up being penned in here for a long time. If you get sick, we won’t be able to give you the doctoring you’ll need. So don’t be mule-headed. Allow me to do what I can now and save us a lot of trouble later.”
“If you put it that way,” Cain said.
“I do.” Nate slipped an arm around Cain’s waist and helped him to rise. “Have Smoky Woman take you back into the main chamber. See if she can somehow get a fire going. I’ll need hot water if I’m to do this right.”
“All right.” Cain chuckled. “You sure have a knack for givin’ orders. Forget bein’ a minister. Join the army and you’ll be a general in no time.”
Nate leaned his forearms on the top of the barricade and scanned the land fronting the entrance. The savages had yet to show themselves. Could it be that they had departed? They’d suffered heavy losses, undoubtedly more than they had expected. Would they risk as many lives in another attack? Or would they do as the Apaches often did when the Apaches met stiffer resistance than they anticipated, cut their losses and go in search of easier pickings? Suddenly a finger touched his shoulder.
Flying Hawk moved his hands in exaggerated movements so the signs he made would be conspicuous in the dark. “You are a fine fighter, Grizzly Killer. I no longer doubt you are worthy of your name.”
“Thank you,” Nate signed in the same exaggerated manner.
“Do you know the secret my sister is keeping from me?”
The blunt query caught Nate flat-footed and he paused before responding, uncertain whether he should reveal the truth or deny he knew anything. He loathed lying, but by the same token he didn’t have the right to meddle in Smoky Woman’s personal affairs. She must have an excellent reason for not informing her brother.
“Do not try to deny she is hiding something,” Flying Hawk signed. “I know her well, Grizzly Killer, as well as I do myself. She can hide nothing from me for very long.”
“If she does have a secret,” Nate signed tactfully, “it is for her to tell you. I would be out of place were I to give it away.”
The warrior did not respond immediately. His features obscured by shadow, he stood as still as if carved from stone. Finally his hands moved. “Very well. I will respect your wishes.” Shifting, he glanced toward the bend. “But I already think I know what her secret is, and if I am right I must take steps to prevent her from staining our family and our people.”
Nate straightened. “You cannot mean that. She is your own flesh and blood.”
“If what I suspect is true, she should have killed herself rather than lie with him.”
“Maybe she loves him. Have you thought of that?”
“Love is no excuse for lying with an enemy.”
“You disappoint me, Flying Hawk. I thought you had come to see that not all whites are as bad as some of your people might claim.”
“I have. By knowing you I have learned there are white men who are brave and truthful, but this does not change anything. It does not change what has happened and what will happen. Already have your kind killed most of the beaver. One day your people will want these mountains for their own. You said so yourself. Do friends take that which does not belong to them? No. This is an act of an enemy. So whether you like it or not, your people and mine are enemies.”
Nate knew there was nothing he could say to change the warrior’s mind. Flying Hawk’s logic was irrefutable, and were he in the Ute’s place he’d feel the same way. “If my people were to find out my sister has slept with a white man, they would shun her. The child would be treated even worse. Do not look at me like that. I have heard that your people do not think highly of mixed unions either.”
“Some do not,” Nate admitted, and would have gone on to appeal to the warrior’s sense of fairness if not for the untimely arrival of Smoky Woman.
“Have fire. Need water.” She held out a pot. “I fetch.”
“Not on your life,” Nate said, snatching it from her hand and moving quickly to the end of the barricade to forestall any protest. Hunching down and staying close to the cliff, he trotted toward the spring. Not until he had covered over ten feet did the gravity of the risk he was taking sink home. And all for a man he didn’t like all that much.
No, he told himself. That wasn’t quite true. He wasn’t doing this for Cain so much as he was for Smoky Woman. For her he felt acute sympathy, and he wished there was something he could do to lessen her misery. There wasn’t, though. She had made the difficult choice and she must now live with the inevitable consequence.
The smooth surface of the pool reflected the stars overhead, a glimmering mirror afloat in a dull sea of rock and packed earth, easy for him to distinguish. He halted a dozen feet off and crouched. Slowly, his mind cautioned. To rush now would prove fatal. There had to be savages nearby, and perhaps one or two were keeping an eye on the spring.
Of a sudden the wind picked up again, cooling his cheeks and brow. He ran his eyes over every boulder, every shadow. Any savages in hiding were invisible.
Easing onto his stomach, the Hawken in his left hand, the pot in his right, he snaked toward the pool, advancing an inch at a time, moving first one limb, then another, much like an oversized turtle moving in slow motion. He had to be extra careful not to scrape the rifle or the pot on the ground. Once he slipped up and the pot made a scratching noise. Freezing, he waited to see if there would be a reaction. The night mocked his anxiety with its tranquility.
At the water’s edge he inhaled the dank scent and touched his fingers to the cool surface. Cupping his right hand, he ladled water to his mouth and drank quietly. Then he slowly lowered the pot in. Water flowed over the sides, filling it rapidly, making it heavier and harder to hold.
Somewhere to the west arose a faint clattering.
Nate lifted the pot out and set it down to free both hands for using the Hawken. The clattering stopped before he could identify it. Staying motionless, he fixed his eyes blankly on the entire scene before him rather than on any one specific spot. It was an old trick used to detect the slightest movement anywhere within one’s view.
Over a minute must have gone by when a light-colored apparition materialized to the southwest. Assuming it must be a savage, he tucked the Hawken to his shoulder and leveled the rifle across the pool, the barrel so close to the surface it was nearly touching. Gradually the apparition solidified, transforming into a small doe, not much over a year old. Demonstrating the age-old vigilance of her species, she would take several steps, then pause to test the wind.
Nate knew the animal was coming to drink. In order to avoid giving her a scare and having her bound off, making all kinds of noise as she fled, he backed away from the pool, taking the pot in his right hand. He had gone a yard or so when he saw the most remarkable sight.
From four directions at once sprang four husky savages, swooping down on the startled doe in a blur of lightning speed. She bounded to the left, saw a savage bearing down on her, and reversed direction, bounding to the right. Another savage blocked her escape route. Spinning, she sought to flee the way she had come but another savage was there. They had her completely hemmed in. Game to the last, she darted between two of them, or tried to, but they were amazingly fast. One got her by the neck, the other dived and grabbed her front legs, and she bleated in terror as she went down. Nate distinctly heard a loud snap. The four savages huddled around their kill, tearing at her with their hands. One of them, exhibiting superhuman strength, tore off her hind leg and commenced greedily devouring her raw flesh. Another leaned down to rip into her slender neck with his teeth.
Nate had seen enough. Now, while they were distracted, was the perfect time to head for the cave. Turning, he crawled but three or four inches when he saw another savage, this one standing at the base of the cliff wall between the pool and the cave. And the man was coming toward him!