The medicine talk was powerful, and The Warrior's head swam with it. He did not question Hawk's dreams, and he remembered well earlier telling of them. Then they had seemed visions far in the future and he chose that direction in answering.
"Old and stiff will be my brother before his bones lie here. That time cannot be now for no enemy is near, and if a great bear leaped upon you there would be no noble combat."
Unconvinced, The Hawk shrugged, "So it may be, oh Warrior, but the gods choose their own ways." He smiled only a little grimly, "Then, who can trust dreams anyway? Most are as leaves in a wind. Still, this one, I think, was a true vision."
From their height the deer that had run could be seen grazing and Hawk roused himself.
"Dreams can wait, but the deer may not. As our leader, I will circle downwind and wait where animals have worn a clear path. You, of lesser skill, need only pass upwind where your scent will again cause flight. As they pass I will choose and with a single arrow end the hunt."
Pleased that the Hawk had cast aside dark thoughts, The Warrior nodded agreement and waved his friend into his circuitous route.
From his position he could watch Blackhawk's easy run as he passed behind lower ridges and gained the clearly marked game trail. If the deer were not overly frightened they would trot away using the familiar path and pass within perfect bow range. Blackhawk would not miss.
The Warrior strung his own bow and held an arrow ready, because deer did not always act as expected. He walked down the slope and passed through their camp where the horse now grazed contentedly. Soon the deer would scent him and begin moving away. He resolved to let the Hawk clean his own kill; that would repay him for claiming the shot.
A flicker of movement caught his eye and a small buck trotted uncaringly from a side canyon. The distance was short and The Warrior's movement belatedly alerted the animal and it sprang into a tail high, startled run.
The Warrior's arrow nocked itself without thought and the bow of Friend Seeker rose in full draw. The release was instantaneous and the arrow's humming flight was as quickly ended behind the buck's shoulder. Buried to its feathers, the shaft tripped the deer even as it killed, and the animal tumbled as limply as a stone-struck rabbit.
Without breaking stride, The Warrior continued his walk making certain that the remaining animals moved on as planned. Satisfied, he returned and quickly gutted the buck and chopped its head free. He draped the limp carcass over a shoulder and recrossed the meadow. His step was quicker now as he planned how he would have meat on the fire when Blackhawk came in. Now, if The Hawk should miss! The thought made his eyes smile, but that chance was really too small.
++++
The weather gods smiled and the tiny rivulet did not dry up as they half expected. With meat in the camp they chose indolence and put off horse hunting for later suns.
From their lookout they scanned for wild horse herds and watched for dust clouds that could announce the imminent arrival of a hunting or traveling party. They had been long alone and would enjoy fire circle gossip and even the chatter of squaws and shrieking of children. The Hawk vowed he could barter their stories for new moccasins, but The Warrior intended to trade stones and shells he had chosen along their way. That neither offering was worth the moccasins did not occur to them. That their combined presence overwhelmed those they visited and insured granting of gifts was little realized. Separately, each gained respect. Together, they seemed special beings, perhaps even from the lands of The Great Spirit. Few would choose to resist them.
Gaining high ground on the fourth day they saw with some astonishment a camp of many families newly arrived and collapsed along the nearest creek bank. No fire smoke rose and the people appeared exhausted and lay about with little movement.
"The men are away or there would not be such laziness, Warrior."
"It is as well they are, Blackhawk, for they came silent as mice, and if unfriendly, surprise could have been theirs."
"I would have heard them and warned you."
"Huh, more likely you would have scared them away. During the night you groaned and thrashed like one in pain, oh Hawk. Your dreams were surely of the many times you slowed our travel, or took the better meat, or chose the wrong trail, or . . ."
"The young still abuse their elders, but it is true that dreams do haunt my sleep. Parts of my vision appear but are gone before I can judge them." He shook his head in disgust and flipped a pebble into the canyon. "Perhaps this village of laziness will boast a mighty seer who can explain it all." They snorted mutual disbelief and started down.
The people were of the Arapaho and they lay like logs, exhausted, sodden with despair, and too dispirited to attempt to flee. They sprawled along the stream, some dangling hands or feet in the chill water, but most sleeping like the dead or staring blank-eyed and unresponsive.
Until a younger woman roused enough to explain, the two warriors feared catching a deadly illness and stayed distant. Even then the story unfolded painfully in jerks and stumblings that increased the terror and deadliness of it.
While their hunters sought the buffalo which should again be moving north, the families had camped handily on the plains. With only old men and boys to protect them, they had been attacked by the animal tribe from the south. Bravely had the old and the young fought, allowing time for the women and children to escape. For two suns they had driven their horses to exhaustion; then they had run through the night seeking refuge within the sacred lands.
But here no villages had been raised because most tribes were also on the plains waiting the return of the buffalo, and as certain as the sun rose, the animal tribe came for them. Without protectors, the people would be found, most would die, and the few spared would be taken to the animal wickiups as slaves. There was resignation in the woman's voice, and her hopelessness was clearly shared by the other exhausted survivors.
Almost angrily the Hawk prodded her to her feet and directed her to take others and bring fire and meat from their camp. Even the promise of food barely roused the women, and they staggered in exhaustion as they moved slowly away.
The Hawk led to a closer place where they could again watch the plains while they spoke of what to do.
"The tribes never learn, Warrior. Forever they will leave the women to the enemy while they ride for the buffalo. Usually scouts go ahead and women are held close to butcher and save the robes, but in the spring, bellies are lean and old lessons forgotten."
"Who are the animals that pursue the Arapaho, oh Hawk? The tribe is new to me."
"I have seen them, Warrior. They are enemies of all other tribes and are rightly named. Their place is in the dry southern mountains. The Comanche drove them there long ago. They are a people who care nothing for horses and usually eat those they capture. They live in stick and dirt huts in secret valleys. If they know gods, I have not heard of it, and they are fierce and merciless fighters that seem of the earth itself. They have little, iron and without horses they remain close to their jacals.
"This band is far from home, but the woman is right, the animals will come and they will do the things she fears. If there is metal or cloth, they will take them, and they will bind and take with them the most comely women. They might choose young boys to replace men killed in battle, but that is not always true. The rest they will kill, for that is the way of the Apache."
While Blackhawk watched the desert, The Warrior forced the women to eat and see to their children. The food helped, but they were an exhausted and defeated people who saw little hope. He herded them together and gave his orders with a ferocity that demanded obedience.
"You have said that the Apache numbered four hands, but your old men and boys will have killed some. Behind the rest ride your own hunters, and their speed will be as great as their rage. If you can hide, the Apache must move on or your men will be among them like wasps." The brave words lifted them a little.
"When the Apache come they will find this camp. Also they will find Blackhawk and T
he Warrior. Our hatchets are hungry, and the Apache will feel them.
"By then you must be scattered in the mountains. A few may walk in the stream, a few must cross each ridge, and some must turn up each valley. Before the sun moves a hand width you must separate again, and then again, and once again.
"Do not hurry but do not rest. Hide your passing on stone, but move steadily. If the Apache have not found you by dark, seek a hiding place and make no sounds for a full light. By then your men will have driven the animals away, and you may return to this sacred place."
He roughly shoved them into motion, and when the last had disappeared he ran quickly back to the Hawk.
Humming a war chant remembered from his youth, the Hawk stroked his hatchet edge across a smooth stone. His eyes touched briefly with those of The Warrior before his chin lifted toward the plains. "The Apache come." His voice betrayed no emotion, but his hands paused while he too studied a betraying dust.
From their height, The Warrior could see women already fanning from the creek bed, but every path lay uphill and the figures barely moved. Far too soon the Apache would be among them.
Seeing his concern, the Hawk asked softly, "Are they anything to us, my brother?" The Hawk's words were startling. The Warrior had not considered the question.
He sought special words but they did not come. "We are all they have, Blackhawk."
The Hawk nodded, "Yet we will change little, my friend. Again and again this will happen. Perhaps to some of these very people."
Better prepared, The Warrior spoke more clearly. "If these were my people I would hope others would help. To war among men can be an honorable thing; never is there honor in harming women or children."
The Hawk sighed, "Most would not see as plainly as you, oh Warrior, and few would risk life for strangers. The women claimed four hands of Apache attacked them. Do we fight so many spears and hope to live?"
"Perhaps we can flit among them like deer flies and use arrows to make them fewer, or if the trails split their band we can reach a few at a time until. . ." The Hawk's raised hand stopped him.
"It is not enough to peck at them, Warrior. Most would pass, and they would be all around us.
"Those who have fought the Apache found them cunning and cruel. Singly they are difficult to fight, but together they may lose their cleverness and know only to attack.
"We are two, and they are many. If we appear before them, they will attack with fury. If we skulk, they will pass us."
The Warrior's palms dampened. The Hawk's proposal was clear. While the women sought safety they would face all the Apache. His eyes found the Hawk's, and their glitter of anticipation fueled his spirit. His breathing deepened and a half forgotten fire flamed somewhere within. Teeth bared, he nodded acceptance and drew added strength from the Hawk's tight-lipped approval.
When it was time they separated and spoke alone to the gods of their choice. Then they showed themselves to the Apache and strode proudly down and onto the first roll of prairie. Left behind were bows, quivers, and pouches. The Hawk had removed even his loincloth and trod naked in barefoot splendor. His hatchet and iron knife were his weapons. The Warrior kept both cloth and moccasins but in each hand he carried a sharpened tomahawk.
Once, the Hawk stopped and plucked a hair from his mane. He held it aloft for both to observe.
"The hair has lost its color, my brother." And indeed the hair was gray.
He rolled the hair between thumb and finger, examining it as he would a powerful talisman. "There are more each season, my Warrior, and they are a sign of age. Does my arm slow a little? Are my eyes less sharp? He shrugged unknowing. Then he turned to directly face The Warrior.
"Although we have said no more, you too must know this as my vision." He gestured first to the plain and then to the mountains where the women and children sought shelter.
"There is the combat I saw, and from the Arapaho people I gain great honor." His eyes held The Warrior's with a familiar warmth, "If the vision is true, my brother, bury my weapons with me, it is the way of my people.
"Finally, it is certain that you will live." He smiled, and his eyes glowed. "For who else would know to place my bones in that place?"
The Hawk turned as if to go, but it was The Warrior's time to speak and he held his friend by stretching an arm across his path.
"If yours is a true vision, your brother will also bury trophies at your feet, and he will cherish his brother's memory.
"The Warrior makes only one request of The Blackhawk. Along the spirit trail, the warrior Friend Seeker waits for his student. Join him in waiting, oh Hawk, for your friend will not be too long in coming."
Shifting his weapons The Blackhawk gripped The Warrior's wrist and felt his own closed with the iron grasp he remembered from the canyon. "I shall wait, oh Warrior." Then he squared his shoulders and turned toward the enemy. "Now let us kill Apache."
The Warrior allowed each tomahawk to dangle and spun them so that the wrist thongs tightened and supported his grip. There they would stay until the fight ended. He gave each an experimental swing and stepped quickly to gain the side of Blackhawk.
The Apache, Juan-to, led the band that had crushed the Arapaho. With the cunning of a desert scorpion, he had held his fighters in hiding until the buffalo hunters were far. Then he struck like the gila lizard and killed those who defended. The Arapaho retreated as they fought, and Juan-to lacked the men to surround the village. The delay gave the women and children a lead and more time was lost while his men took all worth having. There was much, and he reluctantly sent three of his youngest with captured horses and travois loads toward their distant jacal.
Only two Apache had died in the fighting. When the Arapaho men returned, they would find the dead Apaches and dismember them, so Juan-to had wasted little time over them.
The band now numbered three hands and they had caught a hand of horses. While some rode, the rest trotted tirelessly. They changed riders allowing regular rest. When a horse fell they hacked the stricken animal into convenient chunks and ate as they trotted.
More time was lost examining abandoned possessions, and by the second sun the fighters were slowed by their acquisitions. Occasionally they passed old or ill who had given up and had crawled aside to hide in the brush. These they killed and hurried on.
The trail led toward the great mountains and Juan-to hoped to overtake the survivors before they entered. Soon the Arapaho hunters would race this same way and the Apache would be badly outnumbered. By then, he intended to be gone.
Though the sign was fresh, the Arapaho had entered the mountains and Juan-to resigned himself to a lengthier chase. If no villages waited to receive the exhausted women his men would quickly find them. The Apache feared none, but mounted warriors deserved avoiding on the plains. If the Arapaho hunters appeared, their horses would be of less use in the steep valleys, and the Apache would simply melt away.
No smoke rose, and the ridges showed no movement. That did not mean that ambushes were not waiting. From the hills his approach would be seen, and Juan-to was about to send scouts forward when two figures appeared on a high lookout. For a moment the Apache milled as they watched two warriors stride down the hill's forward slope and directly toward them. Clearly they had seen and challenged the Apache, but to Juan-to, it smelled of a trap. Probably a force of mounted fighters waited behind a hill. When the Apache rushed forward the riders would storm from concealment and run the Apache like rabbits. Juan-to would not enter such a snare. He ordered his band into cover and they disappeared as though they had never been. He would wait and take the two walking. If riders rushed forth, the distance would be long and his band would have time to disperse and become one with the earth. If the two were truly alone, the delay would not be costly. He would signal his men to close quickly, and though he must keep watch, he hoped to strike more than one blow himself.
For a time they marched silently and for that time The Warrior let other plans run through his mind. Could they st
rike and by running swiftly draw the Apache away? No, for only a few would follow. Could they have built many fires behind the hills and dragged brush to raise dust as though villages waited? Again no, for quick scouting would have exposed the ruse. The Hawk was right, the Apache must be drawn in and killed.
His thoughts were shattered by The Hawk's mighty bellow of challenge, followed by a series of insults that attacked the manhood of every Apache who had lived. Quickly he added his own, doubting that the words could be understood, but knowing the Apache would recognize the meanings.
Hidden, the Apache could not clearly see the two who threw insults into their faces even as they strode to their deaths. The power of the chanting twitched the nerves of Juan-to, but he waited until the trap surrounded the shouting. Then he screamed the attack and burst from hiding to be among the first to strike.
Except for a single scream, the Apache appeared silent as death. They rose from the earth in a ragged wave, already almost within reach. The Warrior's maniacal screech drowned the Hawk's deeper roar, and they leaped at their attackers with unmatchable hunger.
Iron struck bone and smashed through. Stone beat against ironhard muscle and was ignored. Flint slashed at black and red skin and blood appeared. Figures fell and some rose again as dust swirled, hiding combatants, and the struggle churned in a now silent desperation.
As he leaped at the enemy, consternation struck the Apache Juan-to. Plunging to meet him were giants beyond measuring. One, night black and naked, swirled among his fighters like a twisting storm. The other, a monster of scarred body and flashing tomahawks slashed at those nearest with speed and accuracy beyond believing.
Desperately the Apache leader drove in with his spear. Aiming for an unguarded side he thrust with all his power, but as though waiting the attack an arm like a tree brushed aside the stone point. A razored blade struck his weaker arm and was gone to another target before the Apache felt the shock. Staggered, Juan-to saw his arm, slashed almost off, hanging only by a flap of skin.
The Warrior (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series) Page 22
