Blood Bond: Arizona Ambush

by Johnstone, J. A. ; Johnstone, J. A.

  Just before he dozed off, a thought occurred to him and he tried to open his eyes again. He wanted to tell Sam he had seen that green-eyed, redheaded young woman in the Navajo getup first.

  But that probably wasn’t true, he realized, since he’d been unconscious when they got here, so it was just as well that oblivion claimed him before he could say anything.

  Sam didn’t sleep much that night, because Matt developed a fever and would have tossed and turned restlessly all night if Sam hadn’t sat beside him and tried to keep him calm.

  As it was, Matt muttered incoherently most of the time and jerked his head back and forth. Elizabeth Fleming, who seemed to have appointed herself a nurse as well as a teacher, and Juan Pablo’s wife took turns wiping Matt’s forehead with a wet cloth in an attempt to cool his fever.

  Juan Pablo himself left the hogan, muttering disgustedly to himself as he went to look for somewhere more peaceful to sleep.

  Sometime during the long ordeal, a rustle of movement close by made Sam’s head come up sharply. He had dozed off sitting up, without realizing it. He saw Elizabeth on her knees on Matt’s other side. She had taken over the job of bathing his feverish forehead.

  Sam started to smile and nod at her. He was in mid-nod, though, when the urge to yawn gripped him. He couldn’t hold it back. His mouth opened wide before he could stop it. All he could do was cover the yawn sheepishly with his hand.

  Elizabeth laughed.

  The soft sound didn’t waken the older woman, who now snored on the other side of the hogan. Sam chuckled, too, and grinned at the redhead.

  “I can tell by your accent you’re not really fresh from Killarney,” he said. “Where are you from?”

  “Bennington, Vermont, actually,” she told him. “What about you?”

  “Montana. Like I said, my mother was a teacher. My father was Medicine Horse of the Cheyenne.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be marrying one of my students here in Arizona.”

  “Then we are in Arizona?” Sam asked. “Matt and I were talking about that earlier today ... before the shooting started.”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “Yes, in Sweetwater Valley, about twenty miles west of Flat Rock.”

  “I didn’t think there was any sweet water in these parts.”

  “You should know that Indians are capable of irony,” Elizabeth said with a smile.

  “What’s this Flat Rock you mentioned? I don’t reckon I’ve heard of it. Some natural landmark?”

  “No, it’s a town,” she said. “The closest town to this spot. I took the stagecoach there from Chinle.”

  Sam shook his head.

  “Must not have been there for very long. It’s been a few years since Matt and I rode through this area.”

  “All I know is that it has a rather rough reputation. The stage line ends there, and the driver said he would be glad to turn around and start back to civilization.”

  Calling anywhere in this region “civilization” was stretching things a mite, Sam thought. A lot of it had been unchanged for hundreds of years.

  Matt stirred and let out a low moan. Elizabeth leaned over him with a frown for a moment, then got the cloth wet again in the basin of water on the ground beside her and wiped it over his forehead.

  “He needs proper medical care,” she said, “but I’m afraid this is about all we can do for him.”

  Sam nodded.

  “Matt’s strong. He’ll pull through this all right.”

  His voice was confident. He just wished his heart was.

  But Elizabeth was right. All they could do was try to keep Matt comfortable and wait for his fever to break.

  Chapter 8

  Two days later, it did. Big drops of greasy sweat formed on Matt’s face as his temperature went down. As the sun came up that morning, he was groggy but awake again.

  “Sam ... ?” he whispered as he saw his blood brother sitting beside him and looking down at him anxiously.

  “Just take it easy,” Sam told him. “You were real sick for a while, but I think you’re better now.”

  Juan Pablo’s wife knelt beside Matt and removed the poultices from the wounds. Those poultices had been changed several times while Matt was in the grip of the fever.

  Each time Sam had seen the bullet holes, his worry had deepened. The wounds were angry-looking, and streaks of red radiated out away from them. He knew that the festering threatened to spread all through Matt’s body.

  But now the redness had faded so much it was almost invisible. The poultices had drawn the corruption out of Matt’s flesh. The wounds were beginning to pucker a little, too. Soon they would close up and start to heal.

  The woman covered the holes with pieces of clean cloth and bound the bandages in place with long strips of rawhide. Sam hadn’t seen her smile even once since he and Matt had been here, but now she as she looked at him and nodded, her expression wasn’t as severe as it had been. He took that as a good sign.

  “We’re still in the Navajo canyon?” Matt asked.

  “That’s right. You’ve been too sick to move you. Juan Pablo’s wife has been taking care of you, along with Miss Fleming.”

  “That’s mighty nice of ’em. Hasn’t been ... any trouble?”

  “Nope.”

  “No sign of those ... bushwhackers?”

  “No, but I’ve been thinking about what happened. Either we almost stumbled into something they didn’t want us to see ... or somebody sent them after us because they wanted us dead.”

  “Who would ... send hired killers after us?”

  “I don’t know, but I’d like to find out for sure one way or the other.”

  “Yeah,” Matt agreed, “if somebody’s after us ... it’d come in handy to know who and why.” He sighed. “Soon as I ... get some of my strength back ... we’ll see if we can pick up their trail.”

  Sam shook his head.

  “You’re not going to be in any shape to travel for a while. Right now, though, since it looks like you’re going to be all right, I need to find Juan Pablo and go talk to Caballo Rojo. I want to make sure it’s all right with him before I try to leave the canyon.”

  “Leave the canyon? I told you, I’m gonna have to rest up some first ...”

  “It’ll be at least a week before you’re on your feet again, Matt. The trail’s already several days old. If we wait until you’re strong enough to travel, it’ll be so cold there’s a good chance we’ll never be able to find those varmints. Unless they ambush us again, and we won’t have any warning of that coming if we don’t know who they are.”

  “Yeah, but you can’t track them down by yourself,” Matt protested.

  “Why not? I know we make a good team, but I can take care of myself, you know. And I’m a better tracker than you are, too.”

  “Durned well ought to be, since you’re half-Indian,” Matt muttered. “But that still won’t stop you from going off and gettin’ yourself killed.”

  “Have a little faith,” Sam said as he got to his feet.

  “You’re just gonna leave me here?”

  “You’ll be well taken care of, and Caballo Rojo has given his word that you’ll be safe. Anyway, I don’t think the ladies would let anything happen to you. They’ve worked too hard pulling you through to lose you now.”

  “Where is that ... pretty little redhead?”

  “Miss Fleming, you mean?”

  “I don’t reckon there are too many other redheads around here,” Matt said.

  “She’s around. She’s got to get some rest sometime, you know. Taking care of you will wear a person out.” Sam grinned. “I ought to know.”

  “Do I remember her sayin’ ... she’s a schoolteacher? My memory’s a mite fuzzy right now.”

  “That’s right. From Vermont.”

  “And we run into her in the middle of nowhere,” Matt muttered. “If that don’t beat all.”

  Sam found Juan Pablo sitting on a rock beside the creek, restringing a bow. The warrior glanc
ed up and grunted, but didn’t say anything.

  “Matt’s fever finally broke,” Sam reported. “He’s feeling a lot better.”

  “Good. We will not have to trouble ourselves dragging his body away from the canyon for the coyotes and the buzzards to feast upon.”

  Sam swallowed the angry retort that almost sprang to his lips. He and Matt were guests of the Navajo, after all. Anyway, he should be used to Juan Pablo’s surly nature by now, he told himself.

  “I’d like to speak with Caballo Rojo.”

  That drew some interest from Juan Pablo. He looked up with a frown and asked, “Why?”

  “Because I want to find those men who bushwhacked us and make them tell me what it was all about.”

  Juan Pablo grunted again.

  “Probably they were thieves who wanted to rob you. All white men are thieves.”

  “I suppose they could have been, but Matt and I didn’t look like very tempting targets for a robbery.”

  That was true. Despite the fact that neither of the young men had to worry about money because of the ranches they owned in Montana, nobody could tell that by looking at them. They had good horses, and their guns were relatively new and well-cared-for, but other than that they appeared to be typical, down-on-their-luck drifters and grub-line riders.

  “Those men could be far away by now,” Juan Pablo pointed out.

  “That’s true. And that’s all the more reason to try to pick up their trail now, before they get even farther away.”

  “You are set on doing this thing?”

  “I am.”

  “Caballo Rojo said that you may leave the canyon whenever you wish.”

  Sam nodded.

  “I know. But I want to tell him where I’m going and why, and make sure it’s all right with him if Matt stays here while he recovers from his wounds.”

  “You are going to leave your friend?” Juan Pablo didn’t sound happy about that.

  “He’s not going to be fit to travel for a week or more,” Sam explained. “I don’t want to wait that long to go after the bushwhackers.”

  A put-upon sigh came from Juan Pablo. He set the bow aside.

  “Come,” he said as he stood up. “We will talk to Caballo Rojo.”

  They walked through the canyon to the large hogan that belonged to the chief. Sam had been here long enough now that the novelty of having him around had worn off for the most part. Some of the children still followed him wherever he went, and some of the young, unmarried women eyed him with open interest and speculation that he was careful not to return. Making some warrior jealous was one of the last things he needed.

  Caballo Rojo was sitting outside his hogan enjoying the morning sun. He greeted Juan Pablo in Navajo, then gave Sam a solemn nod and said, “Two Wolves.”

  Sam was pleased that the chief used his Cheyenne name. He considered that a good omen.

  “Good morning, Caballo Rojo,” he said. “My friend Matt Bodine is better this morning. The fever no longer consumes him.”

  Juan Pablo repeated that in Navajo. Caballo Rojo nodded again and spoke. Juan Pablo translated, “Caballo Rojo says this is a good thing and that your heart must be lightened.”

  “It is,” Sam replied. “Tell him that it’s due to his great mercy and generosity that Matt survived at all, and that we are indebted to him.”

  Juan Pablo complied.

  Sam went on, “But now I must ask him for even more of that mercy and generosity, because I want to leave Matt here to recover while I search for the men responsible for hurting him.”

  Juan Pablo spoke the words, and Caballo Rojo considered them gravely. For a long moment he didn’t reply, and when he did, it was at great length. Sam knew not to read too much into that. The Navajo could be as wordy and obsessed with formality as any other tribe.

  Finally Juan Pablo turned back to him, and the warrior’s translation was predictably brief.

  “Caballo Rojo says that this is agreeable to him, and he promises that your friend will continue to be cared for and kept safe.”

  “Please express my deepest gratitude to the chief.”

  Juan Pablo did so. Caballo Rojo acknowledged that with another grave nod and a slight wave of his hand.

  Juan Pablo asked, “When will you go?”

  “As soon as I can,” Sam said. “Now that Matt appears to be out of danger, I don’t see any reason to wait. I want to pick up the trail before much more time goes by.”

  “Can you find the place where you were attacked?”

  “I think so,” Sam said with a smile. “I kept my eyes open while we were on our way here, and I’m pretty good at remembering landmarks.”

  “I can take you back to the place where we found you.”

  Sam was a little surprised by the offer. He hadn’t expected Juan Pablo to be so cooperative.

  “I appreciate that, but it’s not really necessary.”

  Juan Pablo shrugged.

  “If you change your mind ...”

  “I don’t reckon I will.”

  The familiar sneer appeared on the warrior’s face.

  “Now you sound like a white man,” he said. “Always convinced you are right.”

  Sam shrugged and turned to head back to the hogan where he’d left Matt. That was where he’d been staying, too.

  Sam gathered his gear, checked the place where the bullet crease was healing on the animal, and then saddled his horse, which was picketed on a grassy stretch beside the creek with the Navajo ponies. When he was ready to go, he returned to the hogan and found Matt sitting up, eating a bowl of stew.

  Matt’s face was a little thinner from his ordeal and pale under his permanent tan. But he seemed to have a healthy appetite, and that was a good sign. He finished the stew, set the empty bowl aside, and said, “You look like you’re ready to ride.”

  “I am,” Sam said with a nod.

  “You’re really gonna leave me here?”

  “Caballo Rojo has given me his word personally that you’ll be taken care of.”

  Matt made a face.

  “I don’t much cotton to being taken care of.” He glanced across the hogan, where Elizabeth Fleming sat with Juan Pablo’s wife, each of them weaving a blanket. Elizabeth wasn’t the only one doing the teaching during her stay with the Navajo. “Even when the surroundings are pleasant most of the time.”

  A worried frown creased Sam’s forehead.

  “I trust Caballo Rojo,” he said as he folded his arms across his chest and gave Matt a stern look. “Can I trust you?”

  “Trust me to what?” Matt asked in apparent innocence.

  “Behave yourself.”

  “Me? Why, I always behave myself, Sam, you know that.”

  Sam grunted.

  “I’m not joking here, Matt,” he said. “You’d better take care of yourself and let those wounds heal up.”

  “I have a strong constitution,” Matt said with a smile.

  “You’ve got a strong something.” Sam held out his hand. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “You’d better be back in a week or less,” Matt said as he clasped Sam’s hand.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because by then I’ll be strong enough to come after you, and that’s exactly what I plan to do if you haven’t shown up by then.”

  So that was a new worry, Sam thought. But Matt had a point. In a week’s time, he probably would be strong enough to leave. Matt had always healed quickly and had a vast core of inner strength. He might joke on the outside, but on the inside he was steel and whang leather.

  “Fine. If I’m not back in a week, you can come pick up my trail.”

  Matt nodded.

  “Darn right I will.”

  “So long.”

  Matt started to get up.

  “I can come outside—”

  Sam waved him back down onto the blankets.

  “Just sit there and rest, blast it. The more you do that, the sooner you’ll get well.”

 
Sam started to duck out through the hogan’s door. Matt stopped him by saying, “I suppose it’d be too much to ask for you to save a couple varmints for me.”

  “I reckon that’ll be up to them,” Sam said.

  Chapter 9

  Juan Pablo was waiting next to Sam’s horse.

  “You are certain you do not want me to come with you?” he asked.

  Sam thought quickly. He remembered the looks of dislike that Juan Pablo had given both of them. He didn’t think Matt would do anything to cause trouble while he was gone, but it might be better to have Juan Pablo where he could keep an eye on him.

  Sam considered the situation, then said, “Juan Pablo, I’ve changed my mind. I appreciate your offer, and I accept.”

  Juan Pablo’s expression was as flinty as ever, but Sam thought he saw a flash of satisfaction in the man’s eyes. Juan Pablo nodded and said, “I will tell my woman and get my pony.”

  “I’ll be waiting right here,” Sam told him.

  Navajo warriors traveled light. Less than ten minutes later, Sam and Juan Pablo rode away from the hogans. Several barking dogs followed them for a while before turning back.

  It would take them until the middle of the day to reach the place where Caballo Rojo and his men had found the blood brothers. Sam didn’t want to pass all that time in silence, so after they had ridden for a while, he said, “You speak pretty good English. Did Miss Fleming teach you?”

  Juan Pablo didn’t look over at his companion. He kept his eyes turned straight ahead in a haughty glare, and for a moment Sam thought he wasn’t going to answer.

  “I learned at one of the missions, years ago, when the white man thought he could keep the Diné penned up like wild animals. Life at the agency was no way for my people to live.”

  Sam knew that in many ways, Juan Pablo was right. Reservations and Indian agencies were often badly run, either through greed and corruption or just sheer incompetence. Too many of the people in charge came from back East and had no real idea of how the tribes lived. Their intentions might be good, but their zeal was misguided.