“I only know one star,” Miguel mumbled, ashamed of his own ignorance. “I guess I’m not as smart as a scorpion.” He pointed to the brightest star in the heavens. “My father told me that one is always to the north. I know the Indé brought me north into the mountains, as the star was always ahead. I’m pretty sure I have to travel south to get back to my family’s ranch, so I’ve been trying to keep that North Star at my back.” He thought for a moment. “How do you know scorpions can read the position of the stars?”
“The elders tell it,” Rushing Cloud said.
Miguel felt a touch of annoyance. Rushing Cloud seemed so sure of everything, as if he had no doubts in his mind. Miguel suddenly realized that he was no different. Only a week ago, he had been convinced he knew everything he needed. When Papá had tried to teach him about the positions of the stars, Miguel was sure it was useless to learn. When Papá had talked about the family’s history, Miguel had never suspected that Papá had not revealed what he truly had needed to know. What could he believe in now?
Rushing Cloud was quiet, striding through the darkness as if he were strolling down the main street in Tucson. Miguel didn’t know why, but he felt confident that Rushing Cloud would guide him home. Only a week ago, he never would have imagined that an Indian could be trusted at all.
As the night stretched on, Miguel’s hobbling progress became more and more difficult. His bandaged foot began to bleed, and he couldn’t put any weight on it. He bent his knee and placed the pressure on his heel. Soon his good leg cramped from the extra weight and the unnatural position as he limped along. Rushing Cloud got farther and farther ahead until Miguel had difficulty keeping him in sight.
“Wait,” he called softly. “I’ve got to rest.”
Rushing Cloud paused until Miguel caught up. “I will carry you,” he offered, bending down. Miguel barely hesitated before he climbed onto Rushing Cloud’s back, bracing his good arm across his companion’s chest while he held Miguel’s legs. Rushing Cloud kept a swift pace. “We must walk until the sun warms the air,” he said. “First light is already upon us.” Miguel scanned the horizon, but everything looked black.
Rushing Cloud began chanting softly. Miguel didn’t understand the words, but they began to sound familiar as the young man repeated them over and over in the same tone. He wondered if it was the same song Rushing Cloud had explained earlier. Lulled by the sound and the steady rhythm of his companion’s steps, he dozed against Rushing Cloud’s sturdy back.
When Miguel next looked up, the sun was sending its first rays of rosy light over the desert. “I’ll try to walk again,” he offered and eased himself down.
Rushing Cloud pointed to an outcropping of rocks in the distance. The yellow blossoms of a few early-blooming creosote bushes stood out like tiny candles in the shadows.
“There we will build a shelter. It will be cool against the rocks, and we will find water.” He trotted ahead.
How could Rushing Cloud be so certain that there would be water? It didn’t seem as if he had been here before. Miguel gimped along toward the shadowy boulders. Rushing Cloud was already gathering sticks and small branches and setting them across two jagged rocks that jutted out overhead. Using his right hand, Miguel began collecting dry brush to add to the shelter. Low barrel cacti crowned with waxy yellow flowers and flat prickly pear cacti clustered near scattered clumps of thick grasses. The leaves of a gnarled mesquite tree filtered shadows across the sandy soil.
“With the rocks at our backs,” Rushing Cloud explained, “no one can sneak up behind us. The brush will hide us from our enemies and from the heat of the sun.” Miguel saw that the shelter faced east. The early morning sun would not be as hot, and by afternoon when its rays were most oppressive, the sun would drop behind the rocks, leaving them in shade. Rushing Cloud seemed to know all this by instinct.
Miguel thought about the band of Apache. “I don’t think the warriors are tracking me or they would have caught up long before now,” he said. “Maybe they stayed away because you’re with me. Although, if they wanted new warriors, you’re definitely the better choice.” Like the Indé, Rushing Cloud was swift and at ease in the desert. Like them, he didn’t seem to feel the extremes of heat or cold. Miguel thought the natives were truly part of the desert, and it was part of them.
When the shelter was completed, Rushing Cloud stepped among the grasses. He found a flat stone and began to scrape at the sandy ground between the boulders.
“Where is the iron point?” he asked, and Miguel handed him the pocketknife. Without hesitation, Rushing Cloud used the blade to dig deeper. Miguel saw that the sand looked darker. As his companion widened the hole, water seeped in. “Drink,” Rushing Cloud said. They cupped their hands, grateful for the few drops of water that had been hidden just beneath the surface.
“How did you know there was water here?” Miguel asked.
“The elders tell that green grass always stands with its feet wet,” Rushing Cloud answered.
Miguel couldn’t believe that someone his own age knew so much about living in the desert. He was ashamed of his own weakness. Not so long ago, he had argued with his family and bragged about his skills. He had longed for the chance to prove his independence, but he had failed. If Rushing Cloud hadn’t helped him, his birthday might have been his last day.
The two companions pushed closer together in the cramped shelter. Looking across the brightening desert, Miguel saw another roadrunner poised on a rock. Its feathery crest spiked up and then flattened against its head. Miguel touched Rushing Cloud’s arm to show him the bird, but the young man was already studying it.
Miguel reached for a loose stone. The bird was a swift runner, but it could barely fly. This time, my aim will be better, he thought. I will show Rushing Cloud that I can take care of myself.
As he raised his hand, Rushing Cloud held Miguel’s arm down. In a barely audible voice, he murmured, “Watch.”
Chapter 10
Snake Killer
The tawny cock stood as still as a fence post. Miguel also froze, afraid the slightest movement would scare it off. The bird’s feathers mixed mottled shades of brown and black with streaks of white, providing camouflage.
A stealthy motion in the sand drew Miguel’s attention. Just in front of the bird, a thick-bodied rattlesnake slithered toward their shelter. Yellow scales tinged the diamond pattern along its back, and its tongue darted in and out, testing the air for the scent of prey. Miguel had always been told a rattler wouldn’t attack if you didn’t move. It was one piece of advice he had followed. The skin on his back prickled, and he wondered if he could remain as calm and still as Rushing Cloud.
The snake slid closer, its movements both contorted and graceful. Miguel silently prayed the snake would change direction. Just as it entered a bright patch of sunlight, the roadrunner flapped down. Its long, sharp beak was poised for attack.
The snake opened its jaws wide, baring its fangs. Its tail rattles vibrated an ominous warning, but the bird kept up its sniping. Aiming for a spot just behind the snake’s head, it landed a fearless peck. The snake coiled and sprang at the bird, which flapped out of range and then charged again. Attacking and retreating, the two adversaries seemed determined to fight to the death.
“Rattlesnakes cannot live long under the sun,” Rushing Cloud whispered. “It is a creature of night.” Miguel watched the battle with awe. The roadrunner toyed with the snake, luring it farther into the blazing sun, attacking just often enough to keep it from escaping under the rocks. The rattler became sluggish, either tiring from the fight or suffering from the rising heat.
The bird’s attacks grew bolder and more deadly, striking deep into the rattler’s flesh. When the snake failed to respond to one ferocious peck, the bird boldly caught the large reptile in its beak and dashed it against a rock. The snake struggled, but its wounds were too severe.
Miguel was riveted to the final moments of the duel. The bird made one last attack, tearing a deep wound at the bac
k of the reptile’s head. The rattler gave a convulsive shake and lay still in the sun. As the roadrunner dove in to devour its kill, Rushing Cloud sprang from the shelter waving his arms up and down. The victorious bird cast its glassy orange-rimmed eyes on its prey and then looked with alarm at the intruder. It raced off across the sand, its tail straight and its beak thrust forward like the point of an arrow.
Rushing Cloud grabbed the limp snake by the tail and held it up like a trophy. It was longer than he was tall. A small smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “Dinner,” he said.
Miguel stepped closer. “You’re going to eat it?” he asked.
“No,” Rushing Cloud said. “You are.”
Miguel knew that the ranch hands occasionally ate a rattlesnake they had killed. The thought of eating a poisonous reptile that moments before had been slithering toward him seemed only slightly less appetizing than eating Doc Meyer’s horse. At least he hadn’t been friends with the snake.
Miguel looked down at his feet. All around him, the sand was marked with curious X-shaped prints. He couldn’t guess what they were. Rushing Cloud noticed Miguel’s puzzled look.
“We call this snake-killer todai,” Rushing Cloud said. “Todai is both brave and clever.” He turned over various stones, testing their sharpness and tossing them aside. “With two toes pointed forward and two backward, who can follow his trail?” Miguel wouldn’t have known which way the bird had run if he had been tracking it. “It is never wise to let your enemies know which way you have gone,” Rushing Cloud added. Finally, he chose a long narrow stone with a rough edge and laid the dead snake in the shade.
Using his water gourd as a shovel, Rushing Cloud began digging a shallow, circular pit. Miguel helped scoop away the dirt as his companion loosened it. Then Rushing Cloud gathered several small rocks and used them to line the bottom of the hole. Next, he carefully arranged a pile of dried sticks topped with dry grass. Patiently, he struck a flint from his pocket against a rough stone until a spark flew onto the tinder and it began to smoke. Rushing Cloud leaned into the smoking brush and blew steady streams of air until flames flickered and grew.
Miguel scoured the area, gathering pieces of cactus wood and withered twigs. The fire burned until there was neither flame nor smoke, but simply shimmering air radiating from the hot stones. Now he understood how Rushing Cloud had cooked the rabbit last night. The rocks held the heat long after the wood had burned to ashes. Without smoke or flame, no one would notice their hiding place.
Rushing Cloud bent over the snake’s carcass and began to gut it. Miguel withdrew his pocketknife and opened the blade. He handed it to his companion, who tested it cautiously against his finger.
“Sharp,” he grunted approvingly. “Now it is our Snake Skinner.” Rushing Cloud sliced open the snake and removed the innards. With one strong cut, he chopped off the snake’s venomous head and then severed the rattles from its tail. He cut the carcass into small sections and dropped them into the pit. Dripping juices hissed against the hot stones.
The boys crouched in the shade, watching the meat cook. Rushing Cloud played with the rattles, shaking them until they clattered their familiar warning. He handed them to Miguel. “If ever you are hiding and fear you will be discovered, use these to scare your enemy away.”
Miguel tested the bony rattles until he could vibrate them easily. “You might need them—and you earned them,” he said, offering them back.
Rushing Cloud turned the pieces of meat with a stick. “I already know many tricks, and the rattles may give you some of the snake’s power.” Rushing Cloud spoke so often of gaining power from animals. Miguel didn’t understand, but he pushed the bony tail into his pocket.
Gingerly, Miguel tested his left arm. He still couldn’t move it without searing pain. If anything, it felt worse than it had the first day he had been injured. The sling kept it from pulling against his shoulder socket, but he worried that something was terribly wrong since it hadn’t begun to mend.
The gash on his foot was healing. It seemed Rushing Cloud had been right that the greatest injury had been the cut Miguel had made himself. He massaged the tender wound lightly. What he had done might seem foolish, but Miguel had been convinced that there was no choice. He couldn’t know for certain what had bitten him in the dark. It might have been a more poisonous scorpion whose venom would have killed him in a matter of hours if he hadn’t drained the poison before it spread.
Running away from home now seemed foolish, as well. Miguel was ashamed that just as he had slashed his foot without thinking of the consequences, he had run from the ranch without thinking of where he would go or what he would do. To think that he had been so heedless as to leave without even taking his hat!
Why didn’t I realize I could get lost, or think about how frightened Mamá and Papá would be? Miguel had been faced with a choice, and he had made a childish one.
The waxy flowers on the creosote bush glowed in the sun’s blazing light. Bees flitted from one blossom to another gathering pollen and making a droning buzz. As soon as they held their fill of pollen, they flew home. Miguel felt as if he had been away from his home for months instead of days.
“Why would the Apache take me so far?” he asked.
“They circle around, go high and then low. This makes it hard for anyone to find their camp—even you.”
“They argued over what to do with me, I think,” Miguel mused.
“Maybe some felt you would not become a strong warrior,” Rushing Cloud said.
“I know I wasn’t much of a prize,” Miguel agreed. “I could barely keep up with them on the trail. I think some of them wanted to kill me. The last night I was with the band, a warrior hit me from behind. That’s how my shoulder got hurt. I think he was going to finish me off, but an owl swooped across the path and they all ran.”
A shadow of fear darkened Rushing Cloud’s eyes. “An owl?” he repeated. “Owl is a messenger from the Spirit World, maybe the spirit of a dead person. Perhaps an ancestor came to help you. Owl warns them to beware.” He was quiet for a moment and then murmured almost to himself, “So that is how you got away.”
“I couldn’t believe they were afraid of a bird when they seemed so brave about other things. They never complained about being cold or hungry or thirsty. They weren’t afraid of being discovered by the cavalry. When they scattered, I ran too. I didn’t think they saw me, but the warrior who had attacked me sneaked up and hit me again. I fell over the edge of the trail.” Miguel’s memory became clearer. “He said something other warriors had said that night, and his voice was angry. I don’t remember the words exactly, but it sounded something like pin-da-lickee.” Miguel’s voice trailed off.
Rushing Cloud looked away. “Pinduh lickoyee,” he said in a soft voice. “White-eyed enemy.”
Chapter 11
Trust the Inside
To the Apache, I am the enemy, Miguel mused. To everyone else, they are the enemy. The Apache had always claimed that the Abranos’ horse ranch was on tribal land, even though the family had lived there for hundreds of years. It wasn’t just the Abrano land the Apache wanted. They believed all white settlers were in their territory, and they wouldn’t give up trying to remove them. Papá always said he would fight to his last breath if his land were threatened. Miguel realized now that the Apache felt the same.
Miguel thought again of the old diary. What happened to the land Aharon ben Avraham left behind in Spain? If the church seized it, does that make the church my enemy? Miguel rubbed his throbbing forehead.
What makes people enemies? he wondered. Rushing Cloud was afraid that I was his enemy when he first noticed me, and I felt the same about him. But we have learned to trust each other. We call each other friend.
Rushing Cloud scouted the area and picked up three dried-out cactus ribs. “Will you share Snake Skinner again?” he asked. Miguel pulled the knife from his pocket. Rushing Cloud used the blade to sharpen one end of each stick. With two of the sticks in hand, he wal
ked to a prickly pear cactus. Holding the sticks like tongs, he gripped a spiny pad, sliced it off, and dropped it onto the sand. He repeated this a few more times.
“What are you doing?” Miguel asked.
“This is my dinner,” his friend replied. Miguel watched as Rushing Cloud rubbed the cactus pads roughly over the pebbly sand. Most of the spines fell away, and the rest he pried out with the knife blade. As he worked, Rushing Cloud asked, “Has your family sent out soldiers to search for you?”
“At first, I was sure the cavalry would come,” Miguel said. “Every day I listened for the sounds of hoof beats, hoping they had found my trail. I even wondered if their search was what made the Apache band decide to travel after dark the last night I was with them. Maybe they had seen soldiers and decided to move faster.” He shook his head. “But I don’t see how anyone could have tracked me. The band followed hidden trails into the mountains, and we even climbed up the face of a small cliff. No horse could follow us.”
“And Apachu always leave false trails,” Rushing Cloud said as he dropped the smooth cactus pads onto the hot stones in the fire pit. He sat down and pointed to Miguel’s feet. “They take your boots, no?”
“Yes,” Miguel answered. “One warrior put on my boots and walked off in a different direction than the rest of us. But when we arrived at a campsite that evening, he was already there—and my boots were gone.”
“Apachu think of everything to hide,” Rushing Cloud said with a hint of admiration for his enemy’s skill. “What about your horse?”
Miguel tried to close his mind to what had happened to Zuzi. He answered tersely. “Another warrior took it.”
“Yes,” Rushing Cloud said, nodding knowingly. “Horse leaves tracks in one direction and boots make tracks another way. Then Apachu wipe out all other footprints. When soldiers find cottonwoods where you stayed, they look all around. They think horse ran off and you walked the wrong way. They never guess true direction the warriors take you. By the time they maybe figure it out, you are far away in enemy camp.” Rushing Cloud’s face lit up with amusement, as if he suddenly remembered a joke. “Sometimes, Apachu copy the tracks of our friend, Snake-Killer. They walk with moccasins on backwards. Looks like the warrior ended up where he started and then disappeared!” He paused and admitted, “I do that myself sometimes—like when I ran away.”
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