Owl Dance

by David Lee Summers

  “You certainly may.” Frank stood and handed the instrument to her.

  She strummed softly and after a moment began to sing in Persian. When she was finished, the men around the campfire clapped. “That was beautiful,” said Frank.

  “What did the words mean?” asked Sergeant Forrest.

  “They’re words of the Persian teacher Bahá’u’lláh,” said Fatemeh. “‘The well-being of mankind, its peace and security are unattainable unless and until its unity is firmly established. You are the leaves of one branch and the fruits of one tree.’”

  “A beautiful thought,” said Corporal Lorenzo. “I hope that will be true one day.”

  “I believe it’s true now,” said Fatemeh.

  A black cowboy named Ezra shook his head. “It sounds good, but I think it may be wishful thinking.”

  “It’ll never happen, if we don’t make a few wishes,” said Fatemeh with a soft smile.

  Frank took the guitar back and looked up at the stars. “Well, wishful thinking won’t get these cattle to Fort McRae. I think we’d better turn in for the night and get some sleep so we can move them along tomorrow.”

  The cowboys muttered good night. Ramon gave Fatemeh a discreet kiss and said, “I love you.”

  She stood and went to the tent. Once inside, she crawled into her bedroll and lay there for some time, wishing she could see the stars, and wishing for the warmth and the camaraderie of the fire. She sighed and rolled over, but still could not drop off to sleep. After a time, she thought she heard faint hoots over the occasional low moo from the cattle. Curious, she climbed out of the tent. The men were all sound asleep.

  Following the sound, Fatemeh came to a short pine tree that seemed to cling tenaciously to the desert sand. In its branches was a spotted owl. It turned its head nearly 180 degrees, looked her in the eye, and made six urgent hoots. Then the owl hopped toward an outer branch and flew off toward Lincoln.

  Fatemeh sighed and walked back to the camp. She knelt down next to Ramon’s bedroll and shook him slightly. “Huh…what’s going on?”

  She hushed him and bent close to his ear. “There are six men riding a short distance behind us. They don’t have a camp fire, but they’re there.”

  Ramon sat up. “How do you know that?”

  “You were expecting an ambush. Looks like the rustlers have set one up just as we expected.” With that, Fatemeh made her way back to the tent.

  << >>

  The next morning, the men gathered their supplies while Ramon and Fatemeh made a simple breakfast of oatmeal and coffee. They were leading the cattle down the trail by eight in the morning. The ride was easier on the second day, since they traveled entirely downhill.

  Ramon kept a wary eye out. He shared Fatemeh’s warning with the soldiers but kept it from the cowboys. He didn’t know how Fatemeh knew there were six men following them. Although he trusted her information, he didn’t understand how she learned it. The cowboys might press him for answers he couldn’t give.

  It was late afternoon when they came upon the first of the jutting red rocks that filled the so-called Valley of Fire. A tank had been set up to catch runoff from the pass and the men tended their horses and let the cattle graze on the scrubby grass that grew in the tank’s vicinity. They would wait until the next day to traverse the barren Valley of Fire. They wanted the horses and cattle well fed and watered before they set out.

  While Ramon and Fatemeh broke out the cooking supplies, Sergeant Forrest, Corporal Lorenzo and the cowboys scouted the area looking for places where they could take cover in case they were attacked. Satisfied they had a plan, the soldiers and the cowboys settled in by the campfire to await dinner.

  “After dinner, do you think you could grace us with another song, Miss Fatemeh?” asked Lorenzo.

  Fatemeh grinned and opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the thundering sound of hooves from the trail behind them.

  Neither Forrest nor Ramon waited to see who was coming. They hurried the cowboys and Fatemeh toward the rocks. Based on Fatemeh’s warning the night before, they knew the rustlers would be coming down the trail and all eyes and guns were focused in that direction.

  Just as they came into sight, Forrest announced, “There are six of them.”

  Ramon was thankful that no one questioned the sergeant. Perhaps they just assumed he had really good eyesight. A moment later, the rustlers shot their guns into the air, spooking the horses. The cattle followed suit, and began tromping their way toward the south, between the mountains and the Valley of Fire.

  Taking careful aim at the lead rider, Ramon fired his rifle. He missed the rider and got the horse. The horse crumpled in a shower of dust and pebbles, leaving the rider sprawled on the ground. Three of the other horses reared and the rustlers struggled to get their mounts under control.

  One of them took aim and fired. A bullet sent fragments of basalt flying near Ramon’s head and he ducked down.

  “Ramon!” shouted Fatemeh.

  “Quiet, corazón!” Ramon whispered harshly.

  The soldiers and cowboys took the opportunity to get a good aim at the rest of the rustlers and fired. They dropped two of the rustlers. Fatemeh hunkered down and covered her eyes. Ramon knew she didn’t lack courage, but she hated the waste of life.

  The remaining three rustlers, realizing they were outgunned and out-positioned, turned their mounts and rode back up the trail.

  Without the provocation of gunfire, the horses and cattle slowed somewhat, but continued in the direction they’d been going. Frank sent Maximillian and Duke after them. The dogs ran off. Their presence seemed to calm the horses and cattle. The animals slowed to a gentle trot. Frank then sent two of his men to catch the horses and begin rounding up the cattle.

  Ramon cautiously peeked out from the rocks, then went over to the fallen rustlers. One man was dead, shot through the chest. One horse lay on the ground, trying to raise itself on a leg shattered by Ramon’s bullet. The cowboy named Ezra came up and fired a bullet through the horse’s head, putting the animal out of its misery. The horse’s rider sat up and made a grab for his pistol, but realized it had fallen from its holster. He leapt for the weapon, but Ramon pointed his rifle and fired between the reaching arm and the gun. “The next shot goes through you, stranger.”

  The fallen man looked up and Ramon realized he was just a boy in his teens.

  “Billy McCarty?” asked Fatemeh. She ran toward the boy.

  “Fatemeh,” said the boy. “I thought I’d seen you in Lincoln.”

  “You know him?” asked Ramon.

  “He helped Luther Duncan and me rescue you in Socorro.” Fatemeh rushed to the boy’s side and knelt beside him. “Are you hurt?”

  “Only my pride,” said the boy called Billy.

  Frank pointed his six-gun at Billy. “Why you’re Billy the Kid,” he said. “I should plug you where you sit, you no good rustler and horse thief.”

  Fatemeh stood up between Frank and Billy. “You’ll do no such thing.”

  Frank’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you protecting that no-account, Miss Fatemeh?”

  Ramon stepped close and put his hand on top of Frank’s gun. “Put the gun away. She’s right. I’d like to question him, find out what’s been going on.”

  Frank shook his head. “I guess you’re within your rights, but I want nothing to do with him.” He holstered the gun and turned his attention to the cattle that had run off.

  “Miss Fatemeh, this man’s hurt real bad,” Lorenzo called. “Maybe you should come see what you can do for him.”

  Fatemeh looked from Billy to Ramon, then went over to the other fallen man. Ramon grabbed Billy the Kid by the collar and hoisted him to his feet. “What’s all this about, son?”

  “Why should I tell you anything?” said Billy with a sneer.

  “Because you’re a no good rustler and a horse thief and I just saved your life,” answered Ramon.

  “My life ain’t worth spit if you take me in,” said Bill
y. “I’d rather you shoot me down here than take me in to a judge that’ll hang me.”

  Ramon shook his head. “Fatemeh says you helped save my life. If that’s true, I’ve repaid my debt.” He looked around and made sure the cowboys were out of earshot. “However, I’m in no hurry to turn you in to anyone in this county. I don’t think the law has much more love for me than they do for you. I’m just here to make sure the cattle get to the fort.”

  Billy snorted. “You wanna know something? L.G. Murphy is stealing from those soldiers just as surely as my boss is.”

  Fatemeh stepped up. “Ramon, that other man is hurt very badly. I’ve helped him as much as I can, but we should get him to a hospital.”

  Ramon looked back toward Lincoln, then out toward the Valley of Fire. “The nearest doctor would be at Fort McRae.” He turned back to Billy. “Son, you’re going to ride with us.”

  “Why should I ride with you?” asked Billy.

  Ramon shrugged. “I only see one other option, you walk back to Lincoln. I’m guessing those cowboys will be headed back that way before you can get there on foot.”

  Billy thought for a moment. “You make a very good point, sir. I’ll ride with you.”

  << >>

  Riding ahead of the cowboys, Ramon, Fatemeh and Billy made good time getting back to Fort McRae, even carrying a wounded man on a makeshift travois. The cowboys had been worried about encountering more rustlers, so Forrest and Lorenzo stayed behind. On the way to the fort, Billy McCarty explained how L.G. Murphy and his partner James Dolan controlled all the feed prices in Lincoln County. Murphy was able to charge a lower price for his cattle than other ranchers—including Billy’s employer, John Tunstall. However, Murphy’s prices to the army were still more than they needed to be.

  “Murphy sounds like a man possessed of much greed,” said Fatemeh.

  “That still doesn’t make Tunstall’s approach right,” Ramon said. “There ought to be a better way to compete with Murphy than rustling his cattle. That doesn’t just hurt Murphy’s business, it hurts the forts and all the people of the territory.”

  “Well, if you figure out a better way, Mr. Morales, you let me know,” grumbled Billy.

  Soon after, they arrived at Fort McRae and discovered that the normally quiet installation was alive with activity. Cavalrymen were checking rifles and horses. Cannons and artillery shells were being readied for action.

  Ramon, Fatemeh, and Billy took the wounded rustler—a man named Dick Brewer—to the base infirmary. Once their business was finished, they stepped back into the light and saw Major Johnson crossing the compound. Ramon waved him down.

  Johnson turned and eyed Ramon hard. “What are you doing back, Morales? Where are Sergeant Forrest and Corporal Lorenzo? Where are my cows?”

  Ramon held up his hands. “They’re on their way, sir. We stopped the rustlers. One of them was wounded, so we rode ahead.”

  “He could have died for all I care. They better be back soon or there’s going to be hell to pay,” said the major.

  “If you don’t mind, sir,” interjected Ramon. “What exactly’s going on?”

  The major shook his head. “I almost don’t believe it myself, but we’ve received word that the Russians have attacked Sitka, the capital of Alaska. Apparently they brought the troops in using giant balloons.”

  “Balloons?” asked Fatemeh.

  “I guess you could call them airships,” said the major. “We’re not sure where they’re going to strike next, but we’re getting ready, in case we’re called upon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have duties to attend to.” He took a few steps away, then turned. “That beef had better be here soon! I don’t want soldiers fighting on empty stomachs.” With that, the major continued on, and disappeared into one of the buildings.

  Billy whistled. “Wow! Airships? That’s some serious shit!”

  “Yeah,” said Ramon. “And if those airships turn south and attack here, we’re going to need soldiers ready to take action. Do you think you can persuade John Tunstall to stop interfering with the beef shipments?”

  Billy shook his head. “I don’t know if he’ll listen to the likes of me.”

  Fatemeh put her hand on Billy’s arm. “You’ve seen what’s happening here. You’ve got to try.”

  Billy took a breath and then let it out with a snort. “Didn’t you once call me a bottom feeder? I can’t imagine anyone—even my boss—thinking more highly of me than that.”

  Fatemeh stared into Billy’s eyes. “I may have called you that, but it’s only true as long as you let it be true. You can make yourself better, Billy McCarty. You can choose to keep being a rustler and keep being a bottom feeder, or you can choose to help these men and be a hero. What will it be?”

  Billy swallowed, then forced himself to take his eyes from Fatemeh’s gaze. He looked around at all the activity, then nodded. “I’ll do my best, Fatemeh. I’ll do it for you.”

  She let go of his arm and Billy took a step, but turned around. “Mr. Morales—I have to warn you. You may have something worse than Russian airships to deal with soon.”

  Ramon inclined his head. “What would that be, son?”

  “Randolph Dalton in Socorro’s hired himself a bounty hunter to get you. She’s a woman, but she’s the best shot I’ve ever met. Her name’s Larissa Crimson.”

  “If she’s such a dangerous bounty hunter, why didn’t she strike earlier?”

  Billy shook his head. “My best guess is she’s waiting for you to be on your own, away from all these soldiers. I suspect she isn’t far away.”

  “Thanks for the warning, Billy,” said Fatemeh.

  Ramon reached out and shook Billy’s hand. “Good luck, son. We’ll keep an eye out for this Larissa Crimson.”

  Billy tipped his hat, then turned and mounted his horse. Ramon put his arm around Fatemeh and watched him ride into the distance, hoping he would be successful and wondering when he would encounter the bounty hunter.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Shadow of the Owls

  General Alexander Gorloff rode in the gondola of the dirigible Czar Nicholas. Standing near the front, he watched as they flew over the islands of Puget Sound on their way to Seattle and Tacoma. The sky was gray, but the clouds were high and the air smooth. He hoped taking over these cities would prove as easy as the flight.

  The light resistance they met so far had surprised many aboard the dirigible. However, Gorloff knew few soldiers were stationed in the northwestern most reaches of the United States. The Indians in these areas were, for the most part, friendly and did not cause as much trouble as the Apaches or the Commanches further south. There had been one major confrontation between white settlers and Indians in Seattle, which had been dealt with by a ship dispatched from San Francisco. By the time a ship from San Francisco arrived in Puget Sound, Gorloff believed his airships would already have control of Denver.

  Gorloff finally spotted Seattle. It clung to the coastline tenaciously, as though it were afraid it would fall off.

  “That is an apt analogy,” said Legion from the back of Gorloff’s mind.

  What do you mean? asked the general silently.

  “We have been making a thorough study of human records,” said Legion. “Seattle has been subject to occasional flooding. Based on our experiences with similar cities on other worlds, we expect the city will be moved further inland, over the course of the coming decades.”

  Gorloff thought that sounded reasonable, but the observation did not affect their immediate plans, so he pushed it to the back of his mind and studied the coastline. He wished he could smoke a cigar. It would help his concentration, but smoking had been banned on the dirigible to avoid causing any sparks that would ignite the hydrogen keeping them aloft.

  Captain Makarov stepped up next to Gorloff and studied the coastline. “A lot of short buildings all clustered close together,” he observed. “That makes landing in the city difficult. Inland, the terrain gets rather rugged.”

  “W
hat about landing at the waterfront?” suggested the general.

  The captain nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. It would work if we can find a pier without any ships docked. It’ll be something of a challenge to unload the men, because we won’t be moored. We’ll just have to hover as close as we can to the pier and let them descend by ladder.”

  “They’ve trained for it,” said Gorloff. “I trust you’ll find the most suitable landing place.”

  The captain nodded and retrieved a telescope. He studied the coastline in detail. Finally, he pointed. “Two piers side by side. It’s as close to perfect for the two ships as we’re liable to get.”

  Do you concur? Gorloff asked Legion.

  “Of course,” replied the strange alien presence. “The captain has already consulted with us on the matter.”

  Gorloff tended to forget Legion continued to speak to everyone he had come in contact with—not just him. On one hand, the general was thankful for that. It meant the crew and the soldiers took the best possible actions most of the time. On the other hand, Gorloff didn’t like everyone aboard having access to the same information he did.

  “Why should this worry you?” asked Legion. “Information should be freely available to all.”

  Information is power, thought Gorloff. It is about delineating control.

  “Why should any one person need power if you all have a common objective?” Legion asked the question in apparent innocence.

  That would be anarchy. Gorloff frowned, so disgusted he almost said the words aloud.

  Thankfully, Legion remained quiet after that.

  Captain Makarov called out commands into a speaking tube and the general watched as they approached the pier and drifted down. Through the window, he could see their sister ship, the Czarina Marie, drifting toward the neighboring pier.

  The general went to the back of the gondola and climbed a ladder that led up into the massive superstructure of the ship. He walked along a gangway, through a bulkhead door, and continued toward the rear of the crew compartment. There, he came to a staging theater. One hundred men were there, checking their equipment and preparing for the landing. Peter Berestetski—now wearing the uniform of a colonel—saluted the general. Gorloff returned the salute.