Jubal Sackett (1985) s-4 Read online

  "Did not the Ni'kwana see me as such?"

  "Yes, but--"

  "If a scared fire will make you happy, I shall give you such a fire. I will give you fire from the sun."

  "You?"

  "Soon, when the time is right, I will bring fire from the sun."

  She did not believe me. "You do not worship the Sun."

  "The sun gives life to all things. Without the sun this would be a dark, dead world. Perhaps," I added, "the spirit we worship is the same, and only the names are different. The message from He who rules over us all may come to each people in a different way."

  Our family had had little to do with organized religion, although my father when young had gone often to a village in Lincolnshire named Willoughby. This was the same village from which Captain John Smith of the Virginia colony had come. There had been a young minister there named Wheelwright, considered a dissident, but my father had liked his ideas and enjoyed his preaching. My brother Yance, who had married a girl from the Massachusetts Bay colony, had told me Wheelwright had come over the ocean and was known there.

  That night I began again the study of the stars. My father and Jeremy Ring, who both knew of navigation by the stars, had taught us much. Sakim had taught us more. How much Itchakomi knew I had no idea, but I was sure she had been instructed in such lore. To produce a sacred fire I must choose the right time and the right place.

  We had much of which to talk, for Itchakomi was endlessly curious about the English way of life, and often I wished I had listened more when my parents had spoken of their lives before coming to America. It had all seemed so remote and so unimportant to our lives in the colonies.

  The Pawnee were skillful hunters and often shared their kills with us. In the first days we fed them and they simply rested. One woman died of her wounds, and two of the warriors were long in recovering.

  It was an opportunity to learn their language and I did so, not enough to speak it well, yet enough to exchange information and for general talk. Their villages, they said, were along another river north of the Arkansas.

  We gathered nuts, roots, and berries against the winter's coming, and fuel, also. Always, at home or on the hunt, we were alert for enemies, but when they came it was not the Komantsi but the Spanish.

  Keokotah saw them first, seeing the sunlight upon their armor when they were far away. We hid our women in the cave where I had found niter, a place difficult to find and easy to defend.

  Old Asatiki came to me. His people were ready to fight. The Spanish had raided among them for slaves, something I knew was forbidden by their king, and the Pawnees wanted no more of it.

  "Wait," I advised, "but be ready. We talk first. If talk is no good, we fight. But each choose a man, and at the first sign of trouble, kill him."

  There were twelve soldiers in half armor and about twenty Indian allies of a tribe I did not know. There were two officers and a priest. One of the officers was Diego, but this time it was Gomez who was in command.

  Gomez reined in his horse near me, his eyes going from me to the fort. It was an impressive building, that I knew, the stockade of upright poles and the fort itself large enough to house us all and in a dominating position.

  "We went to your valley and did not find you," Gomez said.

  "We have enemies," I suggested, "and you have them also. The Komantsi."

  He shrugged. "They have not come against us. When they do we will grind them into the earth." He looked around. "Where is the woman?"

  "Woman? Do you see women? We are warriors here."

  Anger came quickly to him. He did not like being frustrated, and he was in a position of power. I was wearing my guns, but they were concealed beneath the poncho I wore. My only visible weapon was the spear in my hand.

  "We have come for the woman you would not sell," he said. "All here belong to His Majesty."

  I smiled. "And His Spanish Majesty has forbidden the enslavement of Indians."

  His expression changed. "His Majesty does not understand conditions here. He will change that rule."

  "At your behest? Since when does a minor captain instruct the king?"

  His expression was not nice to see. " 'Minor' captain? We shall see." He gestured to his soldiers. "Take him. He will tell us where the woman is."

  They started forward. I stepped back into the rocks where their horses could not easily follow and threw my spear. Gomez leapt his horse after me and the spear missed, striking a soldier behind him, glancing from his helm, and stunning him. Two soldiers fell, arrows in their throats, and suddenly the Pawnees raised up around them. One warrior leapt to a horse behind a soldier and wrapped an arm around his throat, wrenching him from the horse. As the soldier fell another Pawnee killed him.

  As suddenly as it had begun, the attack was over. The soldiers broke and fled. Brave men they were, but their hearts were not in this fight and I suspected none of them liked Gomez, who was a petty tyrant.

  Diego was the last to turn away. "This was not my doing," he said, "but he is in favor and not I. Protect your woman."

  He rode away after them, and I noticed that several of the retreating soldiers gathered about him. Three soldiers and an Indian lay on the ground, and one soldier was limping away.

  All but three of us had been hidden, so our attack had been a surprise. I suspect Gomez had expected resistance and welcomed it. He could have seen the lodges of the Pawnees, but they were some distance off. Their fires were smoking and they looked to be occupied. He had not expected them to be hidden in the trees and rocks.

  The Pawnees stripped the coats of mail and the helmets from the soldiers. I recovered a musket and a fallen sword.

  Clouds gathered over the Sangre de Cristos, and there was a feeling of rain in the air. Gomez and his men had fled down the valley, but I did not for a moment believe we had seen the last of them. They would come again, for he dared not return without the woman he had undoubtedly promised. Diego would not have been so careless or overconfident, nor would Gomez when he returned.

  We had revealed our strength, and he had more men. He also had muskets, and our Pawnee friends were soon to leave. I had wished for the iron shirts for my men, but the Pawnees had taken them, although I still had my own, found so long ago upon the banks of the Arkansas, and it was a better, tighter coat of mail than these.

  Keokotah came from the trees, where he had used his bow. "I go," he said. "I follow."

  It was an idea that had occurred to me, also. To follow and strike them in their own camp, strike them before they could gather to come against us.

  Gomez was no fool. Overconfident, yes, but he would be so no longer. He was a tough, seasoned soldier and he had good men with him. The men we had killed would have mates who would resent their death. From now on there would be no surprises, no quick victories.

  On one of the dead soldiers I found a powder horn of gunpowder for the firing of his musket. It was a treasure, more to be valued than gold.

  Night came and I checked the loads in my pistols. There was food in the cave and water. The women would be safe there. If I went now to see them, my going might betray their presence, so I stayed away.

  The Pawnees were in their camp, and I was alone in the fort. Keokotah had gone out, scouting Gomez and his men. There was no thought of sleep, for I must be ready for an attack at any moment.

  Seated by a high port that allowed me to survey the approaches, I ate some nuts and waited. My bow was beside me with a quiver of arrows. Nor did I like the waiting. I would rather be out there in the darkness with Keokotah, but if our fort was taken then all our carefully hoarded food would be lost.

  Where was Paisano? He had been turned loose but would stay close.

  The hours dragged. I paced the floor, went from port to port, looking into the night. Inside there were no lights, and I needed none.

  There was no moon, but the stars were out. From the high ports I could see beyond the stockade. Nothing moved. Nothing--

  My eyes held on an
edge of brush. Had there been movement there? Or was my vision tricking me? Or perhaps a leaf moving?

  Taking up my bow, I waited.

  There!

  Another movement! Something or somebody was creeping closer.

  A quick scurry of feet in the grass, and then another. Two, at least, and right under the stockade. Taking up an arrow I bent my bow.

  A head, ever so slowly, appeared over the wall. I waited.

  Then suddenly the shoulders and chest appeared, and a leg was thrown over. I loosed my arrow.

  It was no more than twenty paces, and the target for. an instant was sharp against the night. In the stillness I heard the arrow's impact, a man's grunt, and a fall. He fell on the inside, and I could see his body lying still. But was he dead? Was he even badly wounded? Might he not be waiting to suddenly rise and rush to the gate to open it for the others?

  He moved, and I let go a second arrow.

  And then I heard them coming, not one, but many. And I was alone.

  Chapter Thirty-Four.

  My eyes were accustomed to the darkness. Each shadow near or within the fort was known to me. I went down into the yard. I could not win this fight while seated in safety. I had my spear, my guns, and my blade.

  They were coming over the wall when I reached the yard, not one but at least three. I met the first with a sharp, upward thrust of the spear. His hands were grasping the wall, and he saw the spear too late. He let go with one hand to ward it off and fell, right onto the point. The force of his fall tore the weapon from my hands just as I heard a sharp scuffing of moccasins behind me.

  Swiftly I turned, striking wildly with the blade. It sliced something, and then I was facing two men, one with a spear. I had fenced long hours with my father and the others back at Shooting Creek and my blade was quick to deflect the spear's point, and thrust. He staggered back, for the thrust had gone deep, but the other man was at the gate, removing the bar.

  Running toward him, I was too late. The gate burst open--a rider! I drew a pistol and fired, and then dropped the muzzle to reload.

  Yet I believe it was the shock of the gunfire more than its effect that stopped them.

  My first shot killed a man. It could scarcely have been otherwise, for he was within ten feet of me and my pistol had a long barrel. He fell from his horse and it clattered over the stone-flagged yard. Then it wheeled and dashed out again.

  The sudden shot ended the attack. Waiting, my heart pounding, I shoved the gate back into position and dropped the bar.

  They were brave men out there but they had not expected gunfire, and they had lost two men--

  Two?

  Three had been coming over the wall. One I had impaled on my spear, the second with the knife. Yet the third, he who had run to open the gate?

  Where was he?

  My pistol went back into its scabbard. I had had to let go my knife when I had drawn the pistol. Now I squatted, groping for it.

  Ah, I had it! Now?

  There was a man inside, I was sure. A man who waited to kill me. An Indian, I thought, one of the Indians serving with the soldiers of Gomez.

  He was here, somewhere in the darkness.

  Yet three men were down, including the rider of the horse whom I had shot. He lay without moving. Had my shot been good, then? But where was the other? Somewhere in the shadows there was an enemy. If they attacked again he would attack when I faced them, attack from behind me.

  What were they thinking outside? They could not know that they had a man alive inside the fort, yet they must know by now they had lost three or four men. It was expensive, but Gomez was ruthless. He had a contempt for all human life but his own.

  Fire?

  That would be in his mind, yet he could not know that Itchakomi was not inside the fort. He dared not risk burning his prize.

  Crouching, I studied the shadows. Nothing moved, and the shadows were dark and deep. My spear was nearby, in the body of the fallen Indian. I might need it.

  Where would my enemy be hiding? Each shadow was in my mind and one by one I checked them over for hiding places trying to remember each detail, each corner.

  Where was he?Did he plan to open the gate when I was distracted?

  The minutes plodded by on gentle feet, and my eyes searched the shadows. Had he gone around the side of the fort? Or inside? Suppose he started a fire?

  There was a moment of wild panic. We would never be able to rebuild before snow fell, not if we were burned out. In the moment of anxiety I almost moved, yet somewhere my enemy was watching for me, even as I watched for him. Again it was the old story that he who moved first would die first.

  How fared Itchakomi? Had their cave been discovered? Perhaps even now they were riding away with her. Listening, I heard no sound.

  If we escaped this time I would begin a tunnel from the fort to that cave. In fact, a branch of that cave which we had not explored might come this way. A secret tunnel, such as my father had told me all castles had once had, a means of escape as well as a supply route if beseiged.

  Outside there was a stirring, a movement. What could be happening?

  An attack from more than one side? Crawling up ropes thrown over the wall? Explosives under the gate? One man boosting another? Ladders?

  Slowly passed the minutes. Where was Keokotah? Had he been trapped somehow? My good sense doubted it. He was a ghost in the woods, a shadow in the night. I knew no one better at moving in silence, and I also knew he would be somewhere about.

  Gomez would be thinking, deciding what to do. He wanted Komi, if not for himself, then as an offering for favors, and he had undoubtedly made promises to be given command of these soldiers. He had successfully returned home through the thick of winter, no mean feat in itself, and he had undermined the standing of Diego, superseded him in command, and now was back. He would not be driven off, and he would not give up easily.

  By now he would be piecing together what had been witnessed through the gate during the brief moments it was open. He would be studying what had taken place, the shots fired and the fighting.

  He would guess that I was alone or almost alone.

  His next thought would be about the women. He would know there were at least three. For all I knew his Indians might have been lurking about, observing us, but in any event he himself had been in our caves in the other valley. He had seen Keokotah's woman and the Ponca.

  He was a shrewd, tough man, one not easily fooled.

  Somebody was riding near the palisade. The rider drew up and in a quiet, conversational tone Gomez said, "I know you can hear me, Sackett, and I suggest you send the Indian girl out. If you do we will ride off and you'll be free to do as you wish.

  "I might," he added, "intercede for you and try to get you a trading permit. All we want is one Indian girl." He paused and when I made no answer he said angrily, "Don't be a fool! What's one paltry Indian girl? There are dozens about, just for the taking! Surely you aren't fool enough todie for her?"

  To have answered him, and I was not thinking of it, would have been to give away my position to the hidden Indian, wherever he was.

  He waited. Then he shouted, "Don't be a fool! Waste more of my time and you'll pay for it! I'll have you staked to an anthill!"

  He would not try another direct attack. He had been sure of an easy victory, not knowing of the presence of the Pawnees. Now he had lost men, losses he could not afford, and his situation was perilous. To return to Santa Fe empty-handed would be a crushing defeat. His temper and his impatience had cost him lives, but victory he must have. If he was defeated here his enemies would destroy him in Santa Fe.

  Again, I wished myself outside with Keokotah where I could observe what was happening and be free to move. In the darkness I could see but shadowy stirrings, but nothing at all now, for I dared not move.

  How was my concealed enemy armed? Bow and arrow? A spear? A knife? If only a knife I could chance it but if he had either a bow or a spear he could strike from the darkness, and at
the short range could scarcely miss.

  Gomez must have a camp now. He would have built fires and his men would wish to eat, if they had not. He must have carried supplies, and those supplies would be vulnerable. Without them he could not persist in the attack or the search for Itchakomi.

  Would Keokotah think of that? Indians, who depended less upon supplies in time of war, were less inclined to think of an enemy as vulnerable in that respect. The Indian at war lived off the country as he traveled, rarely having more than enough for a day or two. The Indian thought in terms of battles. He fought a battle and he went home. There was no thought of a continuing series of battles, for the obvious reason that he had no way of supplying an army in the field.

  He rarely fought for hatred or revenge. He fought for glory. He fought to take scalps and to win victories of which he could boast. In the east the tribes associated with the Seneca who were calling themselves the Iroquois were fighting wars of extermination. We had begun to hear rumors of that before I left Shooting Creek.

  Yet Keokotah was beginning to think much as a white man would. He had sat too long at the knee of his Englishman, and I prayed now that he might think of their camp and their supplies.

  Our women had food for but three days, scarcely more even if they ate lightly. They could endure hunger, and there were few Indians who did not know it each season before the snow began to melt, when their hoarded supplies had been eaten and hunting was difficult and gathering impossible.

  My eyes grew heavy, yet I forced myself to stay awake. Somewhere an enemy waited, and to sleep was to die.

  Outside more enemies waited. Always before, wherever I might be I had known there would be a Sackett looking for me. No Sackett ever needed to feel alone, for others of the family would always come. That lesson our father had taught well, until it was second nature. But there were no Sacketts here. There was only Keokotah and the Pawnees.

  I shook my head, blinking my eyes. They had almost fallen shut.

  This could not be. I must move. I must hunt him down, this warrior who awaited me.

  Slowly, carefully, keeping to deepest shadow, I straightened to my feet. My game leg ached from the cramped position I had held for so long. Listening, I heard no sound. The shadows were deep. Carefully, I lifted a foot, took a step, and put it down ever so gently. With infinite care, listening after every step, I began to search the shadows.