Chapter 3

As any sensible man would do, Black Wolf returned to his village by a circuitous route which would confuse anyone trying to follow him. As a result, it was nearly dark by the time he reached his home. Oh, no! The place was a mass of charred remains! The ashes were cold, so Black Wolf knew that the attack had to have come early in the day, possibly within an hour of when he had left to start his hunt.

Black Wolf cast around looking for signs that someone had survived the attack. This had to have been an attack by the Whites, no Indian would have destroyed everything like this. There were many useful things in the camp; even the skins covering the huts would have been worth salvaging, but there were many signs that they had been burned. Black Wolf wondered if those Whites he had fought earlier in the day could have been a part of the massacre; if so, he was even happier that he had killed them.

Black Wolf could see more in a quick glance at his surroundings than any White man could have with hours of careful study. To a White man, it was just the surroundings, but to an Indian, it was life. Black Wolf recognized the trail of blood leading off into the brush, even though it looked like a simple slight discoloration in the dirt. He took his newly acquired Henry rifle, reloaded it, and followed the trail into the brush.

He went slowly and carefully, knowing that the blood trail had to have come from an Indian, a White man would have stayed where his fellows could have found him. Knowing this, Black Wolf didn't rush into the brush because that could have been a rush into an arrow or a knife. Instead, he followed the blood at a cautious, but steady pace as it wound deeper into the bushes. He got about 150 yards from the destroyed village before he spotted the moccasin-covered foot just barely visible near the base of a bush. He recognized the decoration on the moccasin as that worn by Swift Horse, the oldest man left in the village, left to act in place of the village elders while they were away at war.

Black Wolf hissed in a voice he knew would carry to the man hiding under the bush, but not any farther, "Swift Horse, it is Black Wolf. Let me help you."

A barely audible voice replied, "I am beyond help, but I must talk to you, Black Wolf. Come closer. I hardly have the strength to talk even this loud."

"I come, Swift Horse. I will hear your words."

"The Whites came just after you left on your hunt, this morning. I was the only man left in camp. I took up my lance and went out to meet them. A black-skinned White soldier saw me coming and thought I was attacking. He shot me before I could say anything. I fell and could not get up. I had been shot in the belly. The soldier rode off and I heard their scout shouting in Spanish that everyone should come to the ceremonial square. Any one who didn't come there would be shot. Most of the women and children did as he ordered, but a few tried to run away. They were shot as they ran.

"The women and children were gathered up and forced to march out of the village. I don't know what happened to them. When they left, a scout and 6 soldiers burned everything in the village. When they finished, they left in the direction you had taken this morning. Did you see them?"

"Yes, Swift Horse, I saw them. They are all dead, now."

"Good! I want you to kill every one of the White soldiers that you can find. Now, let me use your knife to end my pain."

"Do you want me to do it, Swift Horse? It would be easier and quicker if I ended your pain."

"Yes, thank you, Black Wolf. You were always wise beyond your years. Please help me to the afterlife."

Black Wolf cut Swift Horse's carotid artery in one quick motion, and the old man was dead in seconds. He took the dead man's moccasins, but there was nothing else of value to take, so Black Wolf made his sad way back to the burned village. At least, he had helped Swift Horse to make a warrior's entrance into the afterlife.

Ever cautious, Black Wolf took his booty of 7 horses, the antelope, and the weapons he had taken from the dead soldiers into the brush, just in case the other soldiers came back to the village. Black Wolf ate as much of the antelope as he could choke down, as a precaution against not eating again for a while. He cut the choicer bits of the animal into pieces that could be jerked easily and quickly and left them to smoke overnight. He dragged the rest of the antelope into the brush some distance away in hopes of not attracting predators to his camp; it was a shame to waste good meat, but he did not have the time to jerk any more of it if he was going after the rest of the soldiers.

The next morning, Black Wolf found the trail left by the soldiers and their captives and followed them for several miles. The soldiers must have thought themselves safe, since they did not make any effort to set out guards on their flanks as they moved slowly down the mountain. Black Wolf followed on foot at first, but realized that he could easily follow on horseback, since the soldiers were never going to abandon their horses. He ran back to his camp of the night before and saddled one of the horses.

Apaches knew how to ride a horse, they just preferred to move on their on while they were in the mountains. Again, being cautious, he took a second horse on a lead to act as a pack horse or a spare mount. One never knew when problems or opportunities might arise.

Black Wolf was nearly back to his last point on the soldiers' trail when he heard a whistled signal from his right side. He swerved from his current path toward the call and saw a youth from the village running toward him. It was Snake, a boy just 1 year younger than Black Wolf. When Snake was close enough, Black Wolf said, "Snake, I see you. Are you here to help me avenge our village against the White soldiers?"

"Black Wolf, I see you. Yes, I want to kill the White soldiers who murdered my mother, yesterday."

"Good! Get on the other horse, and we will catch them in a short time."

"I had rather walk. I don't like to ride a horse."

"Suit yourself. But, if you ride, you will not be as tired when we catch the Whites, and you can kill more of them."

"A good point. I will ride."

Snake climbed on the horse, and the two young Apaches rode off after the soldiers and their captives. They had gone about 2 miles when they found a disturbing sight. One of the Apache captives was lying beside the trail; she had been raped, and her throat was cut. Snake commented, "Now we know that we are following the correct trail."

"Yes, we can expect to fight when we find them. Do you know how to shoot that pistol hanging from the saddle?"

"I can shoot it, but I don't know how to reload the weapon."

"I will show you when we stop. Until then, keep a sharp lookout on your side for soldiers."

They rode only a short distance from the dead woman when a shot was heard, and a bullet passed close to Snake's head. They saw a puff of smoke rising from a break in the rocks to their right, and they turned toward it. Black Wolf signaled Snake to bear farther to the right as they raced toward the shooter as fast as their horses would carry them. They didn't want to ride straight toward the shooter, since that made his next shot too easy. Instead, they each angled off to the side to force the shooter to lead them, making the shot much more difficult.

A second shot rang out, and the smoke showed that the shooter had not moved from his original location. Either he had the perfect defensive location, or he was a fool. There was enough of a pause between shots to make it seem that the shooter was using a single-shot rifle, not a repeater; however, that could be a ruse designed to draw the Indians into making a fatal mistake. If he turned out to have a repeating rifle, rushing in after the first shot set one up for an easy kill from a repeater.

Black Wolf was sure that the shooter had a single-shot rifle, but he was not going to take a chance until he had more evidence. Snake reached a good place to dismount and seek cover, and Black Wolf did too only moments later. Just as Black Wolf ducked behind a rock, a bullet whizzed by where his head had been; fractionally slower, and Black Wolf would have been dead! So quickly that the sound of the second shot was almost on top of the first sound, a bullet whipped over Snake's head. A repeater! The shooter must have a Spencer or a Henry. Black Wolf was not familiar enough with the sound of the two weapons to be able to identify which was which just by the sound, but that question was moot right then. What was important was that they were facing a repeater and that put the odds in favor of the White man, who had to be more familiar with it than either one of the Apaches.