Chapter 2

The next morning, Bobby Thornton awoke before sunup. This was unusual for him, because, like all boys entering puberty, there was no greater treat than to sleep late in the morning (he didn't know about sex, yet). He was lolling abed, waiting for his mother to call him for breakfast—he had momentarily forgotten the events of the previous day. Suddenly, there was a voice in his head, "Bobby Thornton, get your ass out of bed and get moving. Do I have to do everything?"

He recognized that voice immediately, Storm Who Walks! "Oh, my God! It really did happen. That wasn't just a bad dream. What am I going to do?" Bobby ranted to himself in despair.

Storm Who Walks had no patience with Bobby's self pity, there was much to do and little time to do it in. "Yes, it did happen, and you can't change any of it. I am just as sorry as you are, but we both now have great responsibilities, and we must see to discharging them. Now, get up and fix yourself some breakfast. Start off the day with some jerky and water; I will teach you the tricks of trail cooking very soon, but you are in danger, now, and need to GET MOVING!"

"OK, OK, I'm moving. Give me a minute to find the jerky. I don't remember where I put it."

"It's in that pack. Now, hurry. You must look after the animals. Hurry, your enemies will be here very soon!"

"Who are these enemies?"

"They are the companions of the Comanches you killed, yesterday. There are 11 of them, and you will not be able to surprise them the way you did their friends. If you are going to fight them, and fight them you must, then you must follow my instructions without argument. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand, but I am scared."

"You should be scared. But a part of your training is in learning to overcome your fear. Now, put the rest of the jerky in your shirt pocket. You can eat the rest as you travel."

Bobby gathered up the hobbled horses and restored the packs to their backs. With constant prodding from Storm Who Walks, Bobby was finally ready to travel. He and his train of pack animals were directed to move at a brisk lope to the nearest town, which was about an hour away. Bobby was directed to go to the livery stable and sell the horses he had. He was told to buy a pack mule that was trained to follow without a lead rope. This turned out to be very nearly an even swap, since a mule trained for this kind of work was relatively rare and quite valuable. This was the only such mule in town, and Storm Who Walks knew just where to find it. The mule was a female named Ada; Bobby was to become quite fond of this animal.

He transferred his goods to a single pack for the mule and was surprised to see how little he really had. Bobby was now sent to a restaurant for breakfast. There, he ate as much food as he could hold; Storm Who Walks said that he would burn it off over the next few days, and he was not likely to find anything else to eat, beyond jerky, during that time.

After breakfast, he went to the gunsmith and bought additional ammunition, both for his pistol and for his Henry rifle. The gunsmith teased Bobby about buying enough ammunition to fight a war, and was surprised when Bobby answered that fighting a war was what he had in mind. Bobby walked out of the store and mounted up. He rode out of town with Ada following a comfortable distance behind.

They traveled east to intercept the Comanches before they could harm anyone else. Storm Who Walks told Bobby that the only chance he had to win the upcoming battle was to adopt Indian tactics of hit and run. The one maxim to keep uppermost in his mind was that if he had to choose between shooting a man or shooting his horse, Bobby should always shoot the horse. A Comanche without his horse was already half defeated, so killing the horses was his number one priority.

Storm Who Walks drummed into Bobby that his pistol was not going to do him much good beyond 10 yards, any shot at a greater range should be done with the rifle. Bobby could depend on the rifle for any range up to about 75 yards, beyond that, he had to depend on a lot of luck.

Bobby retraced his path of that morning, but about 100 yards north of it. The Comanches would easily follow his tracks from yesterday and this morning, so he could expect to meet them within 2 hours, and, probably in a lot less than that.

Bobby was only a few minutes out of town when he saw some riders in the distance. He immediately asked Storm Who Walks if he had been playing tricks with Bobby's eyes, since they had never been that sharp, before. Yes, Bobby's eyes had been improved to be in perfect condition for human eyes; Bobby's astigmatism and slight nearsightedness had been corrected, and Bobby could see to his maximum physical ability. His vision was not superhuman, but it was at the utmost edge of human capability.

Bobby thanked Storm Who Walks for the added boost and asked if the change was permanent. Yes, Bobby's vision would remain this sharp until he died; he would never need glasses, either for distance or for reading. This was good news, because everybody in his mother's family had needed thick glasses by the time they reached 30 years old; his mother had been wearing glasses for the last 15 years.

Both Bobby and the Comanches were moving toward each other relatively fast, so it was not long before Storm Who Walks directed Bobby to take cover among some trees and wait for the Indians to get close enough for a shot. Storm Who Walks speculated that Bobby might have time for 3 shots if he could work fast enough, but he should not waste bullets.

Bobby was ready, with his rifle steadied across a tree limb, as the Indians rode into killing range. Storm Who Walks recommend that Bobby aim for the Indian who was last in line and work toward the front. This might give Bobby a few precious extra seconds to get off his shots. Bobby remembered the admonition to aim for the horse, not for the man, and squeezed off his first shot. He had levered in a new round before the Indians were aware of being shot at.

He had hit the last horse in line in the shoulder, and it dropped immediately and rolled. Bobby did not have time to see the ultimate fate of the rider, but there was no way that he was not injured by the fall. Bobby fired his second shot before the first man stopped rolling across the ground. This time, the bullet entered the Indian's leg just below the knee and continued on into the horse's lung, tumbling as it went. The man screamed in surprise and pain as he fell from his horse; the horse didn't fall, but did come to an immediate stop, before sinking slowly to the ground.

Bobby's third shot was a little bit wild, because he was trying to hurry. By a strange fluke of luck, the man swerved his horse as soon as he heard his companion scream from being shot. This caused the horse to drop a little toward the ground, so that the bullet that was aimed for the horse hit the man, instead, in the pelvis just above his hip joint. The man screamed and fell from his horse, and the horse escaped.

Before Storm Who Walks could chide him, Bobby mentally exclaimed, "But I was aiming for the horse!"

Storm Who Walks recognized the reaction of a boy who did not want to be chastised and chuckled, saying, "Don't worry about it, my friend, accidents do happen often in battle, so you are not to blame this time."

Bobby had been so swift and accurate with his shooting that he probably had time for another shot, had the situation with the third rider been different. Storm Who Walks was quite proud and pleased with Bobby's success that he made no mention of the possibility of the fourth shot. He simply congratulated the boy and told him to reload and get on his horse, ready to run for his life.

There had been a breeze blowing which blew the powder smoke away very quickly, so the Comanches could not use that to locate the shooter; however, they did have the sound to direct them. They knew where the shots had come from, but the bullets had been so accurate that they assumed that their attackers had to be closer than that grove of trees about 65 yards away. Furthermore, the shots had been so close together that there had to be more than one shooter. These Comanches were no fools, so they rode as fast as they could in a direction away from the trees.