Chapter 4

The next morning, Dove wanted a quickie before breakfast. That was something new for her. I wondered if it had anything to do with her feelings of insecurity, or was she just feeling sexy? Who cares, as long as Dove was happy. I sure as hell didn't care, because Dove was good, whether for a quickie or for a full-blown fuck session.

We had our usual breakfast of hot jerky stew and tortillas. I still don't know what that tea was made from, but it sure was not a adequate substitute for the coffee that was the only thing I missed from my former life. However, I didn't say anything but to thank Dove for another good meal. Actually, it was a good breakfast, and I know that, one day, I will outgrow my yearning for coffee.

Dove was in a hurry, so she rushed me out the door to go hunting. We had plenty of food, so I knew that it was just a way to get rid of me for a few hours. Nevertheless, I did gather up my atlatl and my darts and hurry out the door. I was welcomed into a hunting party, so I took one of my horses and went along with the gang. There were several men in the group who had never seen me use my atlatl for hunting, so they were very curious.

Another thing that they were curious about was my stirrups. I had gotten tired of not having any, so I had rigged up some stirrups to hang from straps over my horses back. I still did not have a saddle in the sense that I was used to; I was still using the folded blanket as a saddle pad. It did take some experimentation until I could get the stirrups to work the way I wanted them too, but I finally got a workable solution to my needs.

For one thing, I needed a solid platform for my feet if I were to use the atlatl from horseback, so the stirrups were essential if I were not going to dismount to hunt. The atlatl dart that I was using did have one great advantage: it weighed in at about double the weight of the usual arrow, so it did pack more of a punch than did an arrow. Often, I could do with one dart what it would take two or three arrows to accomplish, especially now that I had metal points for all of my darts.

It was a great day, and everything was going along fine. We had ridden past a copse of trees when one of the men fell over with an arrow protruding from his back. "AMBUSH!" The cry went up from several throats as more arrows flew from the trees toward us. Nobody else was killed, but there were several wounds.

We dropped from our horses and prepared to defend ourselves by charging in among the trees. Everyone dropped his bow, or, in my case, his atlatl and darts, and took up his club. I was a little different here, too, because I had my club in my left hand and one of the Navajo tomahawks in my right hand. This tomahawk was probably obtained from the Spanish in Mexico, since it had a steel head with a spike on one side and a blade on the other.

We ran in among the trees to escape the arrows that were winging our way. One voice shouted, "CHIRICAHUAS!" Uh-oh, this was like sibling rivalry carried to the extreme! No quarter was to be given or received. It was an all-out battle to the death! At least, we could tell our opponents with no trouble: they were all wearing war-paint on their faces.

I met my first Chiricahua as he was drawing a bead with his last arrow at one of my friends. I shouted, "RAVEN, LOOK OUT!" as I swung my tomahawk at the archer's head. The spike entered, and I discovered that I had swung too hard. That damned spike stuck and jerked me down as my man fell. Thank God! Never again (until the next time) will I complain about my luck! Just as I was jerked down, a club whistled through the space where my head had been. Had I not been pulled down, I would have been killed on the spot!

My victim's fall pulled the spike loose, and I was able to turn my attention to the club wielder. I jerked upright and aimed a blow from my club at the flash of war-paint that I saw from the corner of my eye. I connected with a jaw and smashed it beyond recovery, but it also knocked my opponent to the ground. I stomped on his windpipe and looked around for another enemy. I didn't want to be caught short again.

One of my new friends was beset by two Chiricahuas, and he was in desperate need of help. I was too far away to reach with either weapon, but I had enough clear space to launch my club at the back of one of them. The stone head of the club impacted between the shoulder blades of the man hard enough to knock him down. I don't know what further damage might have been done by the club because I chopped at his neck with the blade of my tomahawk. I managed to cut through his carotid artery, and that was the end of him. I picked up my club and turned to help my friend. He was OK. With only one man to fight, he was holding his own, so I looked for more pressing needs for my assistance.

However, I did turn in time to see an attacker leaping at me with a knife in his hand aimed at my belly. My reflexes are honed to defeat that kind of attack, so I swept the knife aside with my tomahawk shaft and hit the attacker in the head with my club. That was enough to crack his skull, so I now had four enemies down, and I was looking for more.

I couldn't find any more enemies so I relaxed slightly and looked to see what else had been going on. I saw four of my friends doing the same thing I was, and there were no Chiricahuas to be found. It looked like the fight was over, but that was one of the most intense 10-15 minutes that I had ever spent. Mindful of the tongue-lashing I would receive from Dove if I failed in my duty, I cut the scalp from each of my four conquests and looped the hair through my belt.

We had four men of our own who had died in the original ambush or the following fight, so we carried them to their horses for transport back to camp. We had fought at least nine attackers, so we felt very lucky as we somberly returned to camp with our dead and wounded. Fortunately, none of the wounds were serious, but they were very painful and would result in death from gangrene if they were not promptly treated. One man had a knife cut on his thigh and another had a compound fracture of his upper left arm where he had blocked a club swing aimed at his head.

We got back to camp without meeting any more enemies, so we were able to get everyone home. I was exhausted and flopped down inside our hut where Dove found me. Her first question was, "Are you injured?" At my answer of no, she asked, "How many did you kill?" This time I said "four" and pointed to the scalps still hanging from my waist.

She was shocked. "You killed four warriors!?! Then, what are you doing in here? You should be out in the plaza telling all who would listen of your great exploits."

"Dammit, Dove, I am too tired for that sort of nonsense!"

"Oh, Douglas, when will you ever learn? It is not nonsense. It is how you gain status and respect among the people. I have great plans for you, but you must learn to do your part. Now, come with me, and we will let everyone know how brave and warrior-like you have been, today."

Shit, I knew that I was in for it, now. I struggled to my feet and followed Dove out to the plaza where everyone could see me. Dove made a very ostentatious show of tying the four new scalps to my coup stick. It now carried 14 of the stinking things, but she insisted that it was important, so I went along with her wishes.

I told her the story of how I had made the four kills, but my version was very cold and dry. I had hardly finished my story before Dove turned to face the crowd that had gathered to count the number of new scalps on my coup stick. Dove said in a voice that carried to every person in the crowd, "You can see that my man has killed four of the enemies of our people. It was a great fight, and you will hear more of it later, but I will give you a short version so that you can appreciate what he has done for us. Douglas is still too tired from the fight to speak for himself, so he has asked me to tell you what happened." She then launched into a very embellished and gory rendition of what I had done, and the story took 20 minutes to tell, much longer than the fights had taken in total.