Cowboys and Indians

"I'm through with this shit." Chris uses his hat to dish up the water from the brook and he dumps it over his head.

"No shit... " I tell him, "You can keep this cowboy and Indian bullshit."

Mike nods, "They got nothin' good to eat, or cook for that matter." He looks over his shoulder at the deer they are skinning. "They don't spice a darn thing here, and there is sage and rosemary, heck I even saw some cumin back at that river by their first camp."

"Jesus, Mike, who are you, Julia fucking Child?" Chris hasn't been on the receiving end of any of Mike's cooking except at Orlis' Keep, and that wasn't shit.

"Oh yeah, she's a good one."

"What the... "
"I'd listen to him, Chris, he can make a gopher taste like filet mignon." I tell him.

Mike smiles wide, "Ya think? I don't know about that one, but I betcha I can make it taste better then those squaws over there."

Chris stands and puts his hat on his head while it is half full of water. It washes the sweat and sand off of the top half of the tattered shirt he is wearing.
"Why don't you go over there and show them how it's done."
Mike nods a couple of times and then slowly makes his way over. On the way he picks off pieces of plants and herbs, twisting them in his fingers. The ones he wants he keeps in his left hand, the others get discarded after he sniffs them.

"I hope they have salt. Everything here needs salt."
"You don't need salt, Nancy, that shit'll kill you." Lou says as he walks back from his horse. He has a small hide pouch in his hand.
My eyes go wide, "that... that's just wrong." I find a dry spot and plop down, "You can say that to me after all of this?"
"Sissy."
"Sissy?"
"You heard me."
"Let's just get back home. Next trip we let the "scientists" go and we hang back. I have had enough of this trailer park Disneyland bullshit."

"You're living history, Jake. No one has done what we have done."
"There's a reason for that... it sucks."
Lou shakes his head. "So you got nothing from this whole experience."
"I got shot... twice, thank you very much. And blown up... twice."
"What about the peyote ceremony, your guide... you found your spirit guide."
I hear myself tisk in Andy's absence, "A bunny, a god damn bunny."

"Andy got the shaft on that one." Chris chuckles.
"You guys have to look at the experience in as a whole, not these little pieces you are picking at."

Lou stops talking long enough to light the Walker he has rolled while we were complaining. After a long draw he holds it in his hand and doesn't pass it on.
"Hey, Bogart... "
"This shit is for warriors."
We stand in silence. He eventually hands it over.

A long draw it is passed. Eventually we are all holding and letting out our hits in procession. The silence is golden. We pass it once more for good measure. Everything looks better through red eyes. Before long we are all smiles and getting hungry.

Mike is busy over at the fire. The squaws had looked at him funny at first, but when he let them in on some of the spices and herbs he had collected on the walk over they let him near the meat. They pulled a couple of deer hide pouches up and he opened them each, giving a sniff. He dipped a finger and put it on the tip of his tongue... his eyes light up.

"Must be spicy hot?" I say, nudging Lou.
"I sure as hell hope so. The grub here is as dull as dishwater."

Chris emits a sound like a badger in a burlap sack. Luckily it comes from his stomach and not out of an orafice.

"Jesus, Chris."
"I'm fucking starving."
"We all are. It's just you that sounds like a fucking farm animal."
"Fuck you."
"No, fuck... "
"Both of you shut the fuck up, you're ruining my buzz."

Lou gets to his feet and takes a short walk with a destination in mind. When he returns he has a boda bag with cool water and a third of a bottle of whiskey. I reach for the water and take a draw.
"Sissy." Lou takes a gulp of whiskey.
"Give it to me." I grab the bottle and take a pull. It burns going down. "I would kill for a shot of Maker's Mark right now."

"I could go for that." Chris says, reaching for the bottle.
"I hope you have a vivid imagination."
He takes a gulp and winces. "Let's get back to the boat and leave this shit in the history books."

Lou pulls a second Walker from behind his ear and we all continue to put on a stretch and wait for dinner.

In this tribe, when a warrior returns from battle his comfort is paramount. All around us the warriors are catered to by their families and members of the tribe. We sit, our backs against the burm that preceeds the river bank, whiskey eyes and walker vision. We are comfortable enough to doze off... and we do.

Night has fallen, but the darkness is lit with a large fire that has come to life before us. We are yards away but the heat warms us. It has been going for some time now. There are red hot coals at its base. There is venison being tended on the other side of the fire. The smell of it is enough to get us all to our feet in anticipation.

"I guess they aren't too worried about any more troops attacking." Chris gestures to the fire, the light of which is probably visible for many miles.
"Superstision Mountains 'er just that." A slur of a voice reports.

The four of us turn to see Seedling standing with an old metal plate with several large tasting pieces of deer meat. Over his shoulder is a boda bag, its contents most likely responsible for the silly smile and rubbery lipped responses.

"This here deer meat is the best I done tasted that ain't city bought." He holds the plate at arms length and we all take a piece.

It is tender and tasty. There is a hint of whiskey, black pepper, salt, and a couple of other spices that I am not sure of. The secret is revealed as we watch Mike a couple of the squaws take a portion of the meat that is hanging over a bed of coals and bring it down to a make-shift table. The portions are then rubbed down with spices then wrapped in burlap that has been soaking in Red Eye. They then bury the tightly wrapped, bourbon soaked meat in the coals and let it sit there for a while.

"Well I'll be damned."
"That guy could make a piece of formica taste like sirloin."
Seedling sets the empty plate down and takes a draw off of the boda bag. He winces just slightly and then passes it to me.

"What is it?"
"That there is my own recipe. Make it from cactus."
I take a draw and almost throw it back up. It tastes pretty vile, like it turned some days back.

"How much of this have you had to drink?"
"Not much, maybe half the bag. Gives you a helluva headache come mornin', but for now it's some fun."

The Chief asks us to sit with him for the feast. Before we eat there is a commotion and half the warriors leap to their feet, weapons in hand. They are at the head of the trail from whence we came and I fear that there may be more cavalry on our tails. There is a call from the darkness.

"That there is your giant friend... that Aztec fella."
"Ollie?"
"I reckon, he and that buttoned up fella as well."

Sure enough, Andy and Ollie ride into camp. Ollie has the Clarok slung over his back like a turtle shell, the lip of it tucked into the back of his saddle, the rest tied with rope over his chest.

"Didn't expect to see you boys until tomorrow." Chris tells them.
"The Keep wasn't too far way. Nothing there but death and this salad bowl. So we snagged it and headed back." Andy looks at the fire, "You can see the light from this fire for ten miles."

Ollie takes a deep breath and lets it out, then says something in Mother tongue.
"That would be Mike's version of venison."

I take a couple of pieces from Seedling's tray and hand it on up to them. They devour them in seconds... savoring the taste and wanting more.

Once they have dismounted we are all seated with the Chief and the Warriors that had fought so bravely. A small ceremony takes place and the six of us are "branded" if you will with the symbol of the hawk, we are told, and it means that we are one with the warriors... protectors of the tribe. It is not a red hot brand, but a tattoo of sorts that is under the skin. No ink is visible, but the skin is interlaced with whatever medium they use to create the image. It is no more than a shape of bumps that represents the shape of the hawk.

After the feast there is a ceremonial dance and we see the young women assembled for the first time. They dance for us, for their tribe. The beating of the drums is quite entrancing.

Lou gets up and sits down next to Seedling who has been quite active since the first time we saw him here at camp. They have words, Lou taking Seed's arm at one point before letting go. There seems to be a consensus before he rises and comes back to us.

"So?"
"So he has bags of the shit."
"Bags of shit?" Andy smirks.
"You know what I mean, bags of the gold we need. He had already been mining up here before he realized it was on sacred land."

We digest this fact for a moment.
"So... we can go home?"
"Any time we want to. Just have to liquify it and get it to harden in the Clarok."
"No... no shit." I am awestruck.
"Kind of like Dorothy and her ruby slippers."
"Sissy."
I look at Lou and smile, "Dominicans for dinner tomorrow?"
"You're on."

Clash of the Titans

We watch as the cavalry rides to meet us. I suspect they must have used a telescope and have seen the standard we carry. They are confused at best, having had the one escapee ride up to them and give his report... one surprise and slaughter with he the only survivor. But now, as we ride to meet them, their commander has surely identified the company flag. Survivors riding in to join in the fight. I can only imagine the scornful look our escapee will have to deal with if he survives the day.

It is only minutes, but they move by like the seasons. I am numb to the pain now, just me and my horse trying to make it through. I give a thought to Mike, who has taken a much worse hit than me. He may still be in danger, like I was in Modoc. Hopefully by tomorrow we will be back on the ship and in good hands.

I ride up to Lou, who looks like he is locked and loaded. I manage to get a nod and a wink, but I can tell he is in the zone. From here on out anyone that looks into those eyes will see the reaper. I long for the days of Walkers and Muerte Verde at Dominicans, of beer and marinated pork from the girls at the store in Nogales, for the cool mist of Nester’s waterfall and a Cuban cigar. These thoughts comfort me as I ride to my death… or theirs.

Lou picks up the pace as they approach. We go from a trot to a gallop and then he pours the coals to it. I can hear Mike call the team on behind me as the wagon lurches ahead, the horses knowing that the charge is on. All eyes on Lou for the draw. When his rifle comes out we all bring out the hardware and the fuses are lit on the first set, and we dance.

I take a quick look back at the boys. In that instant I see a flurry of preparation; Mike moves his rifle to his lap, Ollie rides from the side of the wagon up passed me, Andy has propped rifles into the corners of the wagon within easy reach, Chris swivels the gun a few times to check the movement and then jacks the loading lever back. Both he and Andy get ready with the dynamite. When I turn back I see the full charge of cavalry fill my view. Lou’s rifle is drawn.

It is a complete look of surprise on their faces. They have slowed and slightly scattered, processing the information; the Company Standard, the uniforms and cavalry horses, the rifles aimed and fired in their direction.

We blast through their ranks, killing five or six as we pass. Andy and Chris find the thick of them with the dynamite, Andy lighting and Chris throwing one after another as the wagon clatters through them. The explosions are deafening, peppering us with sand and rock even as we ride away.

With the dynamite spent we slow and turn, the wagon stops and Chris lights off the big gun. We take to the sides of the wagon and fire on the remaining cavalry soldiers… brave men, still firing at us with arms or legs blown off, crawling to the remains of the fallen to retrieve a rifle or a pistol and continue the fight. But we are too much for them, the element of surprise too great an allie to overcome. It is nothing short of a blood bath. I try to tell myself that this isn’t real, that I haven’t murdered these men, or those before them. But the pain that racks my body tells me that this is my reality… for now.

Voices are muffled and I have to look right at mouths to even begin to understand what is being said. Lou is talking. I think he repeats himself five times or so before he shakes his rifle and then the cartridge belt he has over his shoulder. We need to strip them of ammo and continue.

We scatter like birds and grab up as much as we can and throw it on the wagon. Lou recognizes and takes a couple of Spencer rifles, putting one in his scabbard and handing the other to Ollie. Their spares go to the wagon. The whole operation from us riding up to meet them takes all of ten minutes and then we are off. We still have the company flag and uniforms. The trick worked once. I don't want to be wearing this shit when we finally meet up with the Indians.

There is a cloud of sand and dust where the remaining cavalry has engaged the warriors. We are far from them and our horses are spent. Lou senses this and we take a slower approach, knowing that without our mounts we will never see our way home. We come in at the cavalry's flank and we see them wave us in one direction. That is as close as we want to get wearing this shit, but to remove it now would get us killed just a little quicker. We open fire on them with rifles, the wagon riding down the side of them with Chris cranking away. Our uniforms and the flag hit the dirt as we thin them out. It is another slaughter. About ten or so try to retreat by horseback, riding quickly into the desert.

I wonder if any of the Indians have survived the attack, having been outnumbered ten to one. My question is answered as the escaping cavalry is pursued by half as many warriors. Ollie rides off, Spencer at the ready, and picks off a couple as they try to elude their pursuers. Before long he and the warriors ride back to us.

They have lost many warriors, at least half their number. We manage to save a couple, bringing them back to the wagon so our field medic can work on them. What might have been a mortal wound in this time can be treated. I don't even want to think about the timeline and the effects of all of this death and life saving. We may have no boat to come back to, or have an Apache nation that covers our country. At this point it is too late to worry about it. We have a job to do.

Quiet has once again filtered onto the desert. No more gunshots or dynamite blasts. My hearing is starting to come back. Ollie has the bottle of Red Eye out of his saddle bag and we pass it along. Even the warriors take a pull as the bottle passes. After the bottle makes another round, we are feeling some effect and we congratulate each other on the battle in a sort of "charades" kind of communication. It's all good. The message is there... thank you.

With some effort we manage to get the general direction we are heading to meet up with the Chief and Seedling. Looking back from where we came we can make out the entrance to the canyon country and Orlis Keene's keep. Plans are made. Ollie will take an extra horse, courtesy of the U.S. Cavalry, and he will be accompanied by Andy. Lou trades his Spencer over to him, that and an extra cartridge belt. We manage to find some hard tack and jerky in a few saddle bags. Their commander even had two apples, a little bruised, but a rarity in these parts. We send it with the boys and they ride off after confirming the land marks for the trail to the Superstition mountains. Lou tells them he will mark the trail if there is any confusion at all.

When we start up the trail toward the pass and into the Indian's "Spirit Mountains"
it is late in the afternoon. Our stomachs growl and our thirst is growing. We have no water, the bags we had were ruined in battle. The whiskey didn't help our thirst or hunger. The warriors don't seem to worry about it, which makes me think we are going to see water and food before long.

An hour later we meet up with the Chief and the rest of the tribe. They are extremely pleased to see the warriors and our small group. The Chief notices Ollie and Andy's absence. His men assure him that they are safe. I think he can see it in our faces that we are parched and starving.

We are escorted through camp and it is then that we see the deer and rabbits that the braves have killed for the feast. There is a small brook that runs along side the trail behind us. There is wood being stacked for a fire. The only thing I don't see here is Seedling.

When we ask after him, the Chief seems as surprised as we are that he isn't with us. With much effort he tries to assure us that he will be at our final destination.