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’til he was blown outta the saddle.”
    He shook his head. “Won’t see no white man doin’ nothin’ like that.”
    Falcon laughed, “No, and I don’t blame him, either.”
    â€œMy point is, Falcon, that once these Injuns find out we’re on their backtrail, they ain’t gonna just go on about they business and pay us no nevermind. They is gonna come lookin’ for us with a vengeance, an’ they won’t stop ’til either we’re dead, or they is. There just ain’t no backup to Injuns. It ain’t in they character.”
    â€œI know what you mean,” Falcon said. “My father, who was out here before most other white men, told me a story once about an old mountain man friend of his, man named Preacher. Seems this Preacher was once taken prisoner by some Indians—Pawnee, I think. These Indians took turns torturing him with what they called games. Making him run across hot coals barefoot, passing him between a line of braves who all took little swipes at him with their knives until he was bleeding from a hundred cuts, and then burying him up to his head and rode by at full speed, throwing spears at him.”
    Hawk stared at Falcon, interested in his story. “What ever happened to the old man?”
    â€œThe story goes, they couldn’t make him scream or cry out for help, and that so impressed them with his courage they let him go.” Falcon flipped his butt into the fire. “Of course, they couldn’t make it too easy for him, so they set him free naked as the day he was born, without boots or shoes, and he had to walk across twenty miles of mountain peaks that were covered with snow, without any weapons or food.”
    Hawk looked dubious. “And you mean to tell me the old codger made it?”
    Falcon nodded. “Yeah. My father said he saw the scars from the knife wounds and the stubs where some of his toes froze off, but he made it. The old man must have been tough as an armadillo’s hide to survive that trek through the mountains.”
    â€œHeck, they’s lots of stories ‘bout Injuns, an’ truth be told most of ’em won’t stand the light of day, but there is no doubt they be strange creatures, all right.”
    He pitched his stick in the fire and rolled over on his side, pulling his hat down over his eyes. “I think I’m gonna take me a little after noonin’ nap.”
    Falcon stood up, pulled his rifle from its boot, and started to walk away toward a clump of boulders nearby. “I’ll just mosey on over there and keep an eye out for uninvited guests. I wouldn’t want you to wake up without your hair.”
    â€œMuch obliged,” Hawk mumbled, and started snoring almost immediately thereafter.

Chapter 10
    Major Wilson Tarver felt an odd mixture of anger and fear. More than fifty Winchester rifles in the hands of Apache savages would be enough to turn all of southern Arizona Territory into a river of blood, and they’d been stolen right under his nose from the Fort Thomas arsenal. This was not going to look good in his personnel record. He sleeved fear-sweat off his forehead, thinking he might have seen his last promotion.
    He spoke to Sergeant Boyd while staring down at the corpses of four soldiers arranged in a row behind the armory.
    â€œJesus. The redskinned bastards cut Watkins and Peters to pieces. I’ve told Washington all along I agree with General Crook’s policy of utter extermination of every Indian on this continent. We ought to line them up and shoot every goddamn one of ’em.”
    â€œThings were too quiet, Major. I had a feelin’ somethin’ was about to happen. I should have doubled the guard on the armory. Without them repeatin’ rifles they’d be a helluva lot easier to capture.” Boyd gave the parade ground and fort walls a lingering stare.
    Corporal Collins, a new recruit from Ohio, turned away from the