it with my teeth to get a proper bite.
A fawn came from the brush and with high, delicate steps went down to the meadow. Truly we needed meat, but I was after bigger game and did not wish to kill a fawn. Let it grow into bigger meat.
One of the Tensas came from their camp and went down to drink at the creek. He was too far off and I had no desire to give away my presence. He stood up, a quick, graceful movement, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked around slowly, once seeming to look right at me, but I was well hidden.
He was a lithe, fine-looking brave, probably not yet twenty.
Another Indian came to join him and they stood talking, with much gesticulation. That they were angry about something was obvious.
Enemies they might be, but I could not escape the beauty of the situation, the green backdrop of the mountains, the forest, the small stream sparkling in the sun, and the two Indians talking. No sound came, as they were too far off, but their manner was eloquent.
A movement caught my eye, a movement from the slope behind them, but closer. The merest stirring and then nothing. Puzzled, I waited.
The two Indians squatted on their heels near the water. One wore three feathers, the other but one.
That movement again, lower down the slope. Suddenly I knew!
Keokotah!
Startled, I half came to my feet. Did he know of the hidden camp? Or was he so intent on the Indians he stalked as not to realize the nearness of the others?
Crouching, careful to move no leaf, I went down the slope toward them, to get within bow shot before anything happened. When I had Keokotah clearly in view and not over fifty yards away, I squatted down in the brush with a log before me.
The Indians were on their feet now. They would return to camp. Sunlight danced on the water, and the aspens trembled. The Indians turned, and one died, an arrow in his throat. The other Indian had started on, unaware. Yet when he had taken two more steps he turned to speak and saw his companion lying dead in the trail.
The first Indian dropped to his haunches and then dove forward into the brush. Keokotah was quick, and his arrow went through the calf of the brave's leg as he jerked it from sight.
There had been seven, but now there were six, with one wounded slightly. There was one in camp wounded, too.
Waiting in the brush, I saw no further movement and believed Keokotah had gone. Slowly, careful to move no leaf, I slipped back up the slope and circled for home. Our corn had grown tall, and circling through it I took time to pull a few weeds. It was not a large patch, but it would give us a few bushels of corn to supplement our meager diet. The earth was rich and our crop had grown well. When I looked up from the corn I saw smoke.
It was several miles away, back beyond where Kapata's warriors had camped. It was a single finger of smoke, lifting skyward. As I looked, the column broke. A single puff went up, and then another.
A signal, but for whom? Not for the Tensas, of that I was sure. It was too far away and in the wrong direction.
The Komantsi? I felt a chill. Those dreaded Indians, destroying all before them. Had they found my valley or the trail of the Tensas?
When I was near the stockade, Keokotah appeared. He had a bloody scalp at his waistband. I had seen the Tensa die, but how had Keokotah scalped him? I pointed to the smoke. He nodded his head.
'Komantsi,' he said. 'They come.'
His tone was grim and I understood why.
Itchakomi looked up when we came in and gestured toward a pot on the fire. We ate in silence, saying nothing. She had seen the scalp and needed no explanation.
At the meal's end I bathed my hands at the stream and then went to her. 'The Komantsi come,' I said. 'We have seen their smoke.'
And I had found no sulphur.
To look for it was automatic now, for it was ever in my mind. At night now I spent some time casting bullets, killing my mold time and again. But the balls were of no use without gunpowder.
Sulphur was sometimes found in old volcanic craters, for it appeared in the last stages of volcanic activity. Sometimes pockets of the crystals could be found, often contaminated with arsenic.
When darkness was almost upon us and visibility cut to within a few yards, I went out to move my caltrops, not wishing to mark their absence by a worn trail. It would be necessary to move them every few days if there was much going back and forth. The moccasins these Indians wore had thin buckskin soles, and the spines would penetrate them. Unless there was infection the wounds were not serious, but one was sufficient to keep an Indian inactive for several days.
Kapata was no longer mentioned. His presence and his danger were very real, but that of the Komantsi even more. We kept our fires to a minimum and were thankful that our fort was fairly hidden in the trees and brush. It could not be seen except from quite near.
On the second day after his taking of the scalp, Keokotah went again to the mountains. It was a day of low clouds and impending rain, yet he went, hoping for game. Uneasy, I remained in the fort, watching restlessly for enemies, working at making bullets, planning forays into the mountains to look for sulphur.
Often I thought of the Natchee who had returned. Had they gotten through? Had they ridden the rough waters down and slipped by the Komantsi and the Conejeros? Had they found their way back to their villages beside the Great River?
We might never know.
So far as I knew I was the first Anglo white man to come so far west. But who could actually know? Always there was some venturesome one who would not be content with the limits set by others.
When spring came we would put in our crop again, and once more we would take to the mountains and seek out the far lands. There was in me a driving wish to see, to know, to feel.
Westward loomed the mighty peaks of the Sangre de Cristos, mountains where the caves were, mountains I must explore. And beyond them? Who knew?
A great valley, we heard, a greater valley by far than this where we lived. And beyond it? The sunlight glinted sometimes on snowcapped peaks, or so the Ponca woman said, of far-off mountains, incredibly high.
Night came and the stars, but Keokotah did not come and our hearts were heavy. We did not speak of him nor of our fears, but each knew what the others thought and each knew the fear in his own heart.
Yet he came! A stirring in the night, a faint sound at the door. I drew my knife and stepped forward to meet whatever was there.
The door opened. It was Keokotah.
'Ah!' I said.
He looked at me. 'They are gone ... gone!'
'Gone? Who?'
'The Natchee, the Tensas ... gone.'
'You mean they have given up and gone home?' This I had been expecting. The Indian does not like long, drawn-out battles. He wishes to do it quickly, get it done, and go home.
'Gone ... dead. All killed.'
All? I could not believe it.
'Who?' Although I knew without asking.
'The Komantsi. They have killed them. Taken their hair.'
'Kapata, too?'
'No Kapata. He is gone when they come, I think. I think he come back after. I see big tracks.'
Kapata!Would we ever be rid of him?
Chapter Thirty-Three.
They came down the canyon in a straggling line, two dozen of them at least, with three horses and a half dozen miserable dogs. Most of the men were wounded and some of the women, and all were about to fall from exhaustion. They stopped abruptly when they saw us, hesitating until I walked out to meet them.
