King Blood

bridles were suddenly grabbed by unseen hands. Then – Well, nothing, then. Nothing more than a couple of butted lances, which connected solidly with the skulls of Tepaha and Ike King and knocked them senseless from their saddles.

They were prodded and kicked to their feet.

The lance-points pricking incessantly at their rumps, they were run into the village of the Apache leader, Geronimo, and on to the great lodge of Geronimo himself.

The Indian chief at that time was probably in his middle forties, or approximately twice the age of Ike and Tepaha. He was thus, by the standards of the time, an old man, just as Ike and Tepaha were regarded as standing on the verge of middle-age. Yet Geronimo carried the years of his hard life well, being lean and wiry of body, and his expression was not so much savage as sardonically amused. He chose to ignore Ike, addressing himself instead to Tepaha in a tone of musing wonderment.

'And what have we here?' he inquired. 'What is this strange creature who appears to be Indian, an Apache, no less, yet who is obviously a white man's dog, licking at his master's ass and balls lest he be struck with a small stick?'

'You smell your own breath, old man,' Tepaha told him haughtily. 'To one who feeds on dog shit, all others are dogs.'

A lance-point jabbed him reprovingly. Tepaha's darting hand caught it at the haft, snapping it off with one seemingly effortless movement of his wrist. It was a tremendous feat of strength. Geronimo rewarded it by shaking his head at the brave who was about to club Tepaha.

'So,' Geronimo said, 'perhaps you are not a dog. Perhaps. So you will explain your presence with this white man, and you will tell us who he is and what he is if not your master.'

Tepaha said proudly that Ike was his friend and brother. They had been so almost before manhood, since the time when they were both prisoners in a Mexican jail under sentence of death as bandidos. They had broken jail together, Tepaha becoming seriously wounded as they escaped. And Ike had gotten him to a ranchero across the Rio Grande. The owner of the ranch, a Spanish grandee, had offered them sanctuary, then treacherously sent one of his Aztec peons to summon the carbineros. The man had reported to Ike instead, so Ike had slain the Spaniard, and as soon as Tepaha was well enough to travel, they had burned the ranchero buildings, and driven off the livestock; and those peons who cared to do so were allowed to come with them.

'We settled well back from the Rio,' Tepaha continued, 'in a valley some two hundred miles distant. We built a lodge there, and outbuildings. But there were many Apache in the area, and the peons soon left us in fear, having been slaves so long they had lost the will to fight. I would have fought, of course, Old Ike being my friend and brother. But Ike said it was not necessary. Instead, he went unarmed amongst the Apaches, and he called them brother, and he told them that they were to come to his lodge as guests and take whatever they needed. And – '

'And – ' Geronimo's eyes gleamed with ironic appreciation. 'And so they came, eh? As guests. And being such, they did not rob him of his all and kill him as they otherwise would have.'

'Why should they?' Tepaha frowned. 'Do Apaches abuse friendship? Do they mistreat a brother? Or perhaps,' he added insinuatingly, 'such is the custom of the Oklahoma Apache.'

'You,' Geronimo advised him, 'are very close to death, O, Tepaha. You will be wise to offer no insults, and to answer questions, not ask them. Even now there is an Osage prisoner in this camp whose big mouth and small brain will cost him his life in the morning.'

Tepaha drew himself erect, and emitted a scornful, 'Ho! Heed me, O, Geronimo,' he continued. 'This is Old Ike King! When he shits, great mountain ranges are formed of his turds, and fearful floods are caused by his pissing, and when he farts whole deserts are blown into the sky. This I have seen. I, his chief vaquero. And following us come three hundred more Apache braves, vaqueros like myself, and their families. All are sworn brothers of Old Ike, all enemies of his enemies. So do not threaten us with the fate of your miserable Osage, for you are tempting fate even to speak of Osages and my brother, Old Ike, in the same breath!'

The other old men in the lodge exchanged secretively approving glances; for this was good talk. But Geronimo was not easily impressed.

'You talk great shit, Apache dog,' he said. 'Nothing follows you but your shriveled asses, unless it is the carbineros who have chased you out of Tejas.'_

Tepaha promised that he would soon see for himself. 'No one runs Old Ike anywhere. Neither the carbineros nor the soldados of Maximilian, nor anyone else. Old Ike has a friend, Sam Houston. Our presence in Tejas is an embarrassment to him, so we leave at his request.'

'And you think to establish a ranchero here? The bluecoats will never allow it!'

'You do not know Old Ike,' Tepaha said. 'He has a way with soldados. He will smile and burden them with gifts. He will agree to do as they say; and even make motions of so doing. When he does not do so, and the soldados return, he will again smile and give them gifts and agree to their will. Yet still he will stay where he is. They will become firm with him. Still smiling, Ike will become firm with them, but never in a way to be detected. Bullets will come out of nowhere to find their hearts, and their horses will be hamstrung and their lodges will catch fire. So after a time, the soldados will go hence and return no more, realizing that what cannot be changed must be accepted. This I have seen.'

Geronimo said he had seen shit, too, and also smelled it. 'This is a god?' he jeered, jerking his head at Ike. 'You will be telling us next that he can cure the pox!'

'Even so,' Tepaha said. 'Look you, old man!'

He bared his left wrist, extended it into the dim light from the fire. There was a minute patch of smallpox pits on the wrist – but only there. The deadly pox, the chronic scourge of the red men, had merely touched his flesh and gone away.

The old men were wordless with astonishment. Geronimo raised his eyes wonderingly, the sardonic expression wiped from his face.

'How?' He stared at Tepaha. 'How could this be?'

'Magic. How else?'

'Obviously. But what kind of magic?'

'With magic that only Old Ike can perform. First he casts a spell over a cow – a cow, yes – and the blood of that cow becomes flecked with gold. Then he takes those flecks, and smears them into the blood of the person who has been exposed to the pox. The disease tastes the blood of that person, and flees in terror, leaving only the smallest mark of its bite.'

'And it is always the same? The victim is always cured?'

'Certainly not,' Tepaha said loftily. 'Evil men, including those who are Ike's enemies, die in itching torment.'

Geronimo stood up and took Ike's hand. 'Old Ike King,' he said, 'you and Tepaha are welcome at my fire, and we will eat and drink together, and I, Geronimo, will call you brother.'

The food was pashofa, a kind of gruel made of hominy. Flavored with nettles, it seemed quite tasty to Ike. Yet it was somewhat on the watery side, cooked without so much as a small snake to give it body. And Tepaha, still smarting under Geronimo's recent insults, made hideous faces of displeasure as he ate.

The potent brew served them was also a corn product. When the corn was green, squaws chewed it from the cob and spat their chewings into a large pot. To this – the rough equivalent of a distiller's mash – water was added, and after a certain number of skimmings the pot was sealed, and the contents allowed to ferment.

It was very powerful stuff. As with the food, Ike found it reasonably tasty. Tepaha, of course, did not – or, at least, he appeared not to.

Such a drink, he declared loudly, would never have been served in the lodge of Old Ike King. The most humble beverage a guest might drink in Old Ike's lodge was mescal or tequila, and for honored guests – the equals of Ike and himself – there was real