“I met with a man in Trinidad. I believe he can be trusted. He is a government man. His name is Jim Wilde.”
“I know this man Wilde,” White Wolf said. “He carries Indian blood in his veins. Co-manche from Texas place. He is to be trusted.”
“I think so, too. Could you get a message to him?”
“Does the wind sigh?”
Smoke smiled. Getting his sketch pad, he sketched the campfire scene, leaving the faces of the Utes blank but drawing himself whole. On the bottom of the sketch, he wrote a note to Wilde.
“If you agree to my plan, have this delivered to Wilde, White Wolf.”
“If we agree, it will be done. What is this thing that you have planned?”
“Times have not been good for you and your people.”
“They have been both good and bad.”
“Winter is not that far away.”
“It is closer tonight than it was last night, but not as close as it will be in the morning.”
“There are guns and much food and clothing and warm blankets in the outlaw town.”
“But not as many as in the town of Trinidad.”
“But the people of Trinidad are better than the people in Dead River.”
“A matter of opinion. But I see your point. I think that I also see what you have in mind.”
“If you agree, some of your people will surely die, White Wolf.”
“Far better to die fighting like a man than to grovel and beg for scraps of food from a nonperson.”
Only the Indians felt they were real people. Most whites had no soul. That is the best way they could find to explain it.
“I know some of how you feel. I do not think you want the buildings of the town.”
White Wolf made an obscene gesture. “I spit on the buildings of the outlaw town.”
“When the battle is over, you may do with them as you see fit.”
“Wait by the fire,” Smoke was told. “I will talk this over with my people.”
Smoke sat alone for more than an hour. Then White Wolf returned with his braves and they took their places.
“We have agreed to your plan, Smoke.”
They shook hands solemnly.
“Now it depends on the government man, Jim Wilde.”
“I will send a brave to see him at first light. Once he has agreed, then we will make our final plans.”
“Agreed.”
They once more stuffed their pipes and smoked, with no one talking.
White Wolf finally said, “There is a young squaw, Rising Star. She does not have a man. She is very hard to please. I have thought of beating her for her stubbornness. Do you want her to share your robes this night?”
“I am honored, White Wolf, but I have a woman and I am faithful to her only.”
“That is good. You are an honorable man.”
“I’ll pull out at first light. I’ll be camped at the head of Sangre de Cristo creek, waiting to hear from you.”
White Wolf smiled. “It will be interesting to see if the white men at the outlaw town die well.”
“I think they will not.”
“I think you are right,” White Wolf agreed.
8
Smoke angled down the slopes and onto the flats, then cut northwest, reaching his campsite by late afternoon. He made his camp and waited.
And waited.
It was three full days before a brave from White Wolf’s band made an appearance.
He handed Smoke a note, on U.S. Marshal’s stationery. Jim Wilde had agreed to the plan and complimented Smoke on enlisting the Utes.
He told the brave what the scratchings on the paper meant.
“Yes,” the brave said. “The Co-manche lawman told me the same thing. All the rest of your plan is to remain the same. Now I must return and tell him when you plan to enter the outlaw town.”
Smoke had calculated the distance; about a day and a half of riding over rough country. “Tell Wilde I will enter the town day after tomorrow, at late afternoon. Do you know a place near the town where you could hide some guns for me?”
The brave thought for a moment, and then smiled. “Yes. Behind the saloon with an ugly picture of a bucket on the front of it. The bucket is filled with what I think is supposed to be blood.”
