“We must be coming into Pajarito,” Falcon said. He pulled out his watch and looked at it. “And right on time, I see.”
There was no railroad in Pajarito, and no telegraph line. Therefore, the arrival of the stagecoach, once each day from Calabasas and once each day from Oro Blanco, provided the only connection the town had with the outside world. Because of that, the arrival was a major event, and men and women stepped out of their homes, stores, and businesses to watch the stage roll in each day. Children would sometimes run down the street alongside the coach, often accompanied by their dogs. Today was no exception, and nearly every citizen in Pajarito stood outside their homes and businesses, watching the arrival.
Just before entering the town, the driver stirred the team into a trot so as to make a more impressive entrance. Then, as they approached the depot, Gentry called out to the horses and started hauling back on the reins. At the same time he applied the brakes and the coach slowed to just above a walk. It finally rattled to a stop just in front of the depot, where the stage sat there for a second or two as the dust cloud it had generated came rolling by them.
The driver climbed down then and, after patting some of the dust off himself, reached up to open the door. As he opened it, some of the dust rolled inside.
“All right, folks, this here place is the Pajarito stage depot. Since all of you is goin’ on through, don’t none of you be wanderin’ off nowhere so’s that you miss the stage. We’ll be here for about an hour to change the team, take on fresh water, and let you folks grab somethin’ to eat. Mrs. Foster fixes a good ham and ’taters, and if we’re lucky, she’ll have some kind of pie,” Gentry said.
Johnson jumped down first and hurried toward the privies in back. Falcon was next, and he helped both Mrs. Stockdale and Cloud Dancer down.
The depot was one rather large room with a big table in the middle. A counter ran along one side of the room; a few bottles of whiskey sat on a shelf behind the counter.
On the other side of the room was a small store with a few items for sale, mostly handkerchiefs, soap, toothbrushes, things that travelers might need.
A door at the rear of the room opened onto the kitchen, from which rolled the enticing aroma of roast beef, hot bread, and a touch of cinnamon.
A rather stout woman, wearing a dark blue dress and a white apron, stepped out of the kitchen. Her mousy- brown hair was done up in a bun behind her head, though one tendril hung down alongside a face that was covered with sweat. Picking up the hem of her apron, she rubbed her hands.
“Hello, Mrs. Foster,” Johnson said, showing a feeling of proprietorship in that he had made this trip many times and knew her by name.
“Hello, Mr. Johnson,” Mrs. Foster replied. She smiled at the others. “Well, you folks look like you could use a good meal,” she said. She pointed toward a door on the back wall. “They’s some washbasins out back. I reckon you’ll be wantin’ to wash off some of the dust. I know how dusty you folks get, ridin’ in a stage, with all the dirt and dust blowin’ in through the winders and all.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Foster,” Mrs. Stockdale said. “Come along, Timmy.”
The other passengers followed Mrs. Stockdale outside, and all made use of the water, soap, and clean towels. Falcon had to admit that he felt considerably more refreshed when he went back inside.
“Oh, that was good,” Mrs. Stockdale said.
“I’ll have your meal out directly,” Mrs. Foster offered.
“A meal does sound good, but something cool to drink sounds even better,” Mrs. Stockdale said.
“I made some tea, my dear,” Mrs. Foster said. “And I’ve kept it cool in the well house.”
“That sounds good.”
“The driver said you had pie,” Timmy said.
“I do indeed, young man,” Mrs. Foster said. “I just made a fresh apple pie this morning and you ...” Mrs. Foster stopped in mid-sentence and stared at Cloud Dancer. “Well, for heaven’s sake, I haven’t seen you in a long time,” she said. “You are Cloud Dancer, aren’t you, my dear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I thought so. Why, you’re a young woman now. Last time I saw you, you were just a girl. The school back East must have agreed with you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cloud Dancer said politely.
“Well, you folks go ahead and take your seats while I put some food on the table. I need to get you folks fed quick as I can, ’cause when it comes time for Mr. Gentry to leave, why, he just ups and do it, whether you’re finished eatin’ or not.”
Cloud Dancer waited until the others were seated before she took her seat. Falcon waited with her.
“Mr. MacCallister, I want to thank you for coming to my defense in the stage,” Cloud Dancer said quietly.
“You’re welcome.”
“But I am confused.”
“Confused? Why are you confused?”
“You are Dlo Binanta.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My people say that you call yourself a bird. You are that man, aren’t you?”
“Call myself a bird?” Falcon replied. Then he remembered. The last time he was down here, during his fight with Naiche, the Apache had referred to him as the man who calls himself a bird.
