Revenge of Eagles

have no place for anyone who cannot remain awake when he is keeping watch.”

Kwazi gave the meat to Chetopa, though he did so reluctantly because he did not want to be the cause of his friend getting in trouble.

“Natanke!” Chetopa called, holding the meat up. “Are you a child going to sleep when you should be awake? Natanke, answer me!”

Because it was dark, Chetopa didn’t see Natanke until he almost tripped over him. Then, he was so shocked by what he saw, that he wasn’t sure he was actually seeing it.

“Kwazi! Mensa! Turq! Everyone, come!” he called loudly, and the others, some of whom had just started eating, hurried through the dark toward their war chief.

Chetopa pointed.

“What do you see?” he asked.

“I see ...” Kwazi began. Then, letting out a shout of anger and grief, he dropped to his knees beside the prostrate form of his friend.

“Natanke!” he shouted.

But Natanke didn’t hear him, because he was lying on his back, his head scalped. His mouth was open and a stick stood in his mouth. At the top of the stick was Natanke’s scalp.

“Ayiieeee!” Chetopa shouted. He ran back to the encampment, followed by the others. There, he grabbed his rifle and fired into the desert; the others did as well, and for a long moment, the night was lit by the lightning-like flashes of the muzzle blasts.

Then, as if suddenly realizing what they were doing, Chetopa quit firing and held up his hands.

“No, no!” he shouted. “Do not shoot!”

The shooting ended raggedly with one or two late shots being fired, followed by echoes coming from the nearby hills and mountains.

“To shoot is to waste ammunition,” Chetopa said.

“Chetopa, who did this thing?” Kwazi asked.

“I believe it was Dlo Binanta,” Chetopa said.

“Dlo Binanta? Has the Bird Man come for us?” one of the others said, the fright in his tone obvious.

“Let him come for us,” Chetopa said. “Yes, let Dlo Binanta come for us. We will kill him and then our medicine will be strong.”

Chetopa stepped forward, then raised his rifle over his head.

“Dlo Binanta!” he shouted as loudly as he could. The words rolled back from the hills.

“Dlo Binanta!”

“Dlo Binanta, do you hear me when I say I am not afraid of you?” Chetopa shouted.

“Dlo Binanta, do you hear me when I say I want you to come for me?

“Dlo Binanta, do you hear me when I say I will kill you?”

“... kill you, kill you, kill you?” the words echoed back.

Falcon MacCallister was some one hundred yards away from the Indian encampment, standing behind a saguaro cactus and hidden by the dark.

“Now you hear me, Chetopa!” he called back. “I, Dlo Binanta, will kill you and all who ride with you. I will kill Kwazi, Mensa, and Turq as I killed Natanke.”

“Ayiee, he is a devil! He knows our names!” one of the Indians said, his voice quaking with fear.

“Before the sun rises, another of you will die!” Falcon shouted.

“Will die ... will die ... will die!”

The words echoed and reechoed from every corner of the desert, just as Falcon knew they would. Because of the echoes, Chetopa was unable to place him by sound. Nevertheless, Chetopa fired where he thought Falcon was, and again the night was lit by the muzzle flashes of discharging rifles.

The echoes had Chetopa so badly confused, however, that he didn’t have the slightest idea where Falcon was. As a result, he and the others were firing in a totally different direction.

Falcon remained in the darkness, watching, until once more Chetopa realized that he was only wasting ammunition. Then, when the Indians quit firing, Falcon moved back through the darkness until he found his horse.

“Still here, I see,” Falcon said to the horse. “Did you enjoy the show? I hope so, because it’s just beginning.”

“Seems to me like we should be to Mesquite by now,” Dagen said. He twisted around on his horse and examined the countryside, trying to figure out where he was.

“Yeah,” Monroe said. “We didn’t ride this long from Mesquite before we decided to start back.”

“I didn’t say we was goin’ back to Mesquite,” Fargo said.

“The hell you didn’t,” Dagen replied. “That’s exactly what you said when we was in that line shack having our supper.”

“That’s right,” Monroe seconded.

“I said we was goin’ back,” Fargo said. “I didn’t say we was goin’ back to Mesquite.”