CHAPTER 20
There had been five who followed Chetopa from the camp when he left to carry the war to the whites. Now only two, Mensa and Turq, remained.
“What type of man can come and go without being seen?” Mensa asked. “He is a spirit warrior.”
“He is not a spirit warrior; he is just a man like any other man,” Turq said.
“No,” Chetopa said, holding up his hand. “He is not a devil, but he is not just like any other man. He is like an Apache. He can move like smoke through the night. He is very good, so we must be better.”
“How can we be better?”
“When has he attacked us?” Chetopa asked.
“When we sleep,” Tarq said.
“When we eat,” Mensa said.
“Yes. He comes to us. I say, we will not wait for him to come to us. From now on we will go to him. We will find where he sleeps, and we will find where he eats, and we will kill him.”
“Yes, we will kill him,” Tarq agreed.
Like all Apache, Chetopa, Tarq, and Mensa were skilled trackers and ferocious warriors. But like many, they were used to white men who were badly deficient in those skills, so they had underestimated Falcon.
That underestimation had proven fatal. But Chetopa did not intend to underestimate Falcon again. He knew that Falcon was nearby, and might even now be watching them. So, working from that premise, he decided to turn back upon their own trail. If they did that, he would either have to retreat from them, or leave the trail and make a new one.
After backtracking for several hours, Chetopa saw a fresh horse dropping on the trail and, leaping down from his horse, he examined it. It was soft and odorous.
“Yes,” he said to the others. “We have found him.” Then, in English, he shouted at the top of his voice.
“Dlo Binanta! Dlo Binanta, do you hear me? We have found you! We have found you and we will kill you! And after you are dead, I will cut your heart out and feed it to the dogs in our village!”
“Ayieee!” the Indians yelled, holding their rifles over their heads.
“Dlo Binanta, do you hear me?” Chetopa yelled.
“I hear you, Chetopa,” Falcon said. Although he spoke quietly, Chetopa, Mensa, and Tarq heard him quite clearly, because he was standing less than ten yards behind them.
Chetopa and the others whirled toward the sound of the voice and, doing so, saw Falcon standing there, challenging them. Amazingly, his guns were in his holsters. Seeing this, Chetopa smiled.
“You dare to face us without your weapons?”
“I have my weapons,” Falcon said easily.
“But they are not in your hands,” Chetopa said. His smile grew broader as he brought his rifle around to bear.
Faster than Chetopa could blink, or even contemplate the action, the pistols were in Falcon’s hands. He fired three times, killing all three Indians before even one of them could get off a shot.
He stood there for a moment after, smoke curling up from the barrel, even as the sound of the three shots echoed and reechoed back from the mesa walls.
Falcon went about his gruesome task. He scalped Chetopa, Mensa, and Tarq. Then, he put each of the Indians belly-down on their ponies, tied their hands to their feet with strips of rawhide, and using their own knives, pinned their scalps to their bodies. That done, he slapped the ponies on the rear and threw up his hat to start them. They galloped away.
Fourteen-year-old Kinte was tending the herd of ponies as they grazed just outside the village. He was proud to be given such a responsibility, for this was part of his training in becoming a warrior.
Of course, being a warrior was not like it once was. Kinte had heard stories of bravery and wars well fought. He knew of great leaders and warriors such as Cochise, Victorio, Geronimo, Juh, Nana, Naiche, Chalipun, and Eskiminzin. Perhaps, one day, the name Kinte would join that list of brave Apache.
Kinte thought about Chetopa. He should have gone with Chetopa. Of course, because he was so young, Chetopa would not have let him go, at least not at first. But if he had followed Chetopa, then joined him later, Chetopa would have let him stay.
Kinte admired Chetopa. Keytano was their chief, and Kinte knew that all the people respected Keytano, but he thought Keytano was an old man and should not be their leader now. Their leader should be Chetopa.
Perhaps, when Chetopa returned with the scalp of Dlo Binanta, the others in the village would make him chief. And with a brave and ferocious leader like Chetopa, the Apache would no longer be farmers and old women. They would be warriors again, and Kinte would be there with them.
Kinte saw three ponies galloping toward him. At first he thought they were riderless; then he saw that each of the three was carrying a burden of some sort. As the ponies came closer, he ran toward them, holding up his arms to stop them.
The ponies, tired from their long run, and glad to be back to familiar territory, stopped their running and began peacefully grazing. They made no effort to move away as Kinte came closer to see what they were carrying.
“Ayieee!” he shouted in horror and grief as he saw the scalped body of his hero, Chetopa.
“We must go to war to avenge this!” Caiche, one of the warriors of the village, shouted in anger. Caiche, as well as every other man, woman, and child of the village, had come to the center circle to look
