into their weapons, he reached the mouth of the canyon himself. He triggered two shots toward the place where he had seen a muzzle flash on the right, then twisted in the saddle and sent two more rounds toward the guard on the left.
He didn’t know if any of his bullets had found their targets, but he was in the canyon now and he could still hear the pounding hoofbeats of Stovepipe’s horse, so he hoped the range detective had made it through all right, too.
What happened from here on out depended on things that were largely out of Sam’s control. How many of the Navajo would support Juan Pablo now that the rifles he had promised them wouldn’t be delivered after all? Would Caballo Rojo continue to step aside, or would he try to take control of the clan again?
A shape loomed up out of the darkness. Sam was reloading his Colt as he rode. He thumbed the sixth cartridge into the wheel, snapped the cylinder closed, and lifted the gun.
“Hold on,” Stovepipe said. “It’s just me. Were you hit, son?”
“No, I made it through all right,” Sam said. “How about you?”
“Nary a scratch.” Stovepipe chuckled. “I’m pretty good at ziggin’ when folks think I’m gonna zag.”
“Now that we’re in, the guards may come after us. And the shots may have warned Juan Pablo that we’re on our way.”
“We best move fast, then, before the varmint has too much time to get ready for us.”
They rode swiftly along the creek. When they came to the first hogan, Sam expected shots to come from it, but the dwelling remained dark and silent.
That was a good sign, he told himself. It could mean that Juan Pablo didn’t have as much support among the other Navajo as he claimed to. Maybe most of them were going to stay out of this clash.
Sam and Stovepipe left that hogan behind and headed for the next one, a couple of hundred yards along the creek. The Navajo liked their privacy and didn’t live clustered up like some of the other tribes. Juan Pablo’s hogan was about three-fourths of a mile into the canyon, and Caballo Rojo’s was another half-mile beyond that.
After they passed two more hogans, they slowed as they approached the one belonging to Juan Pablo.
“He’s gonna be waitin’ for us, or for somebody to come after him, anyway,” Stovepipe warned.
Sam brought his horse to a halt and swung down from the saddle.
“I’m going ahead on foot.”
Stovepipe dismounted as well.
“Good idea,” the range detective said. “I’ll back your play, Sam, whatever it is.”
“We’ll need to draw him out. I know one way to do that: walk right up and challenge him.”
“The ol’ paint a target on your back trick, eh?”
“That’s right,” Sam said. “Only this time it’ll be on my front. And you’re going to come in from behind and get into that hogan so you can free Elizabeth while I’m dealing with Juan Pablo.”
“Mighty risky tactics ... but I don’t have any better idea.”
They split up, Sam going toward the front of the hogan and Stovepipe circling to the rear. Sam looked for possible cover as he approached but didn’t see any. The only things he saw were the stake where Matt had been tied and the burned-out ashes of the fire nearby.
Gun in hand, he called, “Juan Pablo! Come out and face me!”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sam leaped to the side. The direction he chose was a gamble. He might be jumping right into the path of a bullet.
But as one of the Springfields cracked from just inside the hogan’s door, the slug whined harmlessly through the air to Sam’s left. He couldn’t return the fire for fear of hitting Elizabeth or Juan Pablo’s wife, so he continued sprinting to the side, hoping that would draw Juan Pablo out of the earthen dwelling.
Instead the renegade called, “Leave this place, half-breed, and I will allow you to live!”
“It’s over, Juan Pablo! There won’t be any uprising against the whites!”
“This is Dine land! It will always be Dine land!”
“No one will take it away from you,” Sam said as he crouched, out of a direct line of fire from the hogan’s entrance.
“Already the white men build towns and run their cattle on it! Soon their railroad will come! The Dine will be forced to leave our homes again!”
“Don’t you see that’s exactly what the men who tried to give you those rifles want? They know your people can’t win a war against the army. Rising up against the whites will have just the opposite effect to what you really want.”
“Lies!” Juan Pablo cried. “All lies! You might as well be white!”
Sam tried another tack.
“Let Miss Fleming come out of there,” he urged. “You’re alone now, Juan Pablo.” Sam made that guess based on the fact that no one seemed to be helping the would-be renegade anymore. “Let her go, and things don’t have to get any worse than they already are.”
“No! The woman is mine! I—”
Sam heard a loud thud from inside the hogan and recognized it as the unmistakable sound of something hard hitting flesh and bone. The thud was followed by a groan, and then Elizabeth called, “Sam! Sam, get in here!”
