At the very moment Sentorio and Agent Baker were discussing their absence, Delshay, Chandeisi, and the others were already off the reservation. Eerily illuminated by the flickering torches many of them were carrying, they sat on their horses on the crest of a hill that overlooked the Doogan Ranch near the little white settlement of Picket Post. Delshay looked down on the little collection of neat buildings that made up the ranch.
“All are asleep,” Chandeisi said.
“Yes,” Delshay replied.
“Delshay, are we at war?” one of the younger riders said.
“Yes.”
“Will we join Goyathlay?”
“No,” Delshay said. “We will make our own war.”
He made a motion with his arm, then pointed toward the barn.
Delshay’s riders rode quickly down the hill to the Doogan Ranch. Without any further directions, a couple of the riders broke away from the rest of the pack and headed toward the barn. One of them tossed a torch inside the barn, where it landed on dry hay. The other threw his torch up onto the dry-shake shingles of the roof. Within moments, the barn was on fire.
Another of the riders started toward the main house, but Delshay called out to him.
“Wait,” he said.
The rider stopped, though it was clear by the expression on his face that he did not understand why Delshay had stopped him.
They waited for nearly two minutes. Delshay and the nine other warriors sat silently as they stared at the house, which, though not on fire, cast back the reflected flames of the burning barn. The popping, snapping fire licked up the sides of the walls and spread over the entire roof, growing in heat and intensity. The horses and cows trapped inside the barn realized their danger and began screaming in terror. Delshay reached down to pat the neck of his own horse reassuringly. The animal was very nervous at being that close to the blaze and it began to prance about.
The ten Indians waited, their faces glowing orange red from the fire. The illusion created an apparition of ten of Satan’s mounted demons.
From inside the house, they heard a young boy’s voice call the alarm.
“Pa! Ma! Wake up! Wake up! The barn’s on fire!”
Alerted, his mother and she poked her husband awake. When Doogan opened his eyes, he didn’t have to ask what was wrong, for by now the light from the burning barn lit up the bedroom as bright as day.
“What in the world! How did that happen? Sue, get the buckets! Donnie, Morgan, you boys turn out double quick! Turn out, boys, we’ve got to save the animals!”
Doogan and his two sons dashed out through the front door in their nightshirts, not bothering to take time to get dressed. They tumbled off the front porch, then were brought to an immediate stop by the sight of the ten mounted Indians. Backlit by the burning barn, the Indians looked as if they were ghost riders from Hell. Doogan shielded his eyes against the glare of the fire, but even though he stared hard at the riders, he couldn’t make out any of their features. As a matter of fact, from his position he couldn’t even tell that they were Indians.
It was Sue who made the connection.
“Indians!” Sue shouted. “My God, Paul, they are Indians!”
Doogan ran back into his house, then returned a moment later with a pistol. He started firing at the Indians, and Delshay returned fire. Those shots were a signal to the other Indians, and for the next several seconds the valley rang with the sound of dozens of gunshots. When the shooting stopped, Doogan, his wife, and both sons were sprawled out in the yard in front of the house. All four were dead.
Jay Peerless Bixby’s insufferable manners had continued throughout most of the trip. He grumbled constantly, complaining about everything from the frequency of the stops, to the weather, to the food that was being served in the dining car.
“Is this the extent of your carte du jour?” Bixby asked, thumping his fingers against the menu card that was on the table before him. “Beef, ham, or chicken?” Bixby said. “No lamb? No fish? Just how primitive is this railroad anyway?”
“I’m sorry, sir, these selections have proven to be most popular with our travelers,” the waiter said.
“Well, of course they would be,” Bixby replied. “No doubt in this part of the country, your passenger list is composed of nothing but country bumpkins. But I would think that you would also make provisions for those of us who have a more refined palate. You do get travelers of some sophistication from time to time, do you not?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir. I am merely a waiter,” the waiter replied.
“Yes. Well, I will have the braised sirloin tips in hopes that the chef can render it edible.”
As the trip progressed, Matt saw that Bixby’s boorish behavior wasn’t limited to the crew. He treated his wife and business manager with equal disdain. Once, when Cynthia asked Matt a question about ranching, Bixby interrupted her.
“Cynthia, please don’t try to discuss business,” he said. “It only exposes your total lack of knowledge.”
“I’m just trying to take an interest, Jay,” she replied. “If we are going to have a ranch out here, then I want to be of some value to you.”
Bixby laughed scornfully. “Your value to me, and your only value, is in your looks,” he said. “Having a beautiful wife is an asset to a successful businessman. Though I must tell you, my dear, that the moment you open your mouth to show your ignorance, that asset is nullified.”
