“Arrrghhh!” Nalyudi shouted in anger and frustration. He turned away from her.
“Come,” Delshay said to Cynthia, speaking in English. “You will not be harmed.”
“What is your name?” Cynthia asked.
“It is not the way of the Apache to give their name to everyone,” Delshay replied. “We give our name only to trusted friends and respected enemies. But I will tell you that my name is Delshay.”
“Delshay, I thank you for not killing my husband,” Cynthia said.
“You are a strange woman,” Delshay said. “You thank me for not killing your husband, but you do not thank me for not killing you.”
“I do not thank you, because my life is still in your hands,” Cynthia said.
“Uhn,” Delshay replied, nodding. “You are a wise woman. But do not thank me for letting your man live. Though he lives today, your man is a coward, and he will die many times.”
“Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once,” Cynthia said.
“You know of this, Mountain Lion Woman?”
“Yes. It is something Shakespeare said.”
“Your friend Shakespeare is a wise man,” Delshay said.
A couple of the Indians took Cynthia gently and led her to a horse, then helped her to mount. Although none of the horses the Indians were riding had a saddle, this was one of six horses that were saddled, and she wondered where they came from and how the Indians happened to have them.
As she mounted, she saw the angry look that the one Delshay had called Nalyudi was giving her. While she had not understood the conversation in which he’d tried to claim her as his woman, she did know that she had made him very angry. What she did not realize was that her action had caused Nalyudi to lose face before the other warriors. And she did not realize what a mortal enemy she had just made.
Chapter Twenty-two
Matt had drawn two queens and an ace. He discarded two cards.
“Two for Mr. Jensen,” the dealer said. “Three for the good doctor, one for Mr. Hanlon, and the dealer will stand pat.”
“Whoa, Paul, do you actually have something, or are you trying to run a bluff?” Dr. Presnell said.
“My dear fellow,” the dealer, Paul Pinkstaff, said. “I never run a bluff.”
Matt was playing poker with three new friends he had met in the Dry Gulch Saloon, and they all laughed at Pinkstaff’s declaration.
“I know you haven’t been here long,” Dr. Presnell said to Matt. “But you have just heard what can best be described as a whopper. Paul runs bluffs all the time.”
“Those are the ones you need to look out for,” Matt said. “You never can tell when they may actually have something.”
“Mr. Jensen is a smart man,” Pinkstaff said. “I suggest you listen to him. Dealer bets two dollars.”
Matt picked up his cards, but his pair of queens wasn’t improved. He called, and when Hanlon raised the bet by a dollar, the dealer dropped out, to the whoops and laughter of the others around the table.
Matt called, though he didn’t feel good about it. As it turned out, he was right. Hanlon won the hand with three sevens. Matt had been playing for an hour and was down by about ten dollars.
“Mr. Jensen, I will say this for you,” Hanlon said as he drew in the pot. “You do lose graciously.”
“Whether you are gracious or angry, you are out the same amount of money,” Matt said. “So little is gained by being angry.”
“You are not only gracious, you are smart,” Hanlon said.
“Matt?”
Looking up, Matt saw Sheriff Williams approaching the table.
“Yes, Sheriff?”
“I wonder if you would mind coming down to the office with me. Marshal Gilmore and I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Be glad to,” Matt said. “If I stay here any longer, I’ll wind up losing even more money.”
Matt picked up the money that was in front of his chair, then followed the sheriff down to his office. There, he was introduced to Marshal Gilmore and a boy of about twelve, who was identified as Dewey Calhoun.
“Mr. Jensen, are you the same Matt Jensen who rode scout for General Crook several months back?”
“Yes,” Matt said.
“Good, I was hoping you were. We’ve got a little situation here that I’m hoping you can help with.”
“I’ll be glad to do what I can.”
“Son, tell Mr. Jensen what you told us,” Marshal Gilmore said to the twelve-year-old boy.
Dewey repeated his story of being out on the Picket Post Road when they encountered Indians. He concluded
