Matt Jensen, The Last Mountain Man Savage Territory

cut of vegetation, including some sprigs that had merely been broken, and not consumed. And although the fires had been extinguished and the coals removed, there were a couple of circles of slight discoloration in the sand showing where the fires had been laid.

He was about to move on when he saw a piece of dark green silk stuck in the notch of a tree, and he remembered that Hendel had told him that Cynthia had been wearing a green dress when she left.

This was not something the Indians had merely overlooked, this was something that had obviously been placed there, no doubt at great risk, as the Indians were leaving their camp. As he approached the silk, he saw that it was folded into a small square, and inside the square, he found a note:

To the Finder of this note:

My name is Cynthia Bixby. I can but pray that you are a white man, and one who is aware of my situation. On the 5th of September, my husband, Jay Peerless Bixby, and I departed from Phoenix in a rented conveyance for the purpose of examining some property my husband intended to purchase.

The conveyance broke down and we were put afoot. While walking back to Phoenix, we were set upon by a band of Indians led by one who is called Delshay. Moved to pity by the sight of my husband’s great fear, Delshay let him leave unharmed, though he kept me as his captive. It is both my belief and hope that my husband has sounded the alarm as to my condition of captivity, thus putting into motion a search.

I do not know how to tell you where I am, as we move from place to place each day. If you are reading this, that means I have at least been successful in getting word through to the outside world. May I here hasten to add that the Indians have not mistreated me in any way. On the contrary, they have provided me with food, water, and clothing, for which I am eternally grateful.

With hope for my eventual rescue, I am most sincerely, Cynthia Bixby

“Moved to pity by the sight of my husband’s great fear, Delshay let him leave unharmed, though he kept me as his captive.” Matt read aloud. “I knew there was something fishy about that.”

Folding the note back into the little square of green silk, Matt put it in his shirt pocket and started to mount Spirit. That was when he saw him.

Pulling his pistol, he pointed it at a nearby bush.

“If you want to live, mister, you had better come out of there now,” he called.

After some hesitancy, the branches of the bush moved and someone came out. It was an Indian, but Matt perceived immediately that he represented no danger. Like with many Indians, it was difficult to ascertain his age, though the man could have been anywhere between fifty and seventy years old. He was holding his hand to his side, and Matt saw that his side was matted with blood.

“Do you speak English?” Matt asked as put his pistol back in his holster.

“I speak English,” the Indian said.

“What happened to you?”

“Many white men came to attack my village. They killed many of my people. They killed my wife. They killed my daughters. They killed many others.”

“Who were these white men?” Matt asked.

“I do not know.”

“Who are you?”

“I am called Nopoloto.”

“The village that the white men attacked, was it the village of of Delshay?”

Nopoloto shook his head. “No.”

“Do you know Delshay?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know where Delshay is?”

“He is not on the reservation,” Nopoloto said.

“There is a white woman with Delshay. I am looking for her,” Matt said.

“I do not know of any white woman,” Nopoloto said. “My village is on the reservation,” he said. “Once I was with Cochise, but now I am reservation Indian.”

“You say you are a reservation Indian, but you are not on the reservation now,” Matt challenged.

“I left the reservation after the attack,” Nopoloto said.

“When was this attack?”

“Today. The white men attacked as the sun rose.”

“Do you have a horse?” Matt asked.

“Yes.”

“You need to have someone look at your wound. Come with me, I will ride with you to the reservation hospital.”

It was much later on the same day when Matt rode back into Phoenix, this time accompanied by Indian Agent Baker. They stopped at the office of Sheriff Robert Williams. Williams drank a cup of coffee as he listened to Matt relate to him the story of the attack he had heard from Nopoloto.

“Where is Nopoloto now?” Williams asked.

“He is in the hospital at the reservation, being treated for his wounds,” Matt said.