Matt Jensen, The Last Mountain Man Savage Territory

people he was seeing wasn’t an Indian.

“Mrs. Bixby?” he said.

“Mr. Jensen!” Cynthia replied with a happy shout. “You have come for me!” She started toward Matt, but he held up his hand to stop her.

“Delshay, will you let Mountain Lion Woman come with me?”

Before his question could be answered, the big Indian spoke to Delshay. He spoke in Apache, so Matt had no idea what they were talking about.

“Do not let the woman go with him,” Nalyudi said.

“Why should I keep her?” Delshay replied “She is of no value to me.”

“She took my medicine,” Nalyudi said. “You cannot let her go without allowing me to recover my medicine.”

“And how would you do this?”

Nalyudi looked at Matt. “I will fight the white man for her. If I defeat him, she will become my woman. If he defeats me, she leaves with him.”

“You would do this thing?” Delshay asked Nalyudi, speaking in English now.

“Yes,” Nalyudi replied, also in English. “If the white man is not a coward.”

Matt realized then that they were talking about him, but the realization didn’t surprise him. He had surmised as much during their conversation, even though he not understood one word.

“Mountain Lion Woman called you Jensen,” Delshay said. “Is that your name?”

“Yes.”

“Jensen, Nalyudi wishes to fight you,” Delshay said, indicating the big Indian. “If he wins, Mountain Lion Woman will be his woman. If you win, she will be your woman.”

Matt looked at Nalyudi, who was glaring at him. This wasn’t going to be a mere sporting exhibition. In all likelihood, this was going to be a fight to the death because Nalyudi was filled with hatred, though Matt had no idea why. However, if this was the only way he would be able to rescue Cynthia Bixby, then so be it.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll fight him.”

Nalyudi explained the rules of the fight. They would each be armed with a war club. They would both have to keep one end of a strip of rawhide, five feet long, in their mouths at all times. This would insure that they maintained close contact during the fight. If one of them let the rawhide strip out of his mouth, he would be required to lay down his club.

Matt nodded his agreement and Delshay presented each of them with a war club, then a long piece of rawhide. The two men put the ends of the rawhide strip in their mouths, then jumped apart to the maximum separation the length of rawhide would allow.

Nalyudi moved in first. He held the club over his head with both hands and as he approached, he brought it down sharply.

Matt barely managed to leap to one side as the war club came down. The miss left Nalyudi exposed, but because Matt had to move so quickly to get out of the way, he was unable to take advantage of the situation. Instantly, both men separated again.

Nalyudi swung again, and this time Matt was ready for him. He blocked Nalyudi’s war club with his own. The clash of clubs echoed from the nearby bluffs. Recovering quickly, Matt swung at Nalyudi, but the big Indian was much quicker, and more agile than Matt would have thought. Matt’s swing found only thin air. Nalyudi swung in response, and his club connected with Matt’s, jerking it out of his hand. Matt suddenly found himself unarmed!

With a victorious smile, Nalyudi began taunting Matt. He made a couple of jabs with his war club, catching Matt in the face with one of his thrusts. That prod opened up a three-corner tear and blood began streaming down Matt’s cheek.

Nalyudi could have ended the fight by closing in on him and bringing the war club down to crush Matt’s skull. But he was enjoying himself too much, and confidently, tauntingly, he began tossing his own war club from hand to hand.

That was where Nalyudi made his biggest mistake. The hand that could so quickly draw a pistol had no difficulty in reaching out to snatch the war club in mid-toss. It happened so fast that those who were watching, even Nalyudi, were unaware of the sudden change in fortune. Now it was Nalyudi who was unarmed.

Matt jabbed the war club into Nalyudi’s solar plexus. That had the effect of knocking the breath out of Nalyudi, and folding both his hands across his stomach, he bent over in an agonized attempt to breathe. At that point, all Matt would have had to do to kill him would be to bring the war club down on Nalyudi’s head, for the big Indian was totally defenseless.

Matt started the swing, but stopped it just short of hitting him. Instead, he touched Nalyudi’s head as if counting coups. Then he spat out the end of the rawhide strip, tossed the war club aside, and motioned toward Cynthia.

“Come, Mrs. Bixby, I’ll take you home,” he said.

Gratefully, Cynthia ran to him. Just before she reached him, though, she turned back to Chandeisi.

“Good-bye, Chandeisi, my friend,” she called. “Thank you for protecting me.”

“Good-bye, Cynthia Bixby,” Chandeisi replied.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out and looking around, Matt saw Delshay holding his hand over a wound in his chest. Nalyudi was holding a smoking rifle, and with an evil smile, he pointed it at Matt.

Three more shots rang out, and Nalyudi went down, felled by bullets from the rifles of Chandeisi, Cochinay, and Nopoloto. Matt realized then that the three Indians had saved his life. Their action was too late, however, to save