“He lied,” Nate said.
“Pardon?”
“You saw. He’ll never forgive or forget. He wants me dead.”
“Then why didn’t he do it here and now? There were enough of them, they could have rubbed us out without half trying.”
“I would have shot him and he knew it.” Nate had met men like Kuruk before. They never struck unless they had an edge. “We must warn your boss. We’re heading back.”
“Those red devils would be fools to attack our wagons,” Haskell said. “We’d shoot them from their horses before they got close enough to loose an arrow.”
Nate reined the bay around. “Only if they attack in the open in broad daylight. But they’re not stupid. They’ll pick you off from ambush one by one until there are more of them than there are of you and then they’ll close in.”
“Captain Blunt is too smart to let that happen.”
“Let’s hope.”
The train had covered barely two miles. Jeremiah Blunt listened to Nate’s account and then rubbed the stubble on his chin.
“Well, now. I didn’t count on this. I asked a favor of you thinking you could be of help, not a hindrance.” Blunt held up a hand when Nate went to respond. “Don’t take me wrong. I don’t hold it against you. How were you to know there were Pawnees within a hundred miles? We’ll take extra precautions from here on out.”
“I could go,” Nate proposed. “I doubt Kuruk will cause you trouble if I’m not with your train.”
“Alone you are easy pickings. No, it’s wisest you stay with us. If the Pawnees want you, they’ll have to work at it.”
“I’d rather none of your men were killed on my account.”
“That’s decent of you, but we’re none of us yellow. I don’t hire cowards. We have twenty-three rifles plus extras and forty-six pistols, enough to stand off a war party ten times the size of this Kuruk’s.”
Nate had to admit that with the wagons circled, the freighters could put up a formidable defense. He didn’t like the notion, though, of being dogged by a warrior out for revenge. He mulled it over the rest of the day and by supper had come to a decision. He walked to the fire where Blunt was pouring coffee, held out his own tin cup, and hunkered next to the captain. “I have a proposition for you.”
“To use your own words, I’d rather you didn’t.”
Nate looked at him in surprise. “You haven’t heard it.”
“I don’t need to.” Blunt propped an elbow on a knee. “I’ve taken your measure. You, sir, are a man who always does what he thinks is right, and hang the consequences. Am I correct?”
“Most men do the same,” Nate said.
“No, they don’t. Too many look out for themselves. They put their own interests before everyone else and they don’t care who is hurt by it. They’re petty and mean and can’t ever talk well of anyone else. They carp and they whine and they stab others in the back.”
Nate laughed. “You don’t have a very high opinion of your fellow man.”
“No, I do not.” Blunt sipped and scowled. “I wish it were otherwise. When I was young I did. I lived and breathed the Bible and thought everyone did the same. I believed, truly believed, that all men were brothers and all women sisters and that all it took for all of us to get along was for all of us to care for one another.” His scowl deepened. “I was a fool.”
“You can’t be faulted for thinking the best of everyone.”
“Yes, I can,” Blunt said severely. “My head was in the clouds. I took it for granted everyone was like me when they weren’t. That’s the key, you see. We are all of us different. I have made no secret of the fact I am a Christian. I confess to you now that the great shock of my life was to realize that many, or dare I say most, of my fellow men are not as I am and have no real interest in being so. They are content to go through life being selfish and vain and give little thought if any to their Maker.” Blunt shook himself. “But to get back to you. I suspect you have taken the notion to go out after this Kuruk before he attacks my train. Am I correct or not?”
“You are.” It dawned on Nate that here was a man every bit as shrewd as Shakespeare and every whit as smart as Winona. “I intend to slip away in the middle of the night. There’s less chance the Pawnees will be watching us then.”
“You are being foolish.”
“Hear me out,” Nate requested. “Kuruk is out to get
“It’s noble of you to be willing to risk your life on our behalf, but you’re overlooking something.”
“Which would be?”
“Kill Kuruk and maybe his friends won’t go away. Maybe they will want revenge for him just as he wants revenge for his uncle. They might even send for more warriors, and before you know it, we’ll have the whole tribe breathing down our necks. Have you considered that?”
No, Nate hadn’t. “The risk is small. The Pawnees have never attacked whites in any great force.”
“There’s a first time for everything. But I won’t try to stop you. You are a grown man and can do as you please. All I ask is that you don’t go alone.”
“You want me to take Haskell?”
“He is a fine lieutenant and has never given me cause to regret choosing him, but he’s not the man for this job.” Blunt twisted and scanned the encampment. Cupping his free hand to his mouth, he bellowed, “Maklin, a word with you, if you please.”
The man who came to the fire was of middling height. He was dressed as the other bull-whackers except he wore a black hat with an uncommonly wide brim. He had two knives, one on each hip. Both of the pistols tucked on either side of his belt buckle were inlaid with silver. His rifle was foreign made, not a Hawken. He was the only freighter who wore moccasins and not boots.
Nate had seen the man around and noticed that he kept to himself and rarely spoke even to the other bull- whackers.
“Mr. Maklin, here, is from Texas. He lived for a while with the Lipans. Quick Hands, they called him. He is the best killer in my outfit and you would do well to have him at your side.”
“You’ve lived with Apaches?” Nate had heard that they were implacable haters of all things white.
“I took a Lipan gal as my wife. She’s dead now.” Maklin didn’t elaborate.
“We have something in common,” Nate said. “My wife is Shoshone and her people adopted me. Did the Lipans adopt you?”
“I can go back to them anytime I want.”
Blunt coughed. “I never pry into the past of my men except as it relates to their work, but I can assure you that you won’t regret taking him.”
Maklin turned to the captain. “What is it you want me to do?”
“You’ve heard about our guide’s run-in with the Pawnees today? He intends to find their leader and kill him so the rest don’t try to kill us.”
Again Maklin asked, “What is it you want me to do?”
“Go with Mr. King. Watch his back. Protect him. Kill any Pawnees who try to kill him.”
Nate smothered a chuckle. “I can take care of myself.”
“Pride, sir, goes before a fall,” Blunt responded. “Are you refusing Maklin’s help?”
“Why do you call him the best killer you have?”
It was Maklin who answered. “Because I’ve killed more than all the rest put together. Thirty-seven men, at last count. Some were white, but most were enemies of the Lipans.”
“You keep a tally?”
“I don’t take joy in spilling blood, if that’s what you’re thinking. It has to be done and I do it and forget it.”
“Would that I could,” Nate said half to himself. “All right. You can come along on one condition. You’re not to kill unless I say. Do you agree?”
“He agrees,” Blunt said.
