Straw Men (11 page)

“Stand aside, woman!” Ahiga said. He was a tall Navajo with hair that hung straight down past his shoulders to frame a face that looked like an angry mask carved into stone. He wore beaded bands around his upper arms that had markings matching the ones stitched into the scabbard he wore around his waist. Although he'd grabbed hold of Fawn's shoulders, Ahiga only used enough force to move her to one side.

Fawn struggled to maintain her ground, even though it was obviously a losing battle. However, she was able to block half of the door to the grounded wagon with her arm and one leg. “No. You'll hurt him.”

“What does that matter to you?”

She paused for a second and then thought of something that brought a relieved smile to her face. “Our chief has said that he should not be harmed.”

“I know what he said. Now step aside.”

Having run out of things to say, Fawn lowered her eyes and shuffled the rest of the way from the wagon.

Ahiga had one hand upon the flap at the back of the wagon, but stopped before stepping inside. “I saw the way you looked at him,” he told her. “You tended to him as if he was your own.”

She shrugged, neither confirming nor denying what he said. Judging by the assurance etched into every last one of Ahiga's features, he wouldn't have been swayed by much of anything anyway.

He shook his head slowly, pulled the flap open, and stepped inside.

Fawn closed her eyes and clenched her hands into small fists. Her muscles tensed as if she were ready to run, but her brow was furrowed with the knowledge that there was nowhere she could go. Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long for the inevitable storm.

“Fawn!” Ahiga bellowed. “What is the meaning of this?”

She waited silently in her spot.

When Ahiga stuck his head out of the wagon, he asked, “Did you know about this?”

“Know about what?” she asked in a timid voice.

Ahiga reached out with one hand to grab hold of Fawn's wrist so he could pull her into the wagon. Not only did she need to move her feet quickly to keep from falling on her face, but she needed to duck her head in time to keep from smacking it against the side of the wagon. As soon as she was inside, she felt Ahiga's other hand clamp around the back of her neck.

Allowing herself to be pulled further inside like a dog that was about to get its nose pushed into its own mess, Fawn was pointed toward the back of the wagon.

“This,” Ahiga said. “Did you know about this?”

Fawn looked up to find a genuine surprise. Clint was sitting with his back against the wagon and his legs casually splayed in front of him. In fact, he even waved when he saw he had both of the others' attention.

“No…I…I didn't think…” Fawn stammered.

Keeping one hand on Fawn's neck, Ahiga drew the long blade from the scabbard at his side and held it toward Clint. “That's right. You didn't think,” he said to her as he shoved Fawn back outside. “Bring another man here, and not one of the fools that was supposed to be guarding this one!”

Clint was glad he'd managed to surprise Fawn so completely. That way he got a response from her that was so genuine it probably helped keep both of them healthy for a while longer. The instant he started to move, Clint saw the big Indian lunge toward him another few inches until the edge of the blade was almost close enough to draw blood.

Shifting away from the tribal language he'd used with Fawn, Ahiga spoke to Clint in clear, very angry English. “If you want to live, white man, you will stay right where you are.”

“And if I'd wanted to escape,” Clint replied, “I would've been long gone already.”

Ahiga wasn't exactly chuckling at Clint's comment, but he obviously saw the sense in it. He lowered his blade, but kept it where he could sink it into Clint's chest easily enough if the occasion called for it. “I've got some questions for you, white man,” Ahiga said.

Clint nodded. “And I can think of one or two for you, as well.”

Clint allowed himself to be tied up again before meeting with anyone. Compared to the knots that had been holding him back before, the few that Ahiga tied weren't too bad. A rope was lashed around Clint's wrists and tied tightly, but his feet were left free so he could leave the wagon and be led to the large tepee near the middle of the camp.

Ahiga shoved Clint roughly in front of him, making sure the blade in his hand could always be felt against the small of Clint's back. Seeing the questioning glances of the other men in camp, Ahiga would give Clint another push or tighten his grip upon his knife to make sure it was obvious who was in charge.

After being shoved into the tepee, Clint was practically knocked onto his knees and forced to the ground. It took a bit of work, but Clint got his legs untangled so he was sitting with them crossed and his hands resting on his lap.

The old man sat on a woven mat near the center of the tepee. He was dressed in weathered skins and held a wooden staff carved with intricate markings and decorated with beaded leather straps and bright feathers. His face was calm and had more lines etched into it than the desert floor. He watched Clint the way he might watch a shadow crawl across the ground. His eyes were sharp and his mouth was curled into a subtle smile.

Before the old man could say anything, Clint met his eyes and spoke a simple Navajo greeting.

“You know our language?” the old man asked.

“Just enough to keep me out of trouble,” Clint replied.

The old man smiled a bit wider. “That remains to be seen.”

“I suppose it does.”

After a few seconds, the old man said, “My people call me Mingan.”

Clint thought about that for a few seconds and asked, “Gray Wolf?”

The old man nodded once. “Since I am the eldest and have spoken the most as to where we should go, some have also called me Chief.”

“I'm sure you've earned it.”

“Do not speak when you do not know.”

“I've known more than a few Navajo,” Clint explained. “They don't strike me as the sort who follow anyone and call someone Chief just because they're old.”

Ahiga knocked Clint's shoulder with his arm and growled, “Watch your tongue, white man.”

Mingan raised one hand, which was enough to pull back Ahiga's reins. “He is right. I am old and my people do not follow just anyone. They have been making mistakes of late.”

Clint nodded. “If you're talking about what happened when that fool started shooting, I don't know what that was or whose mistake was to blame.”

“He drew his guns and started shooting,” one of the other Indians in the tepee said. “I was there! He was crazy!”

Silencing the other man with the same hand he'd used to silence Ahiga, Mingan asked, “What is your name?”

“Clint Adams.”

“Why did that crazy man start shooting, Clint Adams?”

“First of all, you can just call me Clint. Secondly, I don't know why he started shooting.”

“You rode to the meeting with him,” Mingan pointed out. “He must have spoken of something during that ride.”

“He sure as hell didn't speak about shooting up the place before anyone could do what we were there to do. And before you ask, I'll tell you we were there to talk peace. Lieutenant McGurn wanted to put an end to the attacks your people were making and he wanted to do it without having to kill any of those people in the process.”

Narrowing his eyes, Mingan asked, “Do you know why those attacks were made?”

“From what I've seen, it looks like you've got some problems with the Army.” Choosing his next words carefully, Clint added, “And I've heard there may be a problem with a certain Army colonel.”

By the look on Mingan's face, he suspected something but he didn't pursue it just then. “You know Colonel Farelli?”

“Yes I do.”

“What has he told you of us?”

“Not much more than what I've seen with my own eyes. Your tribe is attacking unarmed wagons and killing soldiers. What ever your reasons may be, you've got to know that's not a good way to go about things. What ever you're trying to—”

“My tribe,” Mingan interrupted, “is cut into pieces. What you see here is only part of a tribe. We are more like pebbles that have all drifted to the bottom of the same lake. We are together for now, but we belong to a greater whole, which is far away from here.”

“Where's the rest of your tribe?” Clint asked.

“Most of us are Navajo, but we have banded together after being herded to reservations or slaughtered like cattle. We come together now to try and collect something we can all take back to our people.”

“Collect what?”

Ahiga slammed his fist against the ground with enough force to make Clint jump. “Enough of your questions,” he growled. “You were brought here to answer, not ask!”

Mingan nodded. “He is right. I need to know what your Army plans to do next.”

“It's not my Army. I was just along to help things go smoother.”

While Ahiga chuckled, Mingan said, “I have heard you killed your own partner to stop him from harming more of my people.”

Clint winced at that. Even though he knew well enough what he'd done, it stung to hear it put so bluntly. “He wasn't my partner and I don't know what the hell he was doing. As far as I'm concerned, he was lighting a fire that would have burned down me and everyone else at that meeting.”

“Well said,” Mingan replied. “What you did…the way you stopped that man…it tells me that you are speaking the truth about not knowing what he meant to do. So spilling blood was not the intention of your Army officer?”

Shaking his head, Clint said, “I know Lieutenant McGurn well enough to know he wouldn't take part in turning a peaceful talk into a slaughter.”

Mingan looked over to Ahiga. The bigger Indian winced in a way similar to how Clint had winced moments ago. For Ahiga, however, the sting seemed to come from admitting that Clint was right. The big Indian nodded and said, “The lieutenant spoke words of peace and he never drew a weapon against us.” Shifting his eyes to Clint, he added, “But the crazy man with the guns was shooting at the tent, trying to kill the officer as well as Tolfox.”

“Is this true?” Mingan asked.

“Who is Tolfox?” Clint asked.

“Answer the question, white man,” Ahiga warned.

As much as Clint wanted to say what ever the Indians wanted to hear, he simply wasn't about to gamble on the fact that he could get anything past the crystal-clear eyes in the old man's head. Finally, Clint had to admit, “I don't know. From where I stood, it looked like he might have wanted to kill everyone in that tent.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“I don't know,” Clint said, “but I might be just the man to find out.”

Clint sat in the empty wagon for a good portion of the day. Some food and water were brought to him, but they were simply slipped inside the flap by a pair of unknown hands. As the light from outside was beginning to fade, another cup and plate were brought to him. This time, however, it was brought by someone who did more than just reach into the wagon.

Fawn slipped inside and rushed to where Clint was sitting. “Why didn't you leave?” she asked.

Accepting the food before it was dropped, Clint replied, “I thought you'd be happy to see me.”

“You could be killed at any moment.”

“I don't think so. Besides, I could always escape again.”

“Not with my help,” Fawn told him. “I would have been in danger if anyone knew what I did.”

“You're still just talking about untying my hands?”

She blushed a bit, but continued with even more urgency in her voice. “You know what I mean. Why wouldn't you just go?”

“I came along to the first meeting to try and stop the attacks. I think I can still help out in that regard.”

“How would you plan on doing that?”

The food Fawn had brought him was a simple mixture of grains that formed a thick sort of oatmeal. Although it didn't look like much, it tasted fine and filled the void in Clint's stomach. The water he washed it down with was cool and clean.

“Where did all these people come from?” Clint asked. “Mingan says they were all from different tribes.”

She nodded quickly while flinching at every sound that came from outside. “Not all from different tribes, but a few. Most of us are stragglers who got away after the rest of our people were moved to a reservation or killed.”

“And the attacks? Do you know about those?”

“Ahiga says our warriors are striking back for what was done to the rest of our tribes. Even he knows that Tolfox is just out to get as much money or horses or…or what ever else he can. He is a thief and nothing more. That is why the Crow won't even take him back.”

“He's a Crow?”

She nodded. “He was. Now he has no tribe. I suppose that makes him one of us after all.” Twisting around in response to the sound of approaching footsteps, Fawn looked back at Clint with something close to panic in her eyes. “Ahiga carries your gun as a trophy, but I know your horse is still here. He is a fine animal and—”

“I know all that already. I'm not going anywhere yet.”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

“Why do you want to be rid of me so badly?” Clint shot back with a smirk.

Before she could respond to that, Fawn jumped as the cover of the back of the wagon was snapped aside. Two Indians stood there, blocking out the waning light as well as any view of the rest of the camp. Both men glared at Clint and Fawn with equal amounts of disdain. Neither one was dressed in the same colors as the other men Clint had seen throughout the camp.

The larger of the two men was holding a Henry rifle decorated with black feathers. He locked eyes with Fawn and snarled, “Get out.”

Fawn lowered her head and backed out of the wagon. She looked up for a split second to see Clint before she was pushed aside by the man with the Henry.

The second Indian might not have been as large as his companion, but he wasn't a small man. His frame was slender and wiry, making him look more like a cat than a bull. “So,” he said as he stepped inside, “you are the white man who tried to kill me?”

“No,” Clint replied in a steady voice. “That man's dead. Just like I thought you were.”

Tolfox squinted and studied Clint's face before nodding. “So you truly are the Gunsmith.”

“And you truly are nothing more than a thief. At least these attacks are making a bit more sense. Last time I saw you, you were stealing cattle from herds heading through the Dakota Territories and selling them back to their owners. Is that why the Crow booted you out?”

“They'll speak my name as a hero when they hear how many Army men I've killed.” Stepping forward while removing a pistol from his belt, Tolfox added, “And plenty of your own people will surely be glad to know you were killed as well.”