William Johnstone - Eyes of Eagles

Jamie did not reply. It seemed to him he had played this scene before. With a rueful smile, he hoped he fared better than the last time.

One of Little Wolfs band foolishly exposed his upper torso and a half dozen rifles roared from the wagons. The Indian was dead before he hit the ground. Another tried to dart across the road and Moses’s shotgun belched fire and smoke, the heavy load catching the renegade in the belly and flinging him back into the ditch.

Two down. How many left? Jamie thought. A dozen? Twenty? More than that? Jamie doubted it. Twelve or fifteen at the most. If it had been a larger band, they would have tried another method of attack, he felt. But with Indians, one just never knew. Trying to second guess a seasoned warrior had cost many a white his or her life. To fight Indians, one had to think like an Indian. Most whites could not — Jamie could. And Hannah would be quietly coaching those in the circled wagons. The sides of one of the wagons had been reinforced, and would stop a bullet. The kids were in that wagon, belly down on the floor of the bed.

For anybody west of the Mississippi River, these were dangerous times, and the kids had been well schooled on what to do and what not to do in case of attack.

Jamie had located two of Little Wolfs band. During the first seconds of the ambush, they had shifted locations to work closer to the wagons and their cover was not good. Jamie slowly lifted his bow and let an arrow fly. He heard a grunt of pain as the arrow struck true. The Indian rose to his feet, the arrow embedded in his side, and a rifle cracked from the wagons, the ball taking the warrior in the head.

Three down.

Jamie laid aside the bow and picked up his rifle. He sighted the second warrior he had spotted and squeezed the trigger. The rifle roared and the Indian’s face blossomed in crimson. He died in a sitting position, his back to a tree.

Four down.

“They’ll talk now,” Hannah whispered to the others within earshot. “They’ll decide if their medicine is good or bad.” She had doctored and bandaged Swede’s arm. He squatted behind a wagon wheel, a pistol in his good hand.

One renegade decided on his own that his medicine was very good; that he was invincible. He charged the wagons, screaming. A very stupid thing to do.

Rifles and pistols roared and the renegade was stopped cold in his tracks and slammed to the ground.

Five down.

Jamie heard the rustling of brush as the remaining Indians pulled back. This was not going according to plan. They were taking too many losses and gaining nothing. They would have to think about this.

Jamie moved from his position and worked his way through the trees and brush along the bank of the river. But he need not have done so. The sounds of galloping horses reached him. Little Wolf and his band had decided to wait for another time. Their medicine was not good on this day.

When he was certain the renegades were indeed gone, and would not be back this late afternoon, Jamie looked at the dead. Two Comanche, two Kiowa, and one Ute, he thought; but he wasn’t sure about the last. He walked over to the wagons.

“How’s Swede?”

“I’m all right,” Swede answered. “I jumped from my horse when the ball hit me. It’s just a flesh wound. Will they be back, Jamie?”

“Not this day. Their medicine is no good. They’ll probably wait until we leave civilization behind before they hit us again. But they will hit us. Count on that.”

“Is this where you fought Tall Bull?” Hannah asked.

“Four or five miles south of here,” Jamie said. “I think. But here is as close as the road comes. Were any of the children hurt?”

“Not a scratch,” Kate told him. “The Indians really didn’t get off that many shots.”

“They’ll be back,” Jamie said grimly. “And maybe sooner than we think.”

Little Wolf returned that night, just as the guard was changing. And when he struck the attack came hard, without a lot of skulking about. They came on horseback, and several managed to leap their horses into the inner circle. Swede took one’s head off with a mighty swing of a double-bit axe and the horse, panicked with a spray of hot blood across its flanks, galloped across the small circle and leaped out into the night, dead hands still gripping the mane.

Jamie jerked a renegade off his horse and snapped his back across his knee like breaking a stick of kindling wood. He looked up at the sound of a shot and for a second, his eyes were on Kate, standing with a rifle in her hands, a dead Comanche at her feet.

That broke the mounted attack.

“They’ll be coming on foot now,” Jamie called. “Everybody load up every gun and stand to your posts.” Then he had an idea. “Little Wolf!” he shouted. “Can you hear me?”

“I hear you, Man Who Is Not Afraid. Are you trembling? Have you pissed your pants in fear?”

“Not hardly, Brother.”

“I am not your brother!” Little Wolf screamed. “I was never your brother!”

“Do you know what our father said to me just before he died?”

“Nothing! He would say nothing to dog shit like you!”

“You are wrong, Brother. After I shot him, he called out and said, ’I died at the hands of a true warrior.’ ”

“Liar!”

“That’s not all he said, Brother.”

“I am not your brother!”

“Tall Bull said, ’My son. My son. Only Man Above knows how much I loved you.’ ”

“He did not say that. He never loved you. Only me. He loved only me. Lies roll off your tongue like water over a falls. You are a liar!”

“You’re not Shawnee, Little Wolf. You’re white. Like me. You were taken as a baby. Little Wolf and Deer Woman adopted you. Just like they did me.”

“ I am not white! ” Little Wolf screamed. “I am Shawnee. You are a liar!”

“A Shawnee with eyes the color of a bright new leaf in spring?” Jamie called out. “I doubt it. Your skin is as white as mine, White Boy.”

Little Wolf cursed him until he was out of breath.

“That’s your new name, Little Wolf. White Boy.”

Little Wolf went wild with rage. He cursed and stomped around in the trees. He was so angry he could not speak any words that made sense.

“Besides being white, you’re a coward, too,” Jamie continued to taunt him.

“I will cut out your heart and eat it!” Little Wolf shouted.

“No, you won’t,” Jamie’s words were calmly spoken. “Tall Bull couldn’t do it, and he was ten times the warrior you are. You are nothing. You are puke on the ground.”

Little Wolf was so angry he could not speak. He screamed in frustration.

“Why are you doing this, Jamie?” Kate asked.

“Hush,” Hannah shushed her. “If Jamie can make Little Wolf fight him one on one, when Little Wolf is dead, the others will be leaderless and leave.”

“But Jamie might be killed!”

“No, he won’t. I’ve heard Tall Bull and Deer Runner and Stalking Bear and the others say a hundred times that Jamie was the better of the two... there was no comparison. Little Wolf never bested Jamie and he won’t this time.”

“Show me you have the courage of Tall Bull,” Jamie shouted into the night. “Meet me one on one, White Boy. If you have the courage to face me alone. Which I doubt, since I’m sure you still squat to pee.”

It was only with the greatest of efforts that Little Wolf managed to finally get his terrible temper under some sort of control. He was very nearly hyperventilating and one of his men went to the river to wet a cloth for him to use to bathe his face.

“Don’t do it, Little Wolf,” a Comanche said. “He’s only trying to bait you.”

“What did I tell you all?” Jamie raised his voice, as if speaking to those behind the wagons. “I told you Little Wolf-White Boy was nothing but a damn coward.”