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  “All right,” Sage said. “I’m ready. I’ll start a commotion about a quarter of a mile from the village. That’ll give me enough lead-time to outrun them to the canyon. When you start picking them off, I’ll start picking up their stranded horses. Try to knock off the riders of the horses you want. Make sure to get the rider of one of the Arabian mares.”

  “We’re ready, too,” Joe said. “Start the show.”

  Sage ran down the canyon. He had no need for caution; the earlier the Indians saw him, the better. He was in luck. Someone shouted an alarm while he was still about a mile from the village. He paused long enough to make sure there would be plenty of Indians chasing him and then started running up the canyon. The Comanche knew the canyon had steep sides and that it would be difficult for this intruder to climb out. They would catch him long before he could escape. It never occurred to them that they were being led into an ambush.

  The mountain men waited until they couldn’t miss and then started shooting. They recognized their horses, so they picked off those riders first. They saw one of the Arabian mares—she was pure white.

  Joe said, “You can’t miss her; she stands out like a light, and she has a saddle on her.”

  Both men fired at the rider, and he dropped like a rock. While they were concentrating on that rider, two others got through the line of fire. They had dismounted and were chasing Sage on foot. The mountain men realized that Sage was in real danger.

  Joe exclaimed, “I’m going down to help!”

  Pat restrained him and said, “No! With that bad arm you can provide more help right where you are. Use your skills with that rifle and keep those two ducking. Sage can handle them.”

  Sage crouched behind a boulder. Joe and Pat watched the first attacker moving forward, creeping from rock to rock, and never giving them a good shot at him. The other attacker was approaching from another direction, making it impossible for Sage to remain hidden from both, so he waited with his ax ready. When the first Comanche got into range, he stood up, exposing himself to the second attacker. An arrow from the second attacker cut a crease in his neck. Without flinching, Sage hurled his ax at the first Comanche with swift and final accuracy, and then turned his attention to the Indian who had shot the arrow. The second Indian didn’t know what had happened to his helper, so he continued forward. Sage stepped out of sight behind a boulder and waited. When the second attacker was close, Sage grappled with him, using wrestling techniques his father had taught him, threw the Indian to the ground, and ended the fight with his knife.

  “Now, do you see what I mean?” Pat said.

  Joe replied, “I sure do, and again I tell you, I wouldn’t want him for an enemy.”

  The mountain men continued laying down a volley of rifle fire. Sage gathered the reins of the horses and ran up the canyon to a place where he could climb out. The Indians were confused. None of them wanted to chase Sage and encounter that terrible barrage of fire that was being laid down from the rim of the canyon. The eight warriors still on their horses turned and retreated down the canyon leaving their dead and wounded where they lay. The riders who had been shot abandoned the horses just as Sage had hoped. He selected the horses they wanted and found a way out of the canyon.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  To the Tall Blue Mountains

  When Sage arrived, Joe said, “Good work, Sage, you’ve got them all. Now let’s get’em loaded, and get the hell outta here!”

  They saddled the horses and changed the backpack from the stallion to the mare; Sage wanted to ride the stallion.

  They mounted and rode into the setting sun. They didn’t know if the Comanche were following, so they rode until midnight, and then stopped by a small stream giving the horses a chance to rest. They each took turns standing guard while the others bathed. It had been two days since they had a bath.

  After refreshing themselves, they remounted and rode all night. By the end of the following day, the land was becoming flatter. The big sandy river still had water, but it was shallow. The summer had been drier than usual, and the flow was diminishing. They passed great herds of buffalo and many smaller herds of elk and antelope. Meat was plentiful. They stopped at a spring with a stand of willows.

  Pat said, “We’d better camp here and rest for a while. We’d be in poor shape to withstand an attack, and we’re in Kiowa territory. They’re not as bad as the Comanche, but when they’re attacking, it’s hard to tell the difference.”

  Pat shot a buffalo. They took only the meat they needed and buried the remains. Scavengers might draw the attention of a band of hunting Indians. They built a fire of dry wood under the trees; the branches dispersed the smoke. A column of smoke was like a beacon of light to anyone trained in the ways of the west, and Indians were surely trained.

  After a meal of the fresh buffalo meat, they smoked and dried the rest. On the third morning, while traveling across land that was flat, they saw hills in the far distance. The hills were still several days ride away, and shimmered in the midday sun, seeming to move farther away as they rode toward them.

  A cloud of dust appeared.

  Joe said, “Buffalo could be causing the dust.”

  Pat said, “I don’t think so. There’s not enough wind to stir up that much dust, so it probably means trouble, but what kind of trouble?”

  They increased their pace but moved carefully. They wanted to see what was happening before whatever, or whoever, was causing the cloud of dust saw them. From a high point, they saw a wagon train being attacked by about thirty Indians. The train had eight wagons, which meant there would be about twelve fighting men, and the rest would be women and children. The defenders were outnumbered and needed help badly.

  “By riding down that little draw, we can remain concealed until we get within a hundred yards to the wagon train,” Pat uttered. “We can jump the tongue of the last wagon and get into the circle before the Indians realize we’re there. Let’s go!”

  Down the hill they rode at a full run. When they broke into the open, the Indians were confused, and by the time the Indians figured out what was happening, Sage and the two mountain men were already inside the circle of wagons.

  They bounded off their horses, firing as they ran for cover. Joe and Pat were dropping an Indian with every shot. Sage fired the charges he had in his guns, and two Indians dropped, but he had not yet become proficient at reloading. He grabbed his bow, and when an Indian fired an arrow, he picked it up and killed the startled Indian with his own arrow.

  The wagon master ran to them and said, “I’m sure glad to see you. I was afraid we were goners. I don’t know where you learned to shoot like that, but you’re damn good at it.”

  Sage turned just in time to see two Indians attacking a young woman with long, blond hair. It brought back memories of the Indians attacking his mother. In a blind rage, he rushed in, slashing with his ax and knife. He sank the ax in the skull of one, and buried the knife to the hilt in the heart of the other. He must have looked like a madman with long flowing hair and beard, his eyes wild with fury, dressed in an animal skin.

  When the girl looked up, she was astonished. She saw a frightening thing: a wild-eyed young animal with a bloody ax in one hand and a bloody knife in the other, pure fire coming from his eyes. She didn’t know if she should run to him and hug him for saving her life, or shrink from him in horror.

  After eliminating the Indians, Sage turned and dashed back into the fray, dropping Indians as he went.

  With Pat and Joe firing, and each dropping an Indian with nearly every shot, they were decimating the attackers rapidly. The Indians realized that the advantage had changed, so they broke off the attack, and rode away. The travelers gathered around the three men expressing their gratitude.

  “We’d better attend to the wounded,” the wagon master said. “Boil some water. We’ve got to remove these arrowheads before the wounds get infected.”

  Two of the men were dead, four were seriously injured, two suffered lesser wounds, an
d only four were unscathed. Four women had been wounded, two more were scuffed up a bit, and the girl the Indians were attacking showed signs of shock. The people couldn’t have held out much longer—the mountain men had arrived just in time.

  “There’s a river about an hour’s ride from here,” the wagon master advised. “As soon as we get these wounds treated, let’s move there and set up a defense. Then we’ll get these wagons ready to finish the journey.” Then he turned to the mountain men. “We’re going to Santa Fe to spend the winter, and then we’ll be going on to California by the way of the Old Spanish Trail.” He looked at Pat and asked, “Are you Pat Connors, the mountain man?”

  “Yes,” Pat replied. “Pat Connors is my name.”

  The wagon master said as he shook his hand, “It’s an honor to meet you. Men talk of you all over the frontier. My name is Grant Davis.” He turned to Joe and asked, “And who are you?”

  “My name is Joe Martin.”

  “Joe Martin, the gunfighter?”

  “Some say that,” Joe said, showing his embarrassment.

  “No need to be embarrassed. I’ve heard a lot of stories about your ability with a gun, but I’ve never heard a bad word said about you. Not many gunfighters have that good a reputation. I’m pleased to meet you, Joe Martin,” Grant Davis said, shaking his hand. “Now I understand why there was an Indian falling every time I heard a shot. Thank you for saving our scalps. And who is this magnificent young wild man?”

  Pat spoke, “He’s name is Michael McBain, but we call him Sage. He saved our scalps back in Indian Territory. He’s a damn good man to have on your side in a fight, but you don’t want him for an enemy.”

  “Yeah, I saw him dispatch the two Indians who were attacking Sally, and you’re right, I wouldn’t want him after me.” He turned to the young woman and said, “Sally, I’d like to introduce you to the young man who just saved your life. Sally, this is Michael McBain; they call him Sage. Sage, this is Sally Taylor.”

  “There isn’t enough words for me to express my gratitude,” Sally smiled. “All I can say is ‘thank you,’ and I’d like to see what you look like.”

  “What would it take for you to do that?” asked Sage.

  “I’d have to remove some of that hair.”

  “Would you cut it for me?”

  “I sure would, just as soon as we get to that river, and get our defense set up,” Sally replied.

  Sage looked at Pat and said, “Well, let’s get moving.”

  “Help me get these wounded folks into one of the wagons,” Grant said. “We can have camp set up before dark. Graves must be dug, funeral services held, and loved ones comforted. We lost two good men today. They’re going to be sorely missed.”

  The wagon people were pleased to have been rescued, and the wounded would recover. However, they were saddened by the loss of two men. One was the father of two children. The other was the eldest son of a middle-aged couple with two other teenage sons and a daughter.

  The wives and children of the men who had been killed were crying. The other families were trying to console them. Sage understood their sorrow and assured them that he would stay with the wagon train until it reached Santa Fe.

  “I’ll provide all the meat you’ll need,” Sage said.

  “I’ll scout for you,” Pat volunteered.

  “And I’ll ride guard,” Joe promised. “You won’t get surprised again.”

  After the wagon train was located by the river, the burying done and the train secured, the travelers went to sleep. It had been a difficult day, and they were exhausted. The mountain men pitched their camp nearby, and then took turns standing guard. The Indians returned during the night and retrieved their dead. They had taken heavy losses in the last five minutes of the fight, and there was little chance they would attack again.

  * * *

  Before daylight, the men tended to the animals, made sure the wagon wheels were greased, and the loads secured. Then they sat down to a meal of fresh buffalo meat that Sage had provided. They talked of the battle and of the journey left to be made. Pat and Joe told them what to expect when they reached Santa Fe. Everyone felt better having the mountain men along.

  Sage went to Sally and said, “Now, about that haircut.”

  Sally got a pair of scissors, a comb, and a mirror from their wagon, then pulled a cloth around Sage’s shoulders and began removing a six-year growth of hair. The people gathered around watching. They, too, wanted to see what this tawny-haired young man would look like without all that hair. Sally’s mother and father watched closely. Sally was old enough to marry, and this young man appeared to be a likely catch. He was strong, considerate, and resourceful.

  Other young women watched, also. One of them said to her friends, “I wish it had been me the Indians were attacking.”

  Another of the girls said, “Yeah, me, too.”

  Bonnie, one of Sally’s girlfriends, had already set her cap for Joe. They were a couple right away. She was beautiful in a petite way, and Joe had a reckless charm that was attractive to most women.

  Sage was ill at ease with all the attention. This was the first time, in a long time, that he had seen himself in a mirror. He had seen his reflection in the water, but this was different . . . . Sally was pretty, but when he looked at her, it only reminded him of Evening Star.

  Sally saw that she was not getting the response she was accustomed to. When she finished cutting Sage’s hair, there was enough hair piled around the chair to make a saddle blanket. The difference in his appearance was striking. He had the fine-honed features of his Scot-Irish ancestry, firm and sharply defined. His expressive blue-green eyes looked out from under well-shaped eyebrows. When he stood in his buckskin, tall and strong, he looked like the warrior of the plains he truly was.

  “Now that’s a fine figure of a man,” one of the older women murmured to her friend.

  The attention was too much for Sage. He felt naked without his beard and hair. Going without it would take a little getting used to. He thanked Sally and shook the hair from the cloth she had placed around his neck. Sally smiled, and he smiled back. He then walked to the river to wash away the loose hair. The wild boy of the plains was no more. Now he was a frontiersman, a man of the West.

  When he returned to the wagons, Sally, Bonnie, and Joe were talking. Joe was telling the girls the remarkable story of how Sage had survived alone on the prairie, and of his skills with the weapons he carried. The girls were wide-eyed with wonder. Sally had a hundred questions she wanted to ask, so she took Sage’s hand and asked him to walk with her beside the river.

  Sally was beautiful. Her beauty and her nearness stirred a hunger and a longing to which he dared not respond. Sally sensed his need and his frustration. She thought, This man carries a hurt in his heart that will take time to heal. I’ll give it some time; he’s worth it.

  Later, she told one of the other girls, “I think I can bring him around in time, and we have a lot of time before we get to Santa Fe.”

  * * *

  Morning came, and the wagons moved west, leaving behind the graves of two good men, and the last remnants of a wild boyhood. The young man riding his father’s horse was now a man of destiny.

  Day after day, they saw a horizon of hills in the distance. When they arrived at that horizon, all they saw was another horizon and more hills still farther in the distance. The Great Plains seemed to go on and on forever. At times, they traveled through areas that were barren and dry. But at other times, the land was wild and beautiful. Great herds of buffalo, deer, elk, and antelope grazed the endless grass. Sage saw tracks of wolves, bear, and puma.

  This land was wild, and it could be cruel. It was not a place where you could travel without being constantly on guard. Dangers lurked everywhere. Only the hardy could survive here. Sage was glad he didn’t have to survive alone in this harsh place. The territory he had left was lush in comparison.

  On occasions, they saw hunting parties. Pat recognized them by their dress a
nd their decorations. They saw Cheyenne, Pawnee, Kiowa, and Comanche. The Indians made no effort to hide their presence, but they never threatened the wagon train. Information about the outcome of a battle travels fast on the plains. These Indians knew that the men in this wagon train were not the average, and the price they would have to pay for attacking would be high indeed. So they left them alone.

  Michael’s friendship with the two mountain men was growing into a lifelong friendship. Joe and Bonnie had fallen in love and were talking of getting married. Sage got to know Grant Davis, the wagon master. He was a good and brave man.

  On many evenings, Sage and Sally walked together. He told her that he had a mission to fulfill. It was a quest taken on by his father, and he felt responsible to fill it. After he had honored his father’s pledge, he had to return to the cave of his childhood. He didn’t tell her about Evening Star. These obligations had to be met before he would know on what path his footsteps would follow. These duties would require several years, and he was not free to make any lifetime commitments until he had completed them. She told him she understood and wished him Godspeed.

  * * *

  At last they saw the great mountains. Sage sat and watched the marvelous display of color as the sun set behind the Sangre de Cristo Mountain, Sangre de Cristo means the blood of Christ, and the red sunset gave it meaning.

  The following day, the trail led up and up until it reached the pass. The pass was just a gap between the peaks of the mountains that made up the range. From the top, Michael could see a large river flowing off to the south.

  That would be the Rio Grande and the pueblo of Santa Fe is just a few days ahead, and I wonder what lies beyond? What would I have to do to fulfill the commitment Father made to Don Antonio Diego?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Getting the Lay of the Land

  Sage called Joe and Pat aside and told them his plans.

  “No one must know that I am to become half-owner of the Don Diego ranch. I want to look around and get to know the people, the customs, the problems of the ranch, and find out who is causing the problems before I expose my hand. Any information you can get about what is going on at the ranch will be appreciated.”