“More men will come, from all over this land you white men call the Four Corners.” Juan Pablo sneered. “As if your states truly mean anything. They are false boundaries.” He swept an arm around him. “Everything, as far as a man can ride on a good pony, belongs to the Diné. And when the other clans hear that we are driving the whites from our midst, they will come to help us. The uprising will spread and soon will be complete. Then all those who are not Diné will either leave ... or die.”
There was a slim chance Juan Pablo was right, at least partially, Matt thought. He had studied enough history to know that most revolutions started small. The ones that succeeded grew until they reached the point where they couldn’t be stopped.
But that wouldn’t happen here. It couldn’t. There weren’t enough Navajo to stand up to the army. Even if Juan Pablo was able to get all the clans to rise in rebellion, the cavalry would come in and crush them. Many of the men would be slaughtered, and the rest would be rounded up and probably forced back to Bosque Redondo with their families.
It would be a tragedy all the way around.
Juan Pablo was too worked up to see that. His eyes glowed with the fervent belief of a would-be messiah. He saw himself as the one who would lead his people to well-deserved glory.
Instead, he would just lead them to death, Matt knew.
It wouldn’t do any good to say that. Juan Pablo was long past the point where he could hear it.
Still, Matt had to try. He said, “If you let us go, Miss Fleming and I will try to help your people. We’ll tell everyone that the Navajo land should be left to the Navajo.”
Juan Pablo shook his head.
“You think those who have built the town of Flat Rock will abandon it? You think the white ranchers who have driven their cattle onto our land will take them away?”
He was right about that, Matt thought bleakly. Once settlers had moved into an area, they hardly ever gave it up. The government would have to force them to do so, and Matt didn’t figure there was much sentiment in Washington for something like that.
“There’s no reason you can’t all learn to live together,” he said.
A bark of fierce laughter came from Juan Pablo.
“Foolishness,” the Navajo declared. “The rattlesnake and the scorpion are more trustworthy than the white man.”
Matt sighed. He was at the end of his rope. He just wished there was some way he could save Elizabeth.
Maybe Caballo Rojo wouldn’t allow Juan Pablo to kill her. The headman had let her stay here in the canyon and try to teach the children. He must have thought she was doing some good for his people.
But as the sun dipped below the peaks to the west and a red glare filled the sky, Matt looked at Juan Pablo and saw the fanatical glare on the man’s face.
Caballo Rojo was no longer the most powerful man in this canyon.
Juan Pablo was, and he would delight in exercising that power.
Suddenly, one of the Navajo men came running toward them, shouting in what sounded like alarm. Juan Pablo swung around sharply.
The words flowed swiftly as the newcomer reported to Juan Pablo. Matt couldn’t follow any of what was being said.
But he didn’t like the cruel smile on Juan Pablo’s lips as the man turned back to him.
“Your friend has returned,” Juan Pablo said. “He approaches the canyon now, with two more white men.”
Matt’s heart sank. Under any other circumstances, he would have been very happy to hear that Sam was back. Now, though, his blood brother was riding into a trap and didn’t know it. If there was just some way to warn him ...
Matt opened his mouth to shout. He didn’t know if the sound would carry beyond the canyon walls, but he could try, anyway.
Before he could make a sound, Juan Pablo stepped forward and struck swiftly with the rifle he held. He rammed the butt into Matt’s stomach, causing Matt to gasp and double over as much as the ropes would allow.
Juan Pablo brought the rifle up and crashed the stock against Matt’s jaw. The brutal blow drove Matt’s head back against the thick stake to which he was tied. The double impact sent red explosions cascading through Matt’s brain.
When those explosions faded, nothing was left except an all-enveloping blackness.
Chapter 32
The sun was down by the time Sam, Stovepipe, and Wilbur reached the Navajo canyon, but the western sky was still filled with a reddish-gold glow.
During the ride down here from the mesa where the rustlers had been holed up, Sam and Stovepipe had discussed the situation and agreed that everything they had discovered so far supported the theory they had put together.
“Big question is, who’s behind it,” Stovepipe said. “Got to be somebody in Flat Rock.”
Sam nodded.
“There’s another big question,” he said. “Where are those rifles?”
“Also in Flat Rock, or somewhere close by. That’d be my guess, anyway. I don’t reckon the boss would want them too far away from him until he’s ready to try deliverin’ ’em to the Navajo again.”
“I wonder how come he’s waited this long,” Wilbur put in.
Stovepipe pointed a thumb at Sam.
“I reckon that’s because of our new pard here.”
“Me?” Sam said.
“Yeah, you and your friend Bodine. You spooked the fella who’s in charge of this bunch. He wanted to make sure you weren’t gonna cause too much trouble before he tried deliverin’ the guns again. That’s why folks keep tryin’ to shoot you.” Stovepipe frowned. “You know you might as well’ve painted a big ol’ target on your back, the way you rode into Flat Rock and started pokin’ around.”
Sam chuckled.
“Well, I was trying to stir up a hornet’s nest,” he said. “I guess I succeeded.”
“I’ll say you did,” Wilbur agreed.
Sam pointed to the mouth of the canyon up ahead on their right.
“That’s where we’re headed ,” he told his two companions.
A worried frown appeared on Wilbur’s face.
“Those Indians aren’t gonna try to lift our hair, are they?” he asked.
“They were friendly enough when I left,” Sam said.
That was only partially true, he thought. Caballo Rojo had tolerated the presence of the blood brothers, and Juan Pablo had barely contained his hostility toward them, only because his clan headman said so.
Sam had been gone for several days, and he knew that things could have changed during that time. But he hoped that he and his companions could ride into the canyon without putting their lives in too much danger.
Anyway, Matt was there, so Sam didn’t have much choice in the matter. He had to find out how his blood brother was doing.
They rode into the mouth of the canyon. Sam glanced up at the spots on the walls where sentries were usually posted. He didn’t see anybody, but that didn’t concern him greatly. The light was growing dimmer, and anyway, the Navajo were seen only when they wanted to be seen.
Sam looked along the creek. The first of the hogans wouldn’t be visible until they were deeper in the canyon. He listened and heard the bleating of sheep somewhere up ahead. That was a perfectly normal sound, and he probably would have thought something was wrong if he hadn’t heard it.
But at the same time, his nerves had grown taut. Something was wrong, he realized, although he didn’t know what it was.
Stovepipe must have shared some of the same instincts. The lanky range detective began, “I’m startin’ to get a bad feelin’ about—”
He didn’t have a chance to finish. Men suddenly rushed out of the brush on both sides of the riders. Sam twisted in the saddle to see who was attacking them. He had time to recognize the Navajo clothing, then one of the men reached up in an attempt to grab him and haul him off his horse.
Sam kicked the man in the chest and knocked him away. He started to yank his mount around, calling to Stovepipe and Wilbur as he did so.