Chapter Eighteen--Multi-Escaping

     Monday afternoon. Robin had everything ready for her escape, including the ammunition she intended to toss in the campfire, if possible, to start a ruckus of gunfire. Sam Burke and the men from Whitewater had left the Saturday before in their hunt to find Robin. The U.S. Army, approximately 1100 strong, would head east for the box canyon on Wednesday. Everything was coming to a head, even if hardly anybody knew what anybody else was doing.

     Robin had hoped to get away Monday night, but it didn’t work out. Her chores kept her a little busier than usual, partly because Stacey was ill. She spent most of the morning throwing up—probably some rotten meat she had eaten—so Robin doubled up to help her, and Sonny left her alone. One more thing she needed to get was some kind of tote bag. Her purse simply wasn’t big enough to carry all of the bottle-bombs she had made, so she went into the supply room to see what was available. She found this lovely wicker basket—shaped just like a canvas bag—with an exquisite, multi-colored beaded Indian design on the front. What was really helpful, though, was the long embroidered leather shoulder strap. It would be absolutely perfect. She figured she’d better ask before taking it, so she went and found Sonny, took his hand, and motioned for him to come with her. Which he did.
     She showed him the tote bag and made all kinds of motions of how she just loved it and would he please let her have it? He frowned, and appeared to be thinking about it. She pleaded a little more and he nodded. She gave him a big hug and a kiss, and that even got a smile out of him. She took off with her new treasure and headed straight for her teepee. She didn’t fill the basket with bottles just yet, just in case Sonny looked inside if he came in that night. She would do that the night she planned on leaving.
     Tuesday. If Stacey is ok tomorrow, I’ll do it tomorrow night. That thought formed a knot in her stomach, but she was determined to go through with it. She wished the other women would go with her—Robin didn’t trust for a minute the Nipita promise to turn them loose, which was one reason she was determined to escape—but she understood Rita’s reasoning. All 25 of them would never get away.
     Even with the escape on her mind, Robin couldn’t help but think about her relationship with Sonny, and with a tinge of sadness. The whole week she had been there, they had done much more than just drink. Sonny usually ate lunch and supper with her; they would sit in front of the fire, eat, and talk—or try to. Often White Crow was there to translate. On three occasions, Sonny took her over to where he was working—mostly making arrowheads, or sharpening lances and knives. That disturbed Robin, seeing all of those instruments of death that might very soon be used on people she knew, but she also understood that Sonny was a warrior, this was his way of life, and that, to a small degree, he was trying to share it with her. A few times, he would stand around and watch her cook, not being nosey, he just seemed to enjoy being with her. And there were their nightly walks. Every evening after she took a bath, they’d walk and talk, although they couldn’t understand each other. She picked up a few words of his tongue, and he learned some English, but neither of them enough to really communicate well. So he’d talk and she’d listen, and she would talk and he would listen, and to Robin, it has a certain calming, romantic affect, and helped prepare her for the night to come. He was thoughtful and considerate, and she appreciated that.

     Tuesday night. Everything went off to perfection. Almost. And then it just about ended in disaster.
     Stacey was feeling much better on Tuesday morning, so Robin decided to make her escape attempt that night. Her stomach was in knots, but she had expected that. As the day wore on, she became more and more nervous, but did everything she could not to show it. She thought she hid her feelings pretty well.
     As recorded earlier, she had no trouble getting the boxes of ammunition she wanted. Sonny’s name—Two Moons—could open any door in the Nipita camp. She immediately went back to her tent and put the boxes of shells, along with her bottle bombs, into her wicker carrying basket. There were only two more things she needed, and she found them with no trouble in the supply hut. She stuffed her regular clothes on top, and then took the basket and hid it under some rocks near the latrine. She was certain nobody saw her. She was ready to go.
     To her, the last night with Sonny was sad. Robin tried desperately not to act any differently, but it was hard. They ate supper together, and after she took her bath, they went for a walk. She was concerned that he might perceive that something wasn’t right, so as early as she could, she found White Crow and asked him to explain to Sonny that she wasn’t feeling well, and wanted to go to bed early. Sonny looked at her with concern, but nodded.
     She smiled at him softly, and said to White Crow, “Tell him thank you for the evening, and I’ll be all right in the morning.”
     White Crow looked at her for a few moments, too. “We have some medicine if you think it will help.” She figured he thought she was having monthly female pains.
     Again, she smiled. “No, thank you.” She looked at Sonny, and felt a pang when she said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
     White Crow translated, and Sonny nodded. He walked her to her teepee. She turned and looked at him. Their eyes met. She tried to smile again, but it didn’t come off as she wanted. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.
     He didn’t move. He just looked at her, that same stoic expression on his face that was nearly always there. Robin didn’t know what else to say, so she simply told him, “Good night.”
     “Gude night,” he replied.
     Robin didn’t look at him again. She entered her teepee, a bit melancholy. But her mind almost immediately shifted to her escape attempt. And her mood went from melancholy to tense.

    It was nearly 2 AM when she arose, a time of night when men are drowsy and unresponsive. Her heart was beating fiercely and her palms were sweaty. She made sure she picked up the gifts Sonny had given her, for these she would treasure forever. Just like I have Roberta as a remembrance of Rob…She realized she hadn’t thought much about Rob in the last week; it seemed to her that she had been in a completely different world. But now she was returning to his…only he’s not there…A tear formed in Robin’s eye, and she wasn’t sure if it was for the life she was now leaving, or for the one she was about to rejoin, a life with a huge hole still in it…Sonny could never reach the depths that Rob could anyway…It really didn’t surprise her that, now that she was going back, Rob was the first thought in her mind.
     She left the teepee. The fire had died down and she went and put some more wood on it to build it up. She saw Bruno walk by and he stopped, looking at her, his eyes hard and menacing. She held out her hands to the fire and then wrapped her arms around herself to indicate that she was chilly. He sneered as if to say, “Why aren’t you back in your bed under your warm blankets where you belong?” Then she pointed towards the latrine, and turned and headed in that direction. Rita is right; I’ve never seen that guy sleep, either.
     The Indians had dug a latrine almost the entire length of the canyon very near the southern wall. It was less than 100 yards from Robin’s teepee, and there were no dwellings between hers and the latrine. The Nipita camp was about a half mile from the base of the box canyon. As Rita had told her, and as she had observed herself in some personal reconnoitering—coyly done by walking Sonny in that direction after one of her baths—there was a rope corral of several hundred horses at the end of the canyon. There were usually two or three guards there, but hopefully she could persuade them to leave once all the fireworks had begun. Then she was going to stampede the horses into the camp, creating further confusion. She’d also seen that the rope ladder was still hanging down the wall of the canyon and that was a welcome site, too. It was her route out of the place.
     There was one thing that bothered her greatly, and almost enough so that she didn’t go through with the plan. When she started firebombing teepees and then stampeded the horses, men could get killed. Robin hoped nobody would, but then, they were planning war against her friends so she tried to linger on that thought to salve her conscience. The white women should be safe as long as they didn’t come out of their tents; Robin had told Rita that tonight would be the night and to find some excuse to keep the women from going outside during all the ruckus—or even before. If one of them got caught going to the latrine, it could be deadly. Rita had said that she would find some excuse. She had then hugged Robin and wished her well.
     Robin went to the place where she had hidden her basket and was relieved to see that it was still there. And full. The first thing she was going to do was slip back to her own camp and set the boxes of bullets in the camp fire; it was one reason she had built the fire up a few minutes prior. She’d have to catch a moment when Bruno wasn’t wandering through, but if he were there, she could crouch down in the shadows outside the camp until he left. Once the boxes were in the fire—and it would take a little while for them to get hot enough to start exploding—she would head in the direction of the corral and start tossing bombs. She had 14; hopefully that would be enough. There were probably about 70 teepees between her camp and the corral. She could get a lot of fires started and create a lot of confusion. At least that was the plan.
     Robin’s heart was beating a mile a minute as she neared her camp. Her teepee was the nearest to her, and there were five other ranged around the campfire. She looked for Bruno and didn’t see him. No one else was in view, either, so at the outer edge of her own teepee, she removed the four boxes of ammunition from the basket, set down the basket, and ran lightly to the fire. She laid them in at four different angles. The cheap cardboard burned immediately, and it wouldn’t take long for the bullets to start going off. Less than a minute, she hoped.
     She ran back to the basket. The next thing she did before heading towards the corral was pull out the last two items she had collected—some matches and a cigar. She didn’t want to try to light a match every time she decided to throw a bottle of oil, so she would simply light the wick from the tip of the cigar. She lit the filthy thing and made a face. But she puffed on it until it was burning brightly, and then headed toward the corral at a slow jog.
     And within 30 seconds, she started tossing fire bombs. The worked beautifully. The oil-soaked wicks burned nicely, and she threw the thin bottles as hard as she could at the ground next to a teepee. The bottle exploded, the oil went WHOOOSH!, and the teepee started up in flames. She had done that three times, weaving her way between teepees when the bullets started going off.
     That woke the Indians up in a hurry. Robin dashed towards the latrine to stay in the darkness, and she could now hear shouting and yelling, and a cacophony of racket that was music to her ears. Three teepees were burning fiercely now, and then a fourth and a fifth and a sixth when Robin heaved three more bottles. In fact, on two occasions teepees were so close together that oil splashed on both of them and set them both alight. For Robin, it created a delightful amount of confusion, as Indians were running towards the bullets, hurrying towards the stream to get water to put out the fire, shooting at shadows, yelling and screaming—and nobody noticed her slim figure as it dashed towards the corral.
     So far, so good.
     There were indeed three guards at the corral. The horses were restless, hearing the shooting and seeing the flames. Robin ran up to them, out of breath, acting as though she were in a panic. She started talking and waving her arms, making the “Two Moons” gesture and pointing back towards the chaos, indicating that the guards should go quickly. She also said, “White men, white men” several times; one of the guards understood that, said something to the other two, and they all grabbed rifles and headed toward the camp. Robin smiled. When they were a good 100 yards away, she took two more bottles—lighting them with matches because she had tossed the cigar away—heaved them against the canyon wall behind the horses, and got a nice, satisfying explosion from both. The horses went into a panic. Robin released the rope holding them back, and at least 500 horses made a mad dash directly for the camp. The devil in front of them was worse than the devil behind.
     So far, so good.
     Now all Robin needed to do was to climb up the rope ladder and make as much progress towards Whitewater as possible before daylight. She’d have about four hours. She wasn’t exactly sure how many miles she had to go—maybe 30?—and since she was in the mountains, her passage would be fairly slow. But, if need be, she could find some place to hide and then travel again at night. At best, she didn’t figure to make Whitewater before late afternoon, and that would be pushing it.
     The ladder was less than 100 yards from the edge of the corral. Robin winced when she heard screams from the camp, and more shots were being fired and teepees were still burning—more than she had thrown bombs at because the wind had picked up some sparks and tossed them onto other dry skins and so there were at least a dozen teepees on fire. Nothing she could do about any of that—except hope that not too many were hurt and none of the white women.
     She ran towards the ladder, thrilled—and then not thrilled. She stopped short, about 15 yards from the ladder, a horrified expression slowly creeping over her face, and fear knotting in her stomach. For, from around a small alcove in the wall next to the ladder, stepped Bruno. Smiling. The first time Robin had ever seen him smile.
     And he wasn’t carrying a whip this time. He had a knife, a knife with a long, sharp, ugly blade.
     Robin was frozen with terror for a moment. Bruno started slowly walking towards her. Trying to think quickly, she considered taking out a bottle of oil and throwing it at him, but since it wasn’t lit, it wouldn’t do much damage. And she had no time to light one. If she decided to run, that probably wouldn’t last long for surely Bruno could outrun her. It didn’t look good.
     All she could think of was to swing the bag when he got close enough. It still had eight bottles in it. If she got lucky…
     But she got lucky in another way. About 10 yards away from her Bruno stopped, his eyes now fixed behind her, and his face becoming fierce. Robin turned and looked.
     Walking slowly towards her were Sonny and White Crow.
     Sonny glanced at her briefly. She didn’t see hurt in his eyes, but she thought she saw tenderness, and then he pulled out his knife and walked towards Bruno. And Bruno headed towards Sonny.
     “Get up that rope in a hurry, girl,” White Crow said. “Now!”
     Robin stared at him, stupefied. He continued, “Just to your right at the top, you will see a few Indian ponies. Take one and head home.”
     “You…you’re letting me go?”
     White Crow gave her a soft smile. “You aren’t going anywhere if Bruno wins that fight before you get up that ladder.”
     For indeed, Bruno and Sonny were now locked in a duel that would only end in the death of one of them. Robin had anguish in her heart. He’s…protecting me… giving me time to escape…She knew she had to go. She gave White Crow a quick hug, said a tearful, “Thank you,” and dashed for the rope. It was almost 200 feet to the top, so it wasn’t a short climb. But Robin didn’t dawdle either. She climbed as rapidly as she could, hearing not only the noise that was still going on from the bedlam she had created back at the camp, but also the sounds of the death struggle going on below her. When she was 10 feet from the top, she glanced down one last time. Bruno and Two Moons were still fighting, and it appeared as though Bruno was gaining the upper hand. With tears in her eyes, Robin climbed the rest of the way to the top, dashed around a wall to her right, and saw several ponies standing there. No guards. She spotted a few blankets on the ground and some rope bridles, quickly put a bridle and two blankets on the nearest horse, mounted, and took off in a rush, leaving the sounds of fighting and confusion behind her.
     Plus a prayer and a tear for the safety of Sonny-Two Moons.

     She made reasonably good time, given the terrain and time of night. There were hills, ravines, and gorges to negotiate, but the Indian pony was sure-footed and apparently had good eyes, so it never slipped or slid going down or up. About half an hour after she had taken off, when she was fairly sure no one was following her—or at least close—she stopped for a couple of minutes and changed into her regular clothes. They were warmer and more comfortable, at least on the horse. The little Indian dress certainly had its advantages when it was hot, but she smiled when she considered the uproar it would create if she ever wore it in Whitewater.
     She wasn’t exactly sure how far she had to go to get home—she figured it at maybe 30 miles. She hadn’t known where the canyon was to begin with, but she could see some mountain peaks from inside the gorge that she recognized and thus had a reasonably good idea where she was. Maybe 10 miles to the foothills and another 20 to town, at most. At least that’s what she hoped.
     By the time she could see the first glimmer of dawn in the east, she knew she was nearing the valley where Whitewater lay. The terrain was still rough, but smoothing out into more undulating hills than the sharp ridges and ravines that she had been traveling through. Robin was certainly tired, given the fact that she hadn’t had any sleep that night, and it had been very stressful, but the excitement and thrill of the whole adventure kept her adrenalin flowing at a high rate, so she wasn’t about to stop and rest for long. She figured she’d have plenty of time for sleep once she got home. Plus, the possibility that the Indians were pursuing her was in her mind as well.
     Robin thought about Sonny with a bit of a pang. Is he alive? It didn’t look good when I glanced down. Sonny was certainly strong, but not especially tall. Bruno was a beast, though, and Robin was afraid for Sonny. He saved my life and he let me escape. Why did he let me escape? She’d probably never know and figured that he likely was dead. That’s Rob…and Sonny…she gave herself a rueful smile. I haven’t been much of a good luck charm for men lately…Rob’s dead, Thomas may get indicted for embezzling if Len acted on my strong hints, and now Sonny had probably been killed, too…Thomas she didn’t especially care about, though she still had to admit to herself how incredibly alluring he was to her, but Rob and Sonny…Sonny was kind, thoughtful, tender….and he saved my life…but…There was always that “but” when she thought about Rob…Chris, Cameron, Thomas, Sonny, the possibility of renewing her friendship with Sam Burke, the promise of his kiss the night she was kidnapped…but…Rob…I knew him for such a short time…and he lied to me…broke his promise…committed murder…She couldn’t understand why he still held such a strong hold over her…except…he was different… that’s all…he was just…different…She frowned. Or maybe she was just deceiving herself about that. Well, he’s gone, and I’m moving on…
     But…

     She stopped at a stream in a gully to water her horse and get a drink herself. She hadn’t brought any food with her; she hadn’t really thought about it, but she figured she could live until she arrived in Whitewater. Water was a little more important, however, so this was her second stop for that. She didn’t have a canteen, and she thought about emptying and cleaning out one of the big whiskey bottles and filling it up from the stream, but she didn’t. It would be difficult to clear all of that oil out of the bottle and she knew there were at least two more places she could stop before getting home, so it wasn’t a major consideration
     It was daylight now, and the stream was in a nice little depression, with a plenteous scattering of cottonwood trees on either side. Robin could even see some nice-sized fish in the brook, and unfortunately, she was not the only living organic being who was aware they were there.
     As she was kneeling down to drink, she heard the Indian pony whimper and whinny, and then she heard a loud, horrid roar. Robin turned and her heart leaped into her throat.
     An eight-foot tall grizzly was standing about 30 feet from her, growling, waving his arms, having just emerged from the cottonwoods, with a demeanor that distinctly said, “Get away from my stream!”
     But apparently this fellow’s stomach was emptier than a few fish could satiate. He went straight for the horse. That animal, utterly and completely terrified, took off at a gallop up the ravine, back the way he had come—in other words, heading for the Indian encampment. The grizzly wasn’t as fast as the horse, of course, but was more used to navigating the hills and trees and bolted after the pony, hot on his heels. Robin ran after them for a few moments, but they left her far behind and she made frustrated sound. She stood by the stream, hands on her hips, watching horse and bear disappear over the top of a nearby ridge. With that bear on its tail, that horse wouldn’t stop till it got back home. And maybe try to fly into the canyon.
     Robin was disgusted. Now she’d have to walk unless she was fortunate enough to find some passerby in the valley who would give her a lift. Fat chance of that…So, with a sigh, she went to the stream, drank her fill, picked up her basket, and…
     …started walking….

     Sam Burke, Len Kramer, and Cameron Collins weren’t having much luck at all. They had started out on Saturday—Sam riding alone, Len riding with Drew Harrington, and Cameron with two of his cowhands—and they had met at a designated location on Tuesday.
     “Ain’t seen hide nor hair of an Indian or a track or a hair of Miss Robin’s head,” Cameron reported, and Len and Sam announced the same thing.
     “There’s no telling where they went. They might have circled around and headed back south, for all we know. They just didn’t leave any sign,” Len said, shaking his head. Then with a sigh, he said, “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’ve got a business to run and I can’t stay out here indefinitely on what is beginning to look like a wild goose chase. If Robin is alive, which doesn’t seem likely, she could be in Canada now.”
     Cameron replied, with obvious distress, “Me and my boys have got a ranch to take care of, too. If I thought there was any hope, if we just had some sign…” Then he shook his head, too.
     Sam’s face was thoughtful. “I’ve got a little more time until I have to report in. I’m going to hunt around some more. I sort of feel like you boys do, that there isn’t much hope, but I’m going to keep trying a while longer.”
     They shook hands all around, somberly. “Bring us back some good news, Sam,” Len said to him.
     Sam smiled sadly and nodded. “I hope so. I really do.”
     And he watched as the others rode slowly back towards town.
     Sam took off his hat, and dried his forehead with his sleeve. He looked back towards the mountains. Where could they have taken her? Where have we not looked?
     He didn’t know the answer to the first question for sure, and wasn’t certain of the answer to the second. He was tired, decided to make camp for the night, and then start his search anew in the morning.

     Robin was tired, bone tired, but she didn’t want to stop. She figured, at a guess, that she was probably 15 miles from Whitewater. Maybe, if she was able to keep up a steady pace, she could arrive that night. It was mid-morning now, getting hot, and it wasn’t going to be a pleasant day. But certainly better than being a prisoner in a camp of Indian warriors.
     And the walking shouldn’t be quite as difficult now, because she was almost out of the foothills. In fact, she was walking down a long, sloping hill, the last before she hit level ground. It was open range here; the valley broadened out significantly west of Whitewater, which was where she was. But there was a road, and Robin thought she could reach it in about 3 miles. The country between was a little rough, but again, it was basically flat and easier walking.
     As she reached the base of the rise which she had been walking on, something made her turn and look behind her to the northwest. She was immediately alarmed by what she saw. Probably no more than a mile away, sitting on a knoll, were three Indian braves on horseback. At the moment, they were just sitting, but Robin could tell they were staring at her. She was certain that, in a moment, they would come galloping after her. Almost in a panic, Robin looked around her. There was simply no place to hide. Even if she made it back up the hill she had just descended, there was no protection on the other side of it.
     There was just…no place…
     The Indians saw her.
     And they kneed their horses and came after her.

     Sam Burke backtracked, deciding to start from the beginning. Ok, the Indians grabbed Robin and they headed northwest. We followed their tracks out of town, even for a few miles. Then they seemed to disappear after they entered Pecan Creek…Pecan Creek was a small stream that flowed out of the mountains west of Whitewater. It was an old trick, used by Indians and whites alike, to ride in a stream for a variable distance, to throw off any trackers. Then, when the pursued believed they were sufficiently safe, they would leave the stream, and Indians especially, would attempt to erase the exit tracks to make it impossible to follow them. It had apparently worked in this situation. The sheriff, and then Sam, Len, and Cameron, had been able to trace the Indians’ horse tracks into Pecan Creek. But they never found where they had exited. Sam went back to the creek and rode along it, searching intently for any trace of a sign that the Indians might have left.
     Sam followed the stream till he simply couldn’t follow it any more. He turned west, along the rim of the foothills, searching for the hooves of three shoeless ponies. He rode fairly quickly as the ground was dry and horses’ prints would be fairly easy to spot. For two hours, he found nothing and, once again, began to despair of hope.
     But then, instead of looking down at the ground, he looked up. Startled, he stopped his horse and stared.
     A woman…running in his direction. Not far behind, three Indians on ponies chasing her….
     He immediately recognized her.
     “Robin!” he shouted, spurred his horse and headed towards her at a full gallop.

     Robin had no other option but to run. She didn’t know what else to do. Then the idea came to her mind that, perhaps, she could use the bottles of oil. It was a desperate hope, there were three Indians coming towards her; she couldn’t throw three bottles at once. But maybe one of the big ones. It will never work, but I’ve got to try something…
     She was about to stop when she saw a horseman come from over a small rise in front of her. He stopped, then she heard her name being called.
     She looked closely…Sam!….
     With a whimper and a renewed effort, she ran towards him….

     Sam would get to Robin before the Indians did, but once he swooped her up and turned, there would be barely a quarter mile distance between them. And with Sam’s horse carrying two people, they would never outrun the natives. But first things first…get Robin.

     The pick up was smooth. Sam slowed his horse down enough to reach down, grab Robin’s waist, and pull her up. She swung her right leg over the horse’s neck and sat just in front of the saddle horn, facing Sam. He immediately turned his horse and headed in the opposite direction, but the natives were coming at full speed. Robin could see them, and even see the puff of smoke from rifle. Sam held on to the reins in one hand and Robin in the other.
     “They are shooting at us!” she shouted to Sam above the noise of a galloping horse.
     “Can you fire a gun?” he asked her.
     “Yes,” and she started to reach for his, then smiled. “I’ve got a better idea.”
     Robin reached into her bag for one of the small bottles she had left and the matches. With the horse riding at full gallop it would be hard to light the match in the breeze. So Robin simply kept her hands in the bag, struck the match, and lit the wick. It burned nicely. She pulled it out.
     “What in the world…” Sam said.
     Robin was a little more concerned, at the moment, with the Indians behind than with Sam’s curiosity. She held the bottle in her hand….she had to time this just right. The Indians were riding abreast, about 15 feet apart. She wouldn’t get all of them with one bottle, but maybe she could scare them.
     They were still a good 200 yards behind when she heaved the bottle. She threw it high and it arched and it landed, with a satisfying explosion, about 50 yards in front of the natives. The oil immediately caught fire and flame shot about 10 feet high. The Indians’ horses reared a bit and slowed, but still kept coming. But she and Sam had gained a little distance.
     “What is that?” Sam shouted at her.
     “Later,” she said and reached into her bag for another.
     But then she heard Sam say, “Oh, no.” And he directed his horse to the southeast.
     Robin turned to look at what had dismayed Sam. And coming out of the foothills, on an angle to cut them off, were three more Indian warriors.
     In less than a minute, especially with Sam’s game horse beginning to tire, they would be an Indian sandwich.

     Robin desperately pitched a couple of more bottles at the Indians—one behind and one at the newcomers, including one of the 20 ounce bottles at the latter. It made a huge fireball and landed close enough to the Indian in the middle that some of the oil splattered on his horse and burned him. The horse screeched, reared up, and threw his rider, rolling over on top of him. Well, that’s one less Indian….But the other two were less than 40 yards away now, and the three behind were less than 50. Robin grabbed Sam’s rifle and started shooting, but the chances of hitting anything on a galloping horse were minimal.
     Sam looked around frantically. There was just no place, on this flat valley floor, where they could go for protection. And his horse was wheezing hard, lathering sweat. It might give out before the Indians arrived. We’ve got one chance, Sam thought, stop and have a shoot-out. There’s nothing else we can do…
     And he started to do it, when Indians began to drop all around him…

     “Great shooting, Robin!” Sam yelled and didn’t stop the horse as he had intended. He had seen the Indians fall, but was unable to tell where the shots had come from, so he simply assumed she had done it.
     “I didn’t hit them!” she shouted back. “Somebody is shooting from behind them!”
     “What?”
     “Yes…” And then she turned her fire to the Indians behind, who were also shooting, without much success, though a little too close for comfort. Robin did hear a bullet whiz by her ear, and another caught the sleeve of her blouse and even scratched her arm, but nothing serious. She fired back…
     Robin saw two more Indians blown from their ponies and knew she hadn’t hit either one. But she did hit the horse of the third Indian, and saw a split-second later that the horse had been hit a second time by whoever else was firing. That horse went heels over head, crushing the Indian beneath him. Robin could even hear the crunching of the bones and winced at the sound and the scream of the dying man. But that was the extent of her sympathy.
     Sam then slowed down his horse and let him coast to a stop about 100 yards farther on. He took the rifle from Robin and jumped off the horse, kneeling and aiming back at the Indians, just in case any of them were still alive and threatening. But none were. If any of them were alive, they were unconscious. From what Sam could see at a distance, they were all dead.
     Robin dismounted and threw her arms around Sam, whimpering in relief. “Oh, Sam! How did you know where I was?”
     “I didn’t…I was just looking for you…” He pulled her arms off of him and scanned the foothills. “Who was that who was shooting? He’s the one who saved our lives.”
     Robin looked as well, but saw no one. “I have no idea…”  She thought of White Crow and his marksmanship with the rifle.  Did he follow me?...

     There was no solution to their mystery savior, so Sam and Robin started walking. They walked for a couple of miles, just to give the horse a breather. Sam had hoped to catch one of the Indian ponies, but they were too shy, so there would be only the one mount. As they walked, Robin related her adventure to him, telling him all the pertinent details, and omitting what she considered impertinent, mainly her relationship with Sonny. Her escape fascinated Sam.
     “Yeah,” she said, “but it would have been all in vain if you hadn’t arrived when you did.”
     "Yeah,” he grunted, “and that would have been in vain if our unseen benefactor hadn’t arrived when he—or she, I suppose—did.”
     “I wonder if we’ll ever know who that was.”
     Sam just shook his head. “I don’t know. Whoever it was apparently preferred to remain anonymous. But I sure would like to shake his hand.” He grinned. “Or give her a kiss.”
     Robin smiled. “I think I’d prefer to shake her hand, or give him a kiss.” He laughed.
     They walked until they came to Pecos Creek where the horse could drink and rest—Sam and Robin as well. It was mid-afternoon when they got there. “We’re only about 10 miles from Whitewater,” he said. “I think if we take it easy and don’t push Trixie”—his horse—“too hard, we can get to Whitewater by nightfall. She’s a good horse, let’s see how she does.”
     They mounted, Robin sitting behind Sam now, and he put Trixie into a very slow trot, probably no more than 5 miles an hour. But if she could keep that up, they’d be in town by sunset. Robin sighed and closed her eyes, leaning against Sam’s back. She finally felt she was safe. And she was sooooooooo tired.
     She fell asleep.