Flynn watched his face as he sat down in front of them crossing his legs. The cavalry guide had expected nothing. A man is some things and he is not others. A Mimbre Apache is not a fashion plate. He is ragged and dirty and has the odor of an unwashed dog and at night in his rancheria drinks tizwin until it puts him to sleep or sends him after a woman. He has many faults-by white standards. But he is a guerrilla fighter, and in his own element he is unbeatable. That's the thing to remember, Flynn thought. Don't underestimate him because he smells. He isn't chief because his dad was. And a broncho chief doesn't get to be as old as he is on his good looks.

He said now, in Spanish, "Do you speak English?"

The Apache shook his head.

"Lieutenant, you can take that for what it's worth. He might speak it better than we do." Then to Soldado he said, "We did not come here to fight your men. The fight could not be avoided."

"But one of them is dead," Soldado said.

"I did not wish him to die the way he did, but it could not be helped. It is not the way a Mimbreno should die."

The old chief looked at him intently. "Who of us have you known?"

"I have known Victorio and Chee and Old Nana."

"What are you called?"

"David Flin." He pronounced the name slowly.

"I have not heard of you."

"This country is wide."

The Apache said quietly, "Yet you would force us to live in one small corner of it."

"What I do," Flynn said, "is not entirely of my mind."

"Then perhaps you are a fool."

"It is only foolish when you fight against what is bound to happen," Flynn said. "I see the days of the Mimbreno numbered…as well as the Chiricahua, Coyotero, Jicarilla and the Mescalero. The Tonto and Mojave have already been given their own land."

"And who is this that gives land which he does not own?" the Apache asked.

Damn him, Flynn thought. He said, "The chief of the Americans, who owns it because of his power. Let me tell you something, old man, for your wisdom to absorb: your days remaining are few. If you give yourself up now, you will be given good land which still abounds in those things to keep you alive. And you will be under the protection of our government."

Soldado said seriously, "And if I were to find my woman lying with someone else and I cut off her nose, what would happen to me?"

"You would be taken before the agent," Flynn said, feeling foolish saying the words.

"For what reason?"

"For your offense."

"And when our women see that they can lie with any man they wish and only the husband is punished if he objects, what will your government do then?"

"Your women are your own problem," Flynn said.

"Man, we have many problems which we would keep our own."

Flynn shook his head wearily. What a sly old bastard, he thought. He makes you sound like a damn fool. Maybe you can't be a big brother. Maybe the only kind of respect they know is a kick in the face. He intimated so just now with that about the women. Only you're not in a very good spot to do any kicking. All you can do now is bluff-and if it doesn't work, which it probably won't, you haven't lost anything.

He said now to Soldado, "I tell you this as a friend: If you fight, you will be defeated, and being remembered with distaste you will be treated ill and perhaps be put into prison."

Soldado said, "What is the difference in meaning between these words prison and reservation?"

"You ask many questions."

"I only wish to borrow from the wisdom of the American," Soldado said.

"You may scoff at these words," Flynn said, "but what happens, happens. It is above you and me and will come about regardless of what you do, but I am wise enough to see it."

"Are you wise enough to see your own fate, American?"

"I speak to you as a people."

"And I speak to you as a man. What does this spirit of yours say will happen to you?"

"I could die at this moment," Flynn said. "So could you."

"But who would you say this is more likely to happen to?"

You're not doing this very good, Flynn thought to himself. He always has the last word and makes you feel like a green kid who doesn't know what he's doing. Bowers touched his arm then and as he looked at him Bowers said, "How does he know why we're here?"

"What?"

"You've told him nothing. We could be scalp hunters for all he knows, yet he talks about the reservation. How does he know we came to see him?"

Soldado said, "The silent one wonders how I know of your mission."

In English, Flynn said quickly, "How did you know what he said?"

Soldado shook his head. "No comprendo."

Flynn repeated the question in Spanish and the old Indian smiled faintly. "His question was on his face. It did not need words; though I have been waiting for you to ask it."

"Then you have known of us for some time," Bowers said.

"Since the day you gathered the bodies of the Nakai-yes and returned them to their village. This was not an act of the killers of Indians."

Flynn concealed his amazement. Now he said, "You were very thorough. No one was left alive."

Soldado studied him silently before saying, "Do you believe these words you use?" and when Flynn did not answer, he said, "No, you do not believe them, but you would hear it aloud that we did not kill the Nakai-yes. There is no need however to explain these things to the wise American who is able to see the future."

But it was the past Flynn was seeing as the old Indian spoke. Burned wagon and the lifeless bodies in a narrow draw, and he tried to picture white men having done this. Before, he had been almost certain that this was not the work of Apaches. Still, he could not bring himself to believe that it had been white men. "How do you know who did this?" he said now.

Soldado smiled faintly. "Once, at night, I sat before my jacale and in front of me there was a mound of stones. There were red stones and white stones, which I could see by the light of the fire. And I played this game with myself, taking all of the red stones and placing them here," he said, gesturing with his hands, "and soon, all of the stones remaining before me were white." His smile broadened. "That is how I look into the past, American."

"These men will be punished for their deeds," Flynn said.

"By your government?"

"Yes, by my government. By men who act in its behalf."

"And who are these men?"

"I speak of this one whom I serve," Flynn said, nodding to Bowers, "and myself."

Soldado said, "Yet the one who serves is the spokesman."

"I speak when the ones before us are not worthy of his voice."

"But only worthy of his wonder," the Apache said confidently.

"You will be the one to wonder, soon, when you are a witness to his power."

"And what if you are already dead?"

"Your threat is nothing against the power of this man who is silent. And remember these words well, old man. As the hunters of Indians are destroyed, so will you be. They have already aroused his vengeance, which is what you are doing now. For I swear by the sacred pollen which you carry to ward off evil, that if you do not follow us in peace, you will be dragged to San Carlos behind our horses."

The Apache's face was expressionless. The eyes half closed, sleepily. He stared at Flynn a long moment, then his gaze swung to Bowers and as it did he drew the dragoon pistol from his waistband. He raised it slowly, cocking it, then straightened his arm, aiming the long barrel at Bowers and said, "Where is his power now, American?"

Flynn said nothing.

The Apache lowered the gun, looking toward Flynn again. He said, "Do you speak in the tongue of the Mimbreno?"

Flynn was surprised, but he nodded. "I speak some."

"Good. Then you will come to the rancheria." To Matagente, he said, "You will conduct them with three men. The rest of us will come at night tomorrow when this raid is terminated." He said to Flynn, as explanation, "We have only stopped here for meat."