Danny Blackgoat: Rugged Road to Freedom Page 3

“Nice shot, Sarah,” her father said. “I think that’s the last of them.”

  Mr. Grady was wrong.

  Only five men lay on the hillside. Manny stood by his horse on the hilltop, watching the bloodshed below. He cast one final look at his followers. One man rolled to his knees and tried to stand. He stumbled back and forth, then fell on his face. Another clutched his stomach. Their horses surrounded the slave traders. They flapped their tails and snorted, unsure of what to do.

  But Manny knew what to do. As the only survivor of the attack, he turned his anger toward Danny. He climbed the hill and looked among the rocks and scrub bushes. For half an hour he searched. As the morning sun crept over the hills, he turned his horse to the road.

  “You better stay hid, boy!” he shouted over his shoulder. “But know this. If it takes me the rest of my life, I will find you. First, I’m going for your friend! You lied to me, and he’s a dead man.”

  As Manny fled, Mr. Grady led his men from the woods. They carried their shotguns in front of them, ready to fire. They moved slowly, silent and strong. At that moment the sun topped the hill, shining on the gun barrels. Danny gasped at the sight.

  “They look like warriors,” he whispered.

  They walked from one wounded man to another, taking any weapons—pistols, shotguns, and knives—in belts or hidden in boots. All of the slave traders were wounded, but they were alive. They rolled away from Mr. Grady’s men, covering their eyes. They expected to be killed. This was the way of the lawless life they lived.

  “Stand guard over them, two men to every one,” Mr. Grady said. “We can let the soldiers know we’ve caught them. Those who live will end up at the Fort Davis prison camp.”

  “I’ll bring bandages,” said a young man. “We can try to stop the bleeding till a doctor comes.” He climbed on his horse and rode to the barn.

  “Sarah,” Mr. Grady shouted. “Better let your mother know we’re safe. Tell her we’ll be ready for breakfast. Let her know that nobody’s hurt. None of us are, at least.”

  “Yes, Dad,” Sarah said. “I’ll let her know.” As she dashed through the woods, Sarah spotted Fire Eye. She saw the streaks of red covering his neck and shoulders.

  “Danny’s blood,” she said. “I don’t ever want to wash that blood away.” She mounted Fire Eye and took the reins in both hands.

  “Let’s go, boy,” she said, and Fire Eye leaped at her command. Sarah snapped the reins and Fire Eye streaked from the woods. As she neared the ranch house, Sarah called out.

  “Mom!” she shouted. “We’re all safe. Nobody’s hurt!”

  Mrs. Grady stepped to the porch. She held her hand to her forehead, looking very nervous.

  “Is your father safe?” Mrs. Grady asked. Her voice cracked as she spoke.

  “Yes,” said Sarah, “everybody is. We caught five bad men. I shot one.”

  “Oh, Sarah. You didn’t need to shoot anybody.”

  “Yes, Mom, I did,” said Sarah. She stepped from Fire Eye and tied his reins to a post. “Mom, Danny Blackgoat is dead.”

  “That poor boy! What happened?”

  “We don’t know for sure. But look,” Sarah said, pointing to Fire Eye’s saddle. “That is Danny’s blood. I know it is.”

  “Where is Danny’s body?” Mrs. Grady asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sarah said. “The bad men must have killed him last night.”

  “Where is your father?” Mrs. Grady asked.

  “Taking care of the prisoners,” said Sarah. “Bandaging their wounds. Dad and the men are coming for breakfast soon.”

  “Well,” Mrs. Grady said, “let’s cook enough for everybody.”

  “Mom, can we say a special prayer at breakfast? For Danny Blackgoat?” Sarah asked. She hung her head and wiped tears from her eyes. Mrs. Grady held her daughter close.

  “We will do something special for Danny,” Mrs. Grady said. “Now, let’s get breakfast started.”

  An hour later, Mr. Grady led the wounded slave traders to the barn. “You two stand guard,” he said, nodding to his most dependable workers. “We’ll save some breakfast for you.”

  Meals at the Gradys’ were served on a long wooden table on the back porch. Sarah and Mrs. Grady covered the table with pots of potatoes and pans of fried eggs. The outside air was chilly. Small clouds of mist rose from the steaming food.

  Mr. Grady sat at the head of the table, surrounded by his men. When everyone was seated, they waited in silence. Mr. Grady began every meal with a prayer of thanks.

  Today was unlike any day they had known. They felt like celebrating their victory. But the sound of the shotguns still rang in their ears. The sight of blood flowing down the hill wouldn’t go away. This was a morning to be thankful, but not to celebrate.

  Mrs. Grady had placed four candles from one end of the table to the other.

  “The candles are for Christmas,” she announced. “It’s only seven days away.”

  The men nodded without speaking. Sarah sat next to her father. She leaned against him and whispered, “Dad, please pray for Danny Blackgoat.”

  Mr. Grady nodded without opening his eyes. He put a finger to his lips.

  People always want me to be quiet, Sarah thought.

  Mr. Grady stood. “Dear Lord,” he began, “we have much to be thankful for today. We thank you for our lives. You saw us through danger. We are still safe and together.”

  He paused and the men offered quiet ums and amens.

  “We want to remember a young friend today,” Mr. Grady said. He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “He came into our lives for only a short time.”

  As Mr. Grady began his prayer, Danny crossed the field and approached the house. He saw everyone seated at the table. Their heads were bowed and their eyes were closed. Not wanting to disturb anyone, Danny sat at one end of a long bench. He was so quiet, not even Mr. Grady heard him.

  “He was loved by us,” Mr. Grady continued, his eyes still closed. “We will miss him.”

  Who is he talking about? wondered Danny.

  “We have only his horse to remember him by,” said Mr. Grady. “Please help Sarah. She will care for his horse, Lord, and you will care for us all.”

  Danny leaned over to the man sitting next to him. He cupped his hand beside his mouth and whispered, “What horse?”

  “Fire Eye,” the man said, keeping his eyes closed. “Danny Blackgoat’s horse.”

  “What if Danny wants his horse back?” Danny asked.

  “Danny has no use for his horse.”

  “Why not?”

  “Danny Blackgoat is dead.”

  “I am not dead!” Danny shouted. Everyone opened their eyes and turned to look at him. Mr. Grady dropped his jaw.

  “Sorry,” said Danny. Everyone was staring at him!

  “Dannnnnnn-eeeeeeeee!” Sarah hollered from the far end of the table. “I knew you would return! Dad, look, Danny Blackgoat has crawled out of the grave!”

  “Yes, I did,” said Danny, shrugging his shoulders. “But that was yesterday. And how did you know about that?”

  Chapter 7

  Manny Seeks Revenge

  Manny urged his horse into a gallop. He rode for an hour at top speed, until his horse breathed hard and slowed to a walk. Manny spotted a group of twisted mesquite trees by the roadside. He pulled his horse to a halt. He saw a trickle of water bubbling from the rocks and stepped to the ground.

  “Ay,” he whispered, patting his horse on the neck, “agua para mi caballo.” He took the reins and led his horse to the spring. Manny sat and watched while his horse drank big gulps of water. His horse panted and heaved, weary from the long ride at top speed.

  I will kill the old man, Manny thought. And someday I will find that Indian boy. I’ll punish him, bad, and then sell him to the meanest slave master I can find. He’ll spend the rest of his life being sorry he lied to me.

  When his horse was rested, Manny mounted him and led him in a slow trot, closer and closer to Rick.

&nb
sp; When Rick woke up, he was lying face down in a pool of dried blood. He rolled to his back and looked up at the afternoon sky. His head throbbed in pain from his broken nose. Dried blood covered his lips and cheeks. He reached to touch his nose.

  “Yow!” he hollered. When he realized his nose was broken, Rick stood up slowly and looked for his wagon. He spotted it, standing where he and Danny had planned to settle in for the night.

  “Where is that boy?” Rick whispered to himself. “I hope he’s safe.”

  Rick saw his mules still hitched to the wagon.

  “Danny!” he called out.

  When Danny didn’t answer, Rick pieced together what had happened. He saw the footprints of several men and tracks of their horses surrounding the wagon.

  That looks like Danny’s footprints, he thought, staring at the ground behind the wagon. He saw the stirred-up dirt where the men had captured Danny.

  “Looks like he put up a fight,” Rick said aloud. “I hope he’s smart enough to let them have their way, at least for a while.”

  Rick closed his eyes and smiled. “Yes,” he said, as if talking to Danny, “you’re that smart. You wouldn’t be alive, with all you’ve gone through, if you weren’t.”

  Rick followed the horse tracks to the top of the hill.

  I wonder why they left me alive? he asked himself. I wonder if Danny had anything to do with that?

  Rick looked up and down the road until he spotted a rising cloud of dust and a rider coming from the east. If I can make it down the hill in time, he can help me, he thought.

  Rick waved his arms and called out, but the rider never heard him. Soon, the rider turned his horse uphill. Why would he be coming this way? Rick asked himself. He acts like he knows where he’s going.

  Rick jumped behind a boulder just as Manny rode past him. The mean look on Manny’s face and the roll of shotgun shells across his chest told Rick everything he needed to know about this strange rider.

  “He’s headed to my wagon,” Rick said in a whisper. “He knows where Danny Blackgoat is!”

  Rick knew that his life, and the life of Danny Blackgoat, depended on what he did next. He crouched behind the boulder and wrapped his arms around himself in a blanket of thought.

  I’m an older fellow, not young and quick like he is, he thought. So I have to take him by surprise. And he has the guns. They took mine.

  Rick looked at the ground and the scrub trees surrounding the boulder. He smiled at his own thinking. If I lived in a time before guns, what would I use as a weapon?

  The plants and rocks around him seemed to glow in answer to his question.

  Yes, I see you, he nodded to a pile of stones. Some were round and some were thin and sharp. He looked above him and saw a thick tree branch, cracked and almost touching the ground. Very quietly he stood. He saw the back of Manny, riding to the wagon.

  He’s going there to finish me off, he thought. I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen!

  Rick twisted the branch and broke it off the tree limb. With the sharp stone, he carved a long, thin point on the end of the branch. I’ve never used a sword in battle, but it won’t hurt to have it handy.

  Next, he took off his shirt and tied it around his waist, making a deep pocket for carrying stones. He gathered a dozen stones the size of his fist, and one large, flat stone.

  Now for a club, he thought. At that very moment, his nose began to throb in pain. I think I know what broke my nose!

  He tore a strip of cloth from his shirt and picked a stone from his pocket. He tied the stone to a short, thick branch. With his pocket full of stones for throwing, his sword in his belt, and his club in his hand, Rick took a deep breath and prepared his mind for the battle to come.

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” he said to himself. Rick knelt to the ground, whispered a quiet prayer, and stepped from behind the boulder. Staying in the shadows of the trees, he ran in a low crouch to his wagon.

  I’d better not follow the same path as before, he thought. By now he’s found the spot where they left me. He knows I’m gone, and he’ll follow my footprints.

  Rick circled through the trees and approached his wagon from the other side. He heard Manny before he saw him.

  “You better run, old man,” Manny shouted. “When I catch you, I’ll tie you to the ground and the desert will eat you alive!”

  Rick flung himself to the ground before he realized that Manny hadn’t actually seen him. Manny was just talking out loud to himself in anger. Rick shivered to think of what Manny would do to him if he found him. He had seen horses die in the hot desert. He had seen how the ants crawled over them. He had watched the small animals gnaw on their bones, and saw how the buzzards fought over the meat.

  “That will not happen to me or Danny,” he whispered. “Not today. Not ever.”

  Rick knew he had the element of surprise in his favor. Manny expected him to run. He would never expect me to come after him, Rick thought. Now, where is the last place he would expect me to be?

  With a big grin, Rick realized he was staring at the answer to his question. My wagon!

  While Manny searched the trees and bushes for him, Rick crawled quietly to the rear of the wagon. He lifted himself from the ground and hid in the shadows of the covered wagon bed.

  Now for the hardest part, he told himself. The waiting.

  He did not have long to wait. Manny saw Rick’s footprints in the dry dirt. He followed them to the rear of the wagon. He stopped his horse ten feet from the wagon. Rick lifted the club and aimed it at the back of Manny’s head. Move just a little closer, Rick thought, and you’re mine.

  Suddenly, Manny turned away from the wagon. Rick followed his gaze. He saw a cloud of dust and a horse and rider hurrying down the hill.

  “Rick!” a voice called out. It was the voice of Danny Blackgoat.

  A mean grin crept across Manny’s face. “I couldn’t ask for more than this,” he said.

  Manny lifted his shotgun and waited for Danny to enter the clearing.

  Chapter 8

  Food for the Desert?

  “Slow down, Fire Eye,” Danny said, patting his horse on the neck. “We’re here now. Rick will be glad to see us.”

  Rick was not glad to see him, but Manny was. He took careful aim at the dust cloud moving in and out of the trees, knowing that soon Danny would come into view.

  Rick slowly rose and lifted the club over his head. If I miss, Danny and I are both dead.

  He saw Manny squint his eyes and lean his head on the barrel of the shotgun.

  “He’s about to fire,” Rick whispered. “It’s now or never.”

  “Danny Blackgoat!” he shouted as a warning, before he leaped from the back of the wagon. With all of his leg strength, Rick pushed himself from the wagon. He swung the club as he jumped.

  Manny jerked his head around just in time to catch the stone club on the side of his head. His horse reared and bolted, throwing Manny to the ground. His shotgun flew from his grasp.

  Rick landed hard but quickly scrambled to his feet. He grabbed his wooden sword and stuck the point in Manny’s neck. Manny lay face down.

  “I’ve got a gun pointed at the back of your head,” Rick said, hoping Manny would believe his lie. “You tried to kill me,” Rick said. “And you almost shot my friend. If you want to live, don’t move.”

  Soon Danny rode into the clearing and pulled Fire Eye to a halt. He saw Rick, still bloody from his broken nose, standing over Manny with only a wooden sword. He knew better than to talk. He quickly grabbed Manny’s rifle and moved beside Rick.

  “Now you have your own shotgun pointed at your head, by a young man who’d be glad to use it,” said Rick. Turning to Danny, he said, “Keep the gun on him. If he moves, shoot him.”

  Rick gathered rope from his wagon and tied Manny’s hands behind his back.

  “Now get up and walk to the tree in front of you,” he said. “Slow, real slow.” Manny struggled to his feet. He turned his head and
faced Rick and Danny.

  “Just get this over with,” he said with a sneer. “Shoot me and be on your way. Because if I ever get out of this alive, I think you know what will happen. I will never rest till both of you are dead.”

  “Do what I say if you want to live,” said Rick. “Lean up against the tree and stay still.”

  Rick tied Manny’s legs to the trunk of the tree. He wrapped the rope several times around the tree and Manny. When he finished, he turned to Danny. “He’s not going anywhere now,” he said.

  “We should do one more thing,” Danny said. “Something Manny taught me.”

  He climbed in the wagon and returned with a small bag.

  “Here,” he said to Rick. “Put this over his face. If he hears someone coming, he won’t know whether to shout or be silent. He won’t know who it is. That’s what they did to me.”

  “You are a quick learner, son,” said Rick.

  “I’ve learned things I wish I didn’t know,” Danny said.

  “Tell me what happened, Danny. The last thing I remember, you were in the back of the wagon. We had just pulled into this clearing.”

  Danny glanced at Manny and nodded to a clump of trees a short distance away.

  “You don’t want him to hear,” Rick said, pointing to Manny.

  “Yes,” Danny said, as they walked to the trees and settled on a log.

  For the next quarter hour Danny told the story of everything he remembered. When he learned that Danny had made a bargain with the slave traders, a bargain that saved his life, Rick smiled.

  “I owe you my life, Danny Blackgoat.”

  “And I owe you for mine, Rick,” Danny said.

  “Now,” Rick said, “you have a choice to make.”

  “What choice?” Danny asked.

  “What do we do with this man?” he said, pointing to Manny. “If we let him live, you know we’ll never be safe. He’ll hunt us both down.”

  “The soldiers are already looking for me,” said Danny.

  “Yes,” said Rick, “but they won’t kill you if they find you.”

  Danny waited for several minutes before answering.

  “You don’t know what they will do, Rick,” he finally said. “They killed an old Navajo man, our friend and neighbor from home. He was a good man.”