Cry of Eagles by William W. Johnstone Page B

didn’t find any at the cabin, so the Indians have whatever the settlers had, plus whatever they got from the men whose horses they stole.” He shook his head. “I think we’ve got to assume they have repeating rifles and act accordingly.”
    â€œThat means followin’ ’em to their camp an’ then pickin’ ’em off by ones and twos,” Hawk said.
    â€œUh huh.”
    â€œYou think we’re good enough to do that and stay hidden where the rest of the band cain’t find us?”
    Falcon leaned back against his saddle and pulled his hat low over his eyes. “I guess we’ll soon find out.”
    Hawk looked around at the darkness surrounding them and grunted. “I was afraid you was gonna say that.”
    From underneath his hat brim, Falcon answered. “Of course, if the leader of this band is Naiche, his name’s going to be a powerful draw to the other young bucks in the territory. I figure word will have gotten out by now that he’s on the warpath, and others will be straggling in to join him in twos and threes from just about every direction. One thing’s certain, we’re going to have plenty of targets long before we catch up with the main band.”
    Hawk drew his pistol and laid it on his chest as he lay back to sleep. “You’re just full of good news, Falcon.” He pulled his hat down low, murmuring, “An’ I thought it was gonna be easy.”

Chapter 9
    Falcon and Hawk were up and on the trail before dawn. They rode slow, taking their time and watching both their back trail and the land in front of them.
    The band of Indians they were following were headed generally due northwest, though they cut back and forth often, changing directions to make their tracks harder to follow.
    Just before noon, as they approached the crest of a hill overlooking a valley below, Diablo’s ears perked up and he gave a soft snuffle, wagging his head back and forth. Falcon quickly covered his nose to keep him from nickering, for it was obvious he either smelled or heard other horses.
    â€œYo, Hawk,” Falcon called softly.
    At the sound of Falcon’s whisper, Hawk immediately reined to a stop and picked his Sharps up from where it was resting on his saddle horn. He glanced back over his shoulder, and Falcon held a finger up to his lips and slipped out of the saddle to the ground.
    Hawk did the same, anxiously peering back and forth, looking for whatever it was Falcon had heard.
    Falcon got down on his belly and crawled to the top of the hillock and peered over. Entering the valley below, at a distance of about three hundred yards, were four braves. They were riding bareback, and two were carrying what appeared to be single-shot rifles, while one had an old musket cradled in his arms.
    Falcon waved Hawk up beside him and pointed, a questioning look on his face.
    â€œThey must be some renegades on their way to join the ones we been trailin’,” Hawk said in a low voice. “They’re comin’ from the wrong direction to be a part of Naiche’s group.”
    â€œYou think you can pick one or two off with that long rifle of yours?” Falcon asked.
    Hawk showed his teeth in a nasty grin, licked the end of his finger, and wiped off the front sight of the Sharps.
    He spread his feet out, digging his toes in the sand, his elbows in the dirt holding the Sharps up to his eye to take aim while Falcon backed out of sight then sprinted to his horse.
    He climbed into the saddle and got his Stevens shotgun ready, holding it in his left hand, the reins in his teeth, and his Colt in his right hand.
    When Hawk’s Sharps exploded, knocking the big man back against his braced feet, Falcon spurred Diablo into action, guiding the stud with his knees as he raced over the hill and down toward the valley floor below.
    Another explosion from the Sharps, and he saw a brave go flying, knocked off his pony with his arms flung