The Spear of Destiny (Zarahemla Two Crows Book 2) by Williamson Ryan

Author:Williamson, Ryan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mahalas Press
Published: 2023-11-14T00:00:00+00:00

Excerpt from The Widow’s Son

Chapter I

Canyon de Chelly, Arizona Territory

An unforgiving sun watched impassively as two men rode through the canyon. The lead rider, a massive dusky man on a plodding draft horse, kept carful watch on the Anasazi ruins that dotted the towering cliffs, his ice-blue eyes scanning the ancient dwellings under the shade of a weathered old Hardee hat.

Unseen predators hidden deep in the shadows tracked his progress.

The wind rustled coyote skins bound to his cantor and whipped at his loose duster, revealing a flash of silver and ivory holstered at his side.

Behind him, a Navajo man wrapped in a blanket rode bareback on an old palomino, his shackled hands wrapped in the horse’s long white mane.

He watched the ruins as well.

The lead rider reigned in his horse and the prisoner stopped beside him, grinning and flashing yellow teeth that had been filed down to sharp points.

“What do you think,” the prisoner asked, “is it a good day to die, Two Crows?”

The man scratched at his overgrown beard, a messy thatch of black covering most of his face, and looked at the prisoner with narrowed eyes, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.

“Weren’t planning on it, Ata’halne,” he grumbled in a deep bass like thunder on the horizon. “Your brothers ain’t what’s got me taking a pause.”

Ata’halne frowned.

“Horsemen,” Two Crows continued, gesturing ahead of them with his lips. “Half a score or more, coming this way. I can smell ’em.”

Ata’halne squinted in the direction Two Crows had indicated, at a towering spur of red rock several hundred yards ahead. A dust devil briskly danced across the canyon floor.

Moments later, a small troop of horsemen in dusty blue coats rounded the spur and rode into view. On catching sight of the two men, they quickly formed their ragged column into a line and advanced at a canter, carbines at the ready.

“Horse soldiers.” The Navajo nodded and spat on the ground. “Good day for them to die too.”

At fifty yards, the patrol reigned in and an old straw-haired sergeant rode forward to meet Two Crows, accompanied by a nervous trooper. He pulled up a few yards short and surveyed Two Crows and Ata’halne critically as he jawed a wad of tobacco.

“1st Battalion Cavalry, D-Troop,” the Sergeant said. “And who might you be?”

“Special Agent Two Crows.” He flashed a shiny badge under his duster and nodded to Ata’halne. “And this is my prisoner.”

“Fed, eh?” the Sergeant asked, spitting a stream of black juice between them. “Whatcha doing in my canyon?”

“Transporting this man to Albuquerque for safekeeping while I round up the rest of his fellows.”

“What’s he charged with?”

“That’s Federal business.”

“Your tin badge don’t mean nothing to me, mister Two Birds. That dirty injun looks like a rebel. We got orders to shoot their kind on sight. Ain’t no Injuns left in these canyons but rebels.”

“Two Crows,” the special agent corrected. “Zarahemla Two Crows.”

The Sergeant raised an eyebrow as he slowly jawed his tobacco. His gaze swept over to Ata’halne. “What’s your story, redskin? You

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