The Heart of a Warrior

The line of slaves was staggering at every step and the two at the back were about to drop.

Suddenly the figure on the left, who appeared to be a girl about Lark’s size, fell flat on her face under her load and didn’t move. The fall snapped the chain to the next ring tight and the woman started back and twisted to the side to keep from falling. The whole line was jerked to a stop and stood bent over and motionless.

The rider rode close and lashed down viciously with the whip but there was no response. Angrily, he got off his horse, took something from his pocket and jerked the neck ring around. Apparently, it was some kind of key or tool to take the neck ring off. He tossed the neck ring and chain over the pack of the woman who was next in line and peeled off the pack the inert girl was carrying. Grabbing the girl by the hair and one arm, he heaved her off to the side where she landed limply with a thud, a lifeless bounce and short skid to stop under some bushes.

The woman who was next in line had a child with her. She was probably allowed to keep the child when others were slaughtered so that she would be compliant and expend every effort to keep going to keep her child safe. The conquistador tossed her the bag to put on the child. It was heavy and she tried to grab one side and take some of the weight. It also put them last in line and before they had gone a hundred yards, the lash had landed on the bare legs of the child. Her scream was so loud we heard it a half-mile away.

I suddenly realized that I had such a rage boiling up in me that my hands were shaking. I was sweating more than the midday sun was requiring and I had a really bad taste in my mouth from the bile backing up in my throat. I fought to get control. Rage is not good for your health, mentally or physically. Taking deep breaths and focusing on things at hand that needed attention, consideration and planning, I began to calm down. A drink of water helped and moving around a little let my muscles begin to function normally. There was nothing we could do at the moment anyway.

“Are your weapons ready and is your ammunition where you can reach it and reload quickly?” I asked. “Can we fight whole army, Chee?” Blossom asked. “As long as we are here on top of this cliff and they are there, we can strike them all day. If they try to circle around, we leave,” I answered grimly.

When the army arrived at the base of the mesa, the warriors moved thirty yards farther east to two trees for shade. The conquistador foot soldiers moved to the three trees that we had marked as our 300 yard mark. The slaves simply dropped where they stopped, enduring the heat of the sun. The horse and rider stopped behind the slaves for the moment. The horse stood spraddle legged with its head down.

The rider took his bota and took a long drink. A bota was an animal stomach used as a canteen. It was wrapped in leather to protect it and had carrying straps attached. One of the conquistadors approached the slaves with a bota. They saw it and reached out and asked for water. He just stood there staring at them then extended the bota out towards them. Their cries and pleadings were clearly heard at our position. He drew back his hand, laughed at their sufferings and poured some water over his head. They slumped back down in utter dejection.

I lined the crosshairs in the scope of the 30.06 on the horseman at the rear, allowing for a six inch drop and gently squeezed the trigger. The middle of the breastplate took a good portion of the impact, slamming him backwards over the saddle. His hands, flying up and back, jerked the horse’s head viciously and it reared up. The conquistador’s feet came up; he turned upside down and slid over the horse’s rump and crashed on his head right at the horse’s back feet. If the bullet hadn’t finished him, a broken neck would.

The crashing of the conquistador armor against its heels, spooked the horse and it bolted towards the mesa and up the valley to our right where it finally slowed down, circled a few times, looking back and entangled its reins in some brush. Working the bolt quickly, I lined up on the one who had so cruelly mocked the plight of the slaves. At the impact he also reeled back, throwing up his hands and flinging the bota into the bushes behind him.

Everyone was up looking for where the shots could have come from. Since no weapon could shoot more than a hundred yards, their search parameter was only a third of the way to where we were. Of course, they couldn’t see us behind our rocks even if they did look this way. They were also looking for a puff of smoke. The fact that they couldn’t find any, was perplexing to them as well.

Suddenly, a hoarse voice cried out, “Chee, Chee,” the cry was taken up with other words that I couldn’t understand. The conquistadors turned angrily on the slaves. “Okay,” I said to the girls, “let’s engage. Remember your shooting charts. If they are bunched together, shoot fast into the group. If they take shelter and spread out, slow down and aim carefully for the right distance.”