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Updated: June 3, 2025
There was a strange light deep in the shaman's eyes. Travis did not know who or what Menlik had been before the Red conditioner had returned him to the role of Horde shaman. He might have been a technician or scientist and deep within him some remnants of that training could now be dismissing everything Travis said as fantastic superstition. Yet in another way the Apache spoke the exact truth.
He who sets foot in the stirrup must mount into the saddle; he who draws blade free of the scabbard must be prepared to use it." "The Horde is not here I see only a handful of people," Travis replied. "Does Menlik propose to go up against the Apaches so? Yet there are those who are his greater enemies." "A stealer of women is not such a one as needs a regiment under a general to face him."
"One needs no army when he carries this." For the second time Travis displayed the power of the weapon he carried, this time cutting into shifting rubble an outcrop of cliff wall. Menlik's expression did not change, though his eyes narrowed. The shaman signaled his small company, and they dismounted. Travis was heartened by this sign that Menlik was willing to talk.
It is not proper for a man to eat from the pot, ride in the wind, sleep easy under the same sky with him who has slain his brother." "They have then killed among your people?" "They have killed," Menlik returned briefly. Kaydessa stirred and muttered a word or two to her brother. Hulagur's head came up, and he exploded into violent speech. "What does he say?" Deklay demanded.
"That one is dead or helpless!" Travis cried out. "Do you still wish to fight for him, Shaman?" Menlik came away from the tree and walked to the edge of the drop. The others, too, were moving forward. After the shaman looked down he stooped, picked up a small stone, and flung it at the motionless Red. There was a crack of sound.
"How does an Apache find his way across the stars?" "The same way Menlik and his people did," Travis returned. "You were sent to settle this planet, and so were we." "There are many more of you?" countered Menlik swiftly. "Are there not many of the Horde? Would one man, or three, or four, be sent to hold a world?" Travis fenced. "You hold the north, we the south of this land."
The shaman's hand went up, silencing both of them. "You are who?" Like Kaydessa, Menlik spoke a heavily accented English. "I am Travis Fox, of the Apaches." "The Apaches," the shaman repeated. "You are of the West, the American West, then." "You know much, man of spirit talk." "One remembers. At times one remembers," Menlik answered almost absently.
The Tatar who first reached the crest put his hands to cup his mouth, sent a ringing cry southward, and the faint "hu-hu-hu" echoed on and on through the hills. Either Menlik had reached the camp in time, or his people were not to be so easily enticed. For though the hunters waited for a long time, there was no answer to that hail.
Somewhere ahead was water, one of those oases of growth and life which pocked the whole mountain range to the preservation of all animals and all men. Menlik and Hulagur pushed on until their mounts were hard on the heels of the two ridden by the girl and Travis.
Momentum carried the helicopter on, but at least one of the marksmen, if not all three, had scored. The machine plowed through the smoke to crack up beyond. Was their caller working, bringing in the Mongols to aid the Reds trapped in the wreck? Travis watched Menlik make his way toward the machine, reach the cracked cover of the cockpit.
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