Macho Caballo

ENCOUNTER:

There are times when two people will meet despite all
precautions.  Broken Cloud had avoided Bluenose for years. He had
only asked him, indirectly, to the gathering because of concern
for Tom Goose.

The last time Broken Cloud had spoken to the shaman of the Loose
Foot band, he had uttered one word.  The word itself was of no
consequence, since he was angry and wanted Bluenose to get out of
his sight.  Broken Cloud had even endured the embarrassment in
the steam bath without directly speaking to Bluenose.  Though they
had seen each other several times since the incident that had
sparked their antipathy, they had never renewed their
conversation.  Until now.

Broken Cloud was seeking Yucca Blossom when he came upon
Bluenose, who was standing beside the path, waiting.

"Talk with me," Bluenose said as he matched pace with the older
man.

Broken Cloud shrugged. "We have nothing to say," he grated, "You
are an immature fool who meddles where he has no business.  You
have caused me heartache," and he repeated the last word he had
said, several years before, "Begone!"

Bluenose watched him go, his face a blank mask devoid of
expression.

SELF PITY:

Yucca searched the trail near the spring, feeling an inexplicable
sense of need.  [She came this way, I am certain,] she thought.
[I must talk to her and convince her to give up Ramon.]

[Ramon is mine,] her thoughts continued,  [I spoke for him, and
he was meant to be mine!  I have to find a way to show him that I
return his love!]

Her breath trembled with the memory of the hot glances he had
shared with her, last night at the story-telling.  He covered his
actions, pretending to be nervous and pre-occupied, but
occasionally he would look at the faces around the fire.  Oh, he
pretended to be looking for someone else, but each time his
burning gaze would sweep past her, his eyes would meet hers.  His
glance would spear her heart.

For a single, fleeting instant, delicious with promise and hot
desire, they would share a searing intimacy before he had to look
elsewhere.  He could not let the others know that it was Yucca
that he desired.  Especially, he could not let that jealous tart
Machita know.

Oh, she knew Machita's kind.  They always ignored a boy until
Yucca showed an interest, then grabbed him and poisoned his mind
against her before she even had a chance to get close to him. The
first time Yucca had met her, Machita had attempted to assert her
claim on Ramon.  She had lied, saying how close she was to him.
Obviously she had designs on him, and she must be removed from
the picture.

She found her goal in cool shadows.  Yucca smiled as she came
upon the Mexican girl sitting on the boulders below the spring.
It was a cold smile.

Still wearing the white pantalones and blouse, Machita sat
cross-legged on a boulder, watching a rivulet of cold spring
water flowing over the lip of the rock.  Occasionally, she
slapped at the water and sent a spray of cold droplets all about
her.  The sound of a hawk caught her attention and she looked up
and watched it for a while, then returned to brooding.  She
hardly noticed when Yucca came up beside her.

"I have made some dandelion tea for you," said Yucca, "It will
make you feel better.  You look like you could use some cheering
up."

Above, the hawk settled to the upper limb of a juniper tree,
intent upon a small hole beneath a bush, where a tufted tail
twitched.

"It does not matter," growled Machita, "Nothing matters.  It is
all over."

"But I hate to see you so unhappy," crooned Yucca, "Is there
anything I can do?"

Machita looked up at her with reddened eyes.  "No," she
whispered, "No one can help.  It is all over."

Yucca sat beside Machita, smoothing her buckskin skirt.

[This is going to be easy,] she thought, [Gain her confidence,
lull her suspicions, and look for an opening to use the voice of
power.]

"Tell me about it," she said aloud, "I want to help."

"No one else does.  They won't even look at me.  Or they look too
much.  Why are you so interested?"

"Because I am going to be a great medicine woman.  I have to be
able to listen."

"You would not understand."

Yucca waited.

The hawk, still watchful, cocked its head and appeared to be
asleep.

"Is it because of your sister?" Yucca finally asked.

Machita gave her a half-nod, then shook her head.  Tiny drops of
water showered from her short hair.  "You have talked more than
anyone else I have met here," she said.

"Very well.  I will be quiet."

"Never mind.  I do not feel like being polite.  Everything is
ruined."

The hawk again shifted position, muscles bunching for a leap into
space.

Yucca put all her training into modulating her voice, trembling
with the power as she said, "Then you won't mind if I tell you
that you will stand up and walk back to the spring."

"I will not mind," Machita said as she started to clamber to her
feet, then collapsed back onto the flat rock, "I do not mind at
all.  I just don't feel like doing anything."

Yucca came upright in surprise.  "You don't?" she almost shouted.

Machita again slapped the water.  "Cold," she said, "Cold water.
But it does not matter, anymore."

[She did not respond to the voice?] Yucca fretted, [Only Lucha
has been able to withstand the influence.  What is it with these
sisters?]

But all was not lost.  If she could somehow bring Machita under
her influence, she could force her to drink the tea.... In
desperation, Yucca lifted her walking stick.  It would have to
do.  A well placed blow to the head, just enough to stun her....

Springing into the air, the hawk plummeted earthward toward the
unwary mouse.  The hawk beat its wings mightily, rising with a
tiny bundle of fur jerking in its talons.

Machita glimpsed the movement of the hawk as it stooped, and as
she turned her head to watch she heard the whistle of the
descending club as it missed her by a hair's breadth.  She turned
to see the determination on Yucca's face as the Apache girl
raised the club for another blow.

Machita voiced her surprise, fright, and shock in a roar of
anger.  Unfortunately for her lowered self-esteem, this blast of
fury came out as a very feminine squeak.

"What are you doing?" squealed Machita.

"You must give up Ramon!" Yucca cried.

"Are you crazy?  I cannot do that!"

"Then I must make you leave him!  You cannot get between us! He
loves me, not you!"

"I do not!" Machita dodged as Yucca swung the walking stick at
her again and again.

The Apache girl wept as she hammered at the Mexican girl, tearing
up the bushes and sending up clouds of dust when she missed. "You
can't have him!  He is mine!" Yucca shouted. She swung again, but
struck only a glancing blow.

"But I don't want him!  Ooohhh, what is the use?"

Machita darted in close to Yucca and grabbed her by the arms,
pinning her arms by her side.  Face to face, she cried, "Look, I
can't get between you and Ramon!  I don't want him!  But you
can't have him!"

They were so close that she could feel the heat from the other's
face.  Yucca sobbed, "Then who claims him?  He must be free to
choose me!"

"Listen, he..." Machita paused.  She could not say that Ramon
loved another, because then Yucca would attack that person as
well.  If this spitfire caught Estrellita by surprise, the
rancherita would not stand a chance.  Red Cloud could handle
herself, but.... Shock registered on Machita's face and she
loosened her hold enough for the Apache girl to squirm free.

[Why did I think that?] Machita wondered.

Yucca, freed from her grip, raised the club again.  "I can't kill
you here," she said, "That would be bad luck - no one would be
able to use this trail to get to the spring."  She was
interrupted by a groan from a pile of blankets near the trail
ahead.

Yucca suddenly stiffened and glared.  "You!" she hissed, and
bolted away.

Machita stood alone, wondering what had happened.

Beside the trail, the blankets spilled to the side and a gnarled
old woman crawled out from beneath.

"Oiyeh!" cried the old woman, "My head is splitting.  My guts are
tied in knots.  My muscles refuse to work."  She bowed her head
between her knees for a moment, then added, "Oiyeh!  That was a
good batch!"

"Are you drunk?" asked Machita hesitantly.

"Of course not!" she stated vehemently, "Last night I was drunk.
Today I am sober.  Ooohh."

"I'd better leave you alone," Machita made as though to rise but
the old woman clamped a hand on her wrist and bore her back to
the path.

"No, no!" she insisted, "Stay here for a while.  Talk to me. I am
lonely, and no one will talk to me."

Looking about apprehensively, Machita squatted by her side.

"Why will no one talk with you?" Machita asked, then fanned away
an exhalation of noxious fumes.  "Besides your breath, I mean,"
she added.

The old woman eyed her.  "Has no one told you?" she asked, then
said, "Of course not.  If they told you, you would run screaming
in fright.  Instead, you stand here with your tongue hanging out
like a dog waiting to be patted.  Good boy!"  She patted
Machita's hair with a bony hand.

The Mexican girl drew back from her, upper lip curled.

The woman released a sigh which mingled with a subterranean
belch. "Ahh.  A good batch.  Too bad I drank most of it myself.
No one wants to share when there are ghosts around."

"Gh...Ghosts?"

"Good company, most of them.  Except for that Pima warrior who
got lost and wandered in the other day."

"Did you say ghosts?"

"But there has to be a reason why I am here, and you are here,
and the rest of the camp is there."  She pointed around in a
circle and ended up indicating the top of a nearby pinon tree.

"Pardon me... but you did say ghosts?"

"Of course I said ghosts, boy!  What do you think I said?"

"I thought you said... Why did you call me 'boy'?"

"Why do you call me 'crazy old woman'?"

"I did not call you a crazy old woman!"

"Well, you thought it.  Same thing.  You are rude and obnoxious.
It is obvious you are a boy.  You make a terrible girl."

"At least we agree on something!" Machita snapped, then suddenly
became very somber.  "I was a boy.  But now it is too late.  It
is all over."

"Will you cease your blubbering?  It makes my skin itch. The last
time I saw you, you were a boy.  Nothing has changed."

"Where did you see me.... Wait!  You are the crazy old woman who
follows Mud Wallow!"

"See?  See?  You just called me a crazy old woman!"

"That's not fair!  That is what they called you back at the
rancho!  I was just repeating what they said!"

The old woman stared at Machita with eyes that could peel bark.
She asked in a cotton-soft voice, "Is there any reason why you
are yelling?"

"You started it!"

"I didn't make you weep and moan, like a beaten dog.  You did
that yourself."

"What do you know?  I have lost everything!"

The old woman grasped the smaller of her blankets by the corners
and twirled it over until it rolled into a thick rope.  She
flicked one end forward like a whip and it popped loudly.

"What do *I* know about losing something?  I will *tell* you what
I know, you ungrateful little whelp!"  The corner of the blanket
snaked around behind Machita and cracked against her buttocks.

"Ow!" cried Machita, trying to get away from the punishing whip,
"That hurt!"

"I have lost my family," said the old woman as she rolled the
blanket again, "I have to sneak around and watch my children grow
up, because they fear me.  They run away from me, screaming.  And
you ask me what I know about losing everything?"

The blanket popped loudly again, and Machita took to her heels to
escape.  She scrambled down the trail, running with all her might
as she tried to avoid the stinging blows.

The old woman stayed close behind her, applying the makeshift
weapon with gusto until the Mexican girl stopped and refused to
run anymore.

"I do not want to hurt you!" Machita cried shakily as she faced
her tormentor, "but if you do not stop that, I will take that
blanket away from you and use it on you!"

"Go away," said the old woman, barely winded, "Leave me to rot in
peace.  If you cannot be civil, I will not speak with you."

Machita bit back a tearful retort and limped away.

Almost out of earshot, the woman grumbled and pulled the blankets
back about her in the warmth of the sun.

A PANEL OF PEERS DISCUSS LUCHA'S CHOICE:

"I would be thrilled!" exclaimed Little Mouse, "Just think, two
men claiming you for a wife!  And how many ponies did you have
outside your doorway?"

"You know, you shocked everyone when you announced you were ready
to marry," said Swift, Lucha's other girl friend, "We all figured
you would never find anyone who suited you!"

"I think she should take Buffalo Wattle.  He is a very strong
warrior.  He would provide for her," Little Mouse said.

"I did not want Buffalo Wattle," Lucha said in a calm voice. She
did not want to encourage their conjecture.

"Oh!  I see!" crowed Little Mouse, "Then you *do* like the
cowboy!"

"No, no!  It is not like that!  Oh, I want to start over! It was
all a mistake!  I am not ready to choose a husband!"

"It is too late to back out, now!" Swift said, "You have to
choose one!  Isn't there any man you would like to be with?"

"Yes, come on!  Don't keep us waiting!  We know you have someone
in mind!"  Little Mouse propped her chin on her elbows and
waited.

"I don't have anyone in mind!" Lucha said, and tried to turn the
course of the conversation, "What about you?  Why haven't you
made up with White Dog?"

"I won't have anything more to do with White Dog," sniffed Little
Mouse, "He is too fickle.  He falls in love with every girl he
sees."

Swift agreed, "Someone said they saw him trying to talk to that
Navajo girl over at the trading post."

"He'd better not let the elders see him flirting with a Navajo!"
said Lucha.

"What do you think about that tall guy from Mexico?" Swift sighed
dreamily, "Now, he could wrestle!  And he was good-looking,
too!"

Lucha thought back over the events of the day, turning her head
to keep the others from reading the thoughts on her face.

"Say, what happened to him?" Little Mouse wondered.

Swift shook her head.  "I don't know," she said, "He just
vanished."

"I'll bet he was secretly in love with Lucha!  And he was so
disappointed when she chose someone else that he went away
forever!"

"For the last time, I did not choose the cowboy!  That is a
misunderstanding!"

"Broken Cloud thought it was serious.  He said you have to do
it."

"Broken Cloud is not my lord and master!"

"All the same, I liked the tall guy," Swift said, "I wonder where
he went?"

THE SUN SHINES ON FUR A WHILE:

Overlooking the camp, peering from beneath a bush, a small,
forlorn wolf cub licked his scratches.

From his point of view, close to the ground, the world was closed
in by bushes, tall grass, and trees.  Added to the sense of
claustrophobia which had overwhelmed him in the Apache camp, the
visual impediment was enough to bring the cub to his belly in
misery.

After being scalded from the overturned cooking pot, Wolfwalker
had fled from the cluster of wickiups and shelters.  He had been
chased by the occasional dog and child while dodging stones the
children threw.  He had gone to ground in the brush overlooking
the camp.  Hiding beneath the bush, he whined his sorrow,
shuddered once with dread, then began to take stock of his
situation.

It was not easy being a small animal in the wild.  Almost all
other animals were larger, and all larger animals were a threat.
Even the seemingly helpless deer and antelope would turn a sharp
hoof or horn to him when he blundered too close.

It seemed the only good thing he could find was the sharpness of
his senses... his huge ears detected faint sounds he could have
never heard as a human, and the aroma of the earth beneath him
spoke softly of those who had passed before, like a chorus of
voices.

He swung his head about and looked at himself.  Fur, legs - no
hands, a tail which betrayed his every emotion by whipping
between his legs without warning, and a snout.  His milk teeth
had fallen out and his secondary teeth had formed, and he was in
that chubby stage of growth just after weaning and before
becoming long and lean from running.

He heaved a gusty puppy-sized sigh.  Not a very formidable body.

His thoughts strayed to the vision he had seen at the sporting
grounds.  He had never known that anyone could be so beautiful!
She seemed so familiar, as though she had been around all his
life, yet he had seen her only today. Now he had another reason
to regret his affliction.

The wolf raised his snout and sent a single, lonely yip toward
the heavens, then rose to his feet and headed back for the path
that lead to the camp.

CONFESSIONS:

When Red Cloud returned, she found Machita staring at the brush
walls of the wickiup, her dress pulled on over her white
pantalones.  The Azuma lass sat down before her and bowed her
head contritely.

"I am sorry," she said.

"For what?" sighed Machita.  Her eyes were red and puffy, and a
tiny teardrop leaked off the end of her nose.  She dabbed at the
moisture with the white cotton sleeve of her discarded blouse.

"I did not tell you about the potion," said Red Cloud, "and I
used it without your permission."

"Oh, that is o...okay," said Machita, "Besides, it doesn't matter
anyway.  I am stuck as a girl, forever!"  She had trouble drawing
a breath around the huge lump in her throat.

"But you are not!  Only until the bear-grease potion wears off!"

Machita's eyes widened in surprise and sudden hope.  "It wears
off?" she cried, "I am not cured in the wrong shape?"

"This is something the elders have prepared.  Sometimes we must
keep our sacred form for long times, such as when we are
scouting.  We cannot be changing back every time we cross a
stream."

Red Cloud looked at her apprehensively, "I did not explain when I
rubbed it on you.  Are you not terribly angry with me?" she
asked.

Machita grabbed her and hugged her tight, "Angry?  Maybe
tomorrow!  Right now I am so happy I could dance!  I may not be
cured, but I can get back to being me again!"

After only a moment she realized what she was doing and jerked
away from Red Cloud.  "I'm sorry," she said, "I got excited."

"Oh, I am not angry," grinned Red Cloud, "Maybe tomorrow. Right
now, you are happy!  I could dance!"

THE ESCORT:

Yucca had recovered her composure when she met Lucha.  The Apache
girl explained that Tom Goose's second wife, Sweet Corn, had
decided that she needed supplies from a storage cache to help
feed the hungry guests.

"You can take your sister and her friend," said Yucca, "It would
be a good time to get to know them."

"I will accompany you!" declared Buffalo Wattle, who had
overheard the assignment, "You must be protected from this
pale-eye cowboy!"

Lucha shook her head at his arrogance, but said, "I will go. The
camp is too noisy.  There is too much going on."

She found Machita and Red Cloud moving their gear into Willow
Woman's shelter.  "Come with us," Lucha invited, "We are going to
a storage cave to get supplies.  It is not going to rain, so you
do not need to worry."

"I am not worried," Machita said smugly, "Cold water doesn't
bother me at all, now."

Buffalo Wattle appeared, wearing a fresh breechclout and carrying
a war club.  He paused a moment over a pot of water to admire his
reflection before presenting himself to the girls.

"I am ready to protect you," he stated.  His majestic demeanor
melted when he saw the other girls.  "You have your pretty friend
with you!  And another girl!  The day is smiling upon me!"

Lucha sighed, made a 'see what I put up with' expression to
Machita, and gathered her burden baskets.  She distributed one to
each of the other girls.

Buffalo Wattle seemed impervious to her expression.  He frowned
as he was joined by Andalejo and White Dog. Andalejo seemed
mesmerized by Lucha, and White Dog also hung back well away from
the others.

Lucha sighed again and said, "My sister and her friend will be
going with me."

"Your sister?" Buffalo Wattle exclaimed in joy, eyeing Machita,
"This beautiful creature is your sister?  Now my happiness is
complete!  This is perfect!"

Machita waited until they were well away from Lucha before she
accosted Buffalo Wattle.  "What is the matter with you?" she
asked him, "Why are you so happy to know I am Lucha's sister?"

"Because now I can have two beautiful wives, with only one
mother-in-law to avoid!" Buffalo Wattle said, beaming.

"Oh, boy," groaned Machita, "How can it get any worse?"  She
noticed a furtive movement out of the corner of her eye, and saw
White Dog duck back out of sight.  He seemed unaccountably
bashful.  He was acting like...  She looked at Andalejo, who was
gazing at Lucha, and back at White Dog, who was gazing at...
Machita.

"Oh, no," she groaned again, "It just got worse!"

"Listen!" cried Machita to Buffalo Wattle and White Dog, while
they were away from the rest of the group, "You don't understand!
I cannot love you!  I am a man!"

"Such an ugly lie to taint such lovely lips," said Buffalo
Wattle, "Surely someone has placed you under a curse!"

"Yes, yes!  That is it, a curse!  This is not me, this is not my
body!  I am someone else!"

"Your heart belongs to another?" White Dog said, crushed.

"Well, sort of...."

"Tell us who this person is!" cried Buffalo Wattle, "Who holds
you in bondage?"

"It is not bondage, you big jerk!" replied Machita.

"But does your heart belong to him?" asked White Dog.

"No, it's...."

"...Then does your body belong to him?" asked Buffalo Wattle.

"No, no!  I am...."

"...Does he possess your spirit?" asked White Dog.

"Listen!  It is not like that at all!  My body, my spirit.... I
am Ramon!"

White Dog sighed, and whispered in a forlorn voice, "She loves
him so completely!  If only I could inspire such passion in her
heart for me!"

Buffalo Wattle's face was dark with fury.  He cried, "Ramon? That
man is a witch, a sorcerer!  I have exposed his perfidy!  Now I
must destroy him!"

A RECEPTION IS ARRANGED:

She struggled to escape, fighting the invisible bonds which held
her.  To teach her a lesson, Espuma eased the tension until she
could almost feel freedom, then tightened the controls that
forced her back to his side.  Even so, she glared at him with no
defeat in her eyes.

"You will not harm Ramon!" she hissed.

"Did I say I was going to hurt your boy-friend?  You have done so
well, getting Lucha to agree to leave the main camp alone.  How
can I repay such good service by harming anyone?"

"And Lucha will not be alone!  There are men going with them!"

"So much the better!  You just leave that detail to my little
friends.  I am sure they can work something out."

"And you will not harm the girl!"

"Ahhh... Machita?  That is *so* sweet!  Are you bargaining for
her safety, also?"

"She is mine to challenge!  Leave her alone!"

"As you wish, so shall it be," Espuma said with a saccharine
smile.  He released her after moving out of her reach.  No point
in discovering how effectively she had learned her lessons.

Yucca stumbled back toward the camp, only to find herself facing
Broken Cloud.

FIND SOMETHING THEY LOVE:

Broken Cloud addressed his niece directly, "My treasured one, you
must stop using your power for witchcraft."

"But Uncle!" she replied, genuinely shocked, "Who says I have
been doing this terrible thing?"

"With my own eyes, I have seen it," Broken Cloud's face showed
the weight of his years, "You have even used your powers on me. I
did not want to admit this to myself, until you told me to ignore
the Mexican boy.  This is very dangerous stuff you do, making
people do what you want.  You must stop."

"I have only done what is helpful to people.  I would not do
anything to harm them."

"With my own eyes," grieved the medicine man, "I have seen you
give your tea to the girl called Lucha.  You tell her to do
things she would not have otherwise done."

"I only suggest that she listen to my brother, when he comes to
court her!" protested Yucca, "She would be better off to marry
him, and you know it!  Her father is gone, her mother is living
in poverty, and my brother would make a wonderful husband for
her!"

"You have not asked anyone to speak to Lucha's mother.  That is
the proper way.  Would you risk her reputation?"

"My brother would not do anything wrong!" Yucca insisted.

"All the same," sighed Broken Cloud, "You have given her tea to
make her mind spin, and you have given her commands.  If anyone
else saw this, they would call it witchcraft.  I, too, love your
brother, but he must fight for what he wants. He must earn it,
you cannot give it to him as a present. This is doubly so because
you will be harming Lucha."

"He is my brother, and I say he deserves her!"

Broken Cloud took a deep breath, feeling the pain of his own
words as they cut his heart to ribbons.  He uttered the words,
"Unless you give up this meddling, I myself will accuse you of
witchcraft."

This caught her attention.  Wide-eyed with fear, she said, "But
Uncle!  You would not..."

"Hear me, person who would listen.  This person has used words of
power upon me, which I cannot countenance.  This person has used
her own power to meddle in the lives of others, which they do not
deserve.  I cannot claim this person as my niece, anymore."

"Uncle!  Please!  I... I won't do this anymore!" Yucca promised,
unaware that she was promising the unlikely.

"This person can only hear that person if she speaks politely."

Yucca swallowed painfully, "I... This person... Uncle, you can't
mean it!"

Broken Cloud turned his back, so she could not see the tears in
his eyes as he addressed the far mountains. "What that person has
earned, she must accept," he said when he could trust his voice
to remain steady.

"Nooo!" gasped Yucca.

"Then tell me - What has brought about this terrible change in
you?"

"I don't know!" wailed Yucca, and she seemed to shrivel inside
herself, "I do not want to do this!"

Broken Cloud steeled himself, quelled the desire to comfort her,
"What would you do?" he asked.

"First, find what they love," said Yucca.  Her voice was rasping
and deeper than before, almost like a man's speech.

"What?"  Broken Cloud said as he felt, rather than heard, another
voice.  It seemed to echo along with Yucca's words, as though
from the depths of a great cavern.

Yucca stared at him blankly.  Now her words were sibilant, husky,
as she said, "Find what they love, and you can bind them to you.
You have drunk the tea, and that is the second step.  My
knowledge of the plants is put to good use..."

"Yucca Blossom, my niece," he said, invoking her full name, "Let
me help you."  She drew back from him, searching wildly about.

A WITCH INDEED:

Chilled with the realization that someone was nearby, Broken
Cloud called upon his power of clear seeing.  He chanted his
seeing spell and the grass became a more brilliant green, the
stone shone with luminous legends of ages past, and a dim shadow
floated into view, reclining on one of the stones.  Broken Cloud
lifted his staff, held it with both hands as he would a club.

"Who are you?"  he challenged.  The shadow flickered into
clarity, a wiry man wearing dark trousers and shirt, with his
black hair cut short in a Spanish style.  A leather belt with
strange glyphs and buttons on it went like a sash from left
shoulder to right hip.

The sight of the uniform brought rage to the old shaman's heart.
A Mexican soldier, here in the heart of the camp? But how...? He
recalled what Spider had said, that another was interfering, an
outsider threatening the village.

Broken Cloud expected no reply to his challenge, for no witch
wants his true name known.  With practiced ease, the shaman used
grabbed a handful of sacred pollen.  He flung a cloud of the
golden powder at the interloper.  If he was a witch, the pollen
would blind or confuse him...if he were not too powerful a witch.

The magical powder sparkled into smoke, which the stranger waved
away.

"My name is Espuma, and you can't harm me, you feeble old
cripple!" Espuma laughed as the smoke dissipated.  He made an
adjustment to a button on the sash belt, then stood before the
shaman.  "Strike me, if you would!" he cried, "You cannot touch
me!"

Broken Cloud stepped back.  The stranger was bold, extremely sure
of his powers.  The shaman studied the stranger, looking for
clues about the source of his power.  If the witch was using the
power of the horse, he would be susceptible to the rattlesnake.
If he was using eagle power, he could be brought down only by
another eagle.  If he was using bear power... the shaman shied
away from that thought. Bear power was strong, but he was
accustomed to the feeling of a person using it.

This witch was using a different type of power, something he had
never seen or felt before.  What could it be?

Almost absently, he noticed that the noises of the camp continued
unabated, as though no one was aware of the duel going on in
their midst.

A possibility sprang to mind - Was this person using Coyote
Power?

And the answer - No.

Coyote was sneaky enough to pull of a stunt like this, but
someone with Coyote power, rascal that he was, would never have
the black shadow of an aura that this person wore. This person
was evil, but he drew from no known source of power.

"It is clear to me that you are going to be troublesome," hissed
Espuma, "Yucca, my dear girl.  Please go play with your friends
while I talk to this old man."

"Stay!" commanded Broken Cloud.

"Oh, she must go," said Espuma, "You see, I want her to be
pliable, and eager - which she will not be if she sees what I
intend to do to you.  I know how to control her.  You obviously
do not.  Or you are reluctant to use your control, which makes
you the bigger fool.  Go, my dear."

"I will go where I want to!" snapped Yucca.  "I am going to the
woods!"

"Have it your way," said Espuma.  Watching her leave, he said,
"Lovely child.  She has this...this *vicious* streak in her.  I
could almost admire it.  Now, about our little problem, here...."

"Depart from this place!" Broken Cloud ordered.  He put the full
force of his power behind the command, but Espuma only shook his
head wearily.

"You really must stop wasting your breath," he said, patting the
buttons on his sash, "You see, I can nullify anything you do."
Pensively, he paced about the small clearing, adding, "As I said,
you are becoming troublesome.  I shall have to punish you."

Broken Cloud drew a tremendous breath.  He could see dark bands
of power swirling about the witch, an unfamiliar black flame with
a repugnant stench to his sensitive nostrils. When Espuma
fingered the leather sash, the darkness varied. So.  This witch
had a device from which he drew his power.

As quickly as a rattle snake, Broken Cloud stepped closer to the
stranger and thrust his staff at the sash, trying to strike it
loose.  The staff stopped in midair and rebounded, twisting in
his hands and striking him in the face.  He found himself sitting
on the ground, holding his head in astonishment.

Espuma did not even appear to notice.  "What we have here," he
said, "is a very stubborn old man.  Would it help to demonstrate
how helpless he is?"  He snapped his fingers and a ball of
baleful fire appeared at his fingertips.  He sent it hurtling at
Broken Cloud's head.

Broken Cloud swung his staff at the ball, knocking it aside, but
gobbets of the flame remained stuck to the staff.  The fire ate
away at it until he could rub it out in the dirt. Stiffly, he
regained his feet and faced the intruder.  "I can see that you
are evil!" he cried, "You must go away!  I will kill you if I
can!"

"Oh, that is it!" chortled Espuma, "You *can* see, can't you? How
very perfect!"

The old shaman watched him warily, his mind racing to find an
opening, some way he could breach the seemingly impenetrable
barrier around the intruder.  He saw the other reach for a button
on his sash, and then point....

The world went black.

"Now, let's hear you brag about seeing, old man!" came Espuma's
voice, "I can do anything I want, and you can't stop me!  I think
I will take that staff..."  Broken Cloud felt the gnarled wood
yanked from his hands, and an instant later he felt it slam
against his face, knocking him to the ground.  "How many blows
does it take to kill an old man?" mused Espuma, "How many before
you learn?"

"I have learned a few things through the years," gasped Broken
Cloud.  He could not see, but he could sense the witch looming
near, preparing to strike again.  Drawing another deep breath, he
marked the exact spot where the witch was standing.

When he had gained his clear sight, he had heard the words which
could draw power from the sky.  The words had split a tree
asunder, creating the splinter mask.  For years, he had lived
with that knowledge, unwilling to unleash such a horrendous death
upon anyone.

He now spoke those words.

The sky had been clearing after the morning rains, blue with only
a pale wisp of cloud drifting by.  Suddenly, black clouds
appeared overhead and split, unleashing a brilliant flare which
he saw even in his blindness, a flash of lightning which was
answered immediately with deafening thunder.

Broken Cloud was thrown from his feet by the violence of the
blast, and stung with splinters from the tree near the witch.
Dazed and almost deafened, the first thing he heard upon
regaining his feet was the taunting voice of the witch, standing
unhurt.

The witch plucked a few scraps of tree bark from his sleeve and
tossed them into his face, laughing at him.   "Was that the worst
you can do?" he asked. "Clearly, you have nothing to worry me.  I
am wasting my time with you.  If you will excuse me, I have an
appointment."

Broken Cloud needed no sight to tell him the clearing was empty,
as suddenly as a gust of wind.

In the silence that followed, he got to his feet with the use of
his walking staff and hobbled painfully out into the open.  He
waited to answer questions from the concerned people from the
camp.  Lightning had struck out of a clear sky and they would be
wanting an explanation.  He would tell them about facing the
witch, and for them to be wary.  But what could he do then?

He still could not see, but he had been blinded before.  He could
get around.  What concerned him was the empty, hollow feeling
that came from defeat - from knowing that he had failed to stop
the evil witch.  He was no longer Broken Cloud, a man of honor
and pride.  His lightning had been swallowed as though it were a
drop of moonlight.  He was broken, blinded...but not beaten.  He
would defeat the witch.

Out away from the camp, but where his people could still see him,
he built a small fire by touch and sat to ponder his dilemma. The
realization that he had failed brought the taste of bile to his
mouth.

There was another detail which needed attention.  In his dream,
when he had found the stone which showed him Yucca's betrayal, he
had also found a stone for Lucha.  The daughter of his old friend
was somehow important to him, and the witch was after her.

Anger seethed in the old shaman's breast.  This witch had
disdainfully entered his camp and attacked him, had suborned his
niece into his nefarious plans, and had laughed off Broken
Cloud's most powerful attack.

The man without a name wanted to deny the witch any victory. The
witch, this Espuma, would not get Lucha.

First, however, it was more necessary than ever to get her to
safety.  Then, if he could, he must find a way to attack the
witch.  Though he did not want to do so, he would have to ask for
help.  He would start with the cowboy, Lonesome.

WHEN TROUBLE FOLLOWS AFTER:

The crack of thunder sounded harsh and unreal, echoing through
the canyons and sparse woods.  The members of the small party
looked about, wondering where the storm was, but they could see
no cause for alarm.  Buffalo Wattle halted, his arm barring the
forward trail.  As he listened, his brow descended minutely and a
puzzled expression shadowed his face.  Then he returned his
attention to the grunts and rustling sounds around him.

"Javelinas?" White Dog hazarded a guess.

"Hmm," Buffalo Wattle agreed.  He balanced his club over his
shoulder.

"They walk ahead of us?  Unusual," said White Dog as he hefted
his spear and sought a glimpse of the furtive pigs.

The young men appeared to have forgotten Machita, so she kept her
mouth shut...until the words popped out, almost of their own
accord.  "We heard pigs earlier when we went to get honey," she
said.  Instantly, she shut up, but she had gained their attention
again.

"You would not have heard these Javelinas," said Buffalo Wattle,
"Your ears are too beautiful to hear them.  Such ears are meant
for words of love, not the sounds of pigs."

"We all heard them," Lucha interjected before Machita could
retort, "They were louder then, more careless."

Buffalo Wattle half turned to see if Lucha was correcting him,
but she too was watching the bushes.  "Remain alert," he
cautioned the rest of the group, "It could be an enemy trick."

Suddenly realizing that she had no weapon, excepting the sling,
Machita bent to find stones.  She yearned to be able to splash
water on herself and revert to male form, despite the dangers. If
she were Ramon, he would be guarding the girls.  Instead, she was
being guarded.  The thought itched at the back of her mind and
burned like an infected bee-sting.

"So, who is your enemy?" she asked as she straightened, having
chosen several large round pebbles.

"Everyone!" replied Buffalo Wattle.

"Not all, but many," White Dog moved his head enough to indicate
that he disagreed, "It is good to have enemies.  A good enemy
will keep you alert and make you strong.  I have heard this."

"These Javelinas do not make good enemies," said Andalejo, "They
do not show themselves.  Instead, they lurk and mutter."

"Are they good to eat?" asked Machita.

"Some do not eat the stinkpig," claimed Andalejo, "They don't eat
anything that eats snakes."

"Curious," said Buffalo Wattle, "they do not avoid us, yet they
do not attack."

"Where are they?" Machita said as she peered about, "I do not see
them."

"Just ahead," said Buffalo Wattle as they came out into the open.
To Lucha he said, "Woman, you will remain here while I chase
these pests away."

Buffalo Wattle left his club on the ground and drew his knife, a
battered steel blade with Spanish markings.  Moving so quietly
that he appeared to float, he slipped toward the noises.  White
Dog followed, then Andalejo.  Machita started after them, but
Lucha raised her hand and shook her head. Reluctantly, Machita
stayed.

There was silence, then a grunt of surprise from several animals.
Two male javelina trotted into the clearing, glancing behind
them in annoyance.  A female javelina sped in from another
direction and positioned herself cautiously beside the males. The
group cast about nervously as Lucha and the girls stood frozen,
watching them.  The javelinas were joined by two more animals,
and shortly afterward the Apache men followed.

Buffalo Wattle grinned as he eased up within a few feet of the
animals.  They watched him but did not move away until he reached
down and slapped one on the rump.  That boar bounded into the air
and turned to catch Buffalo Wattle but the Apache was too agile
for him.  As White Dog slipped into the clearing, the other
javelinas faced Buffalo Wattle and tried to back away from him.
White Dog also sneaked up behind them and swatted one.

The angry boar narrowly missed the Apache lad's arm, but White
Dog withdrew too quickly for him.

Machita watched their antics with wonder.   They were having a
grand time, baiting the javelinas.  The javelinas, in turn, were
becoming irritated and were no longer trying to escape.  They
charged at Buffalo Wattle, but he jumped over them with a laugh,
then reached down to pull a tail before darting out of their
reach.  Andalejo joined the group by racing into the clearing and
jumping over the entire herd of animals at once.

When the javelinas became so enraged that they attacked anything
that moved, the Apache lads climbed into trees and laughed.

They were having an immense amount of fun, which bothered
Machita.

Andalejo dropped to the ground.  He dashed back and forth with
such speed that the pigs quit trying to catch him and retired to
a central spot in order to keep an eye on all of them.

Buffalo Wattle called from his perch in the stunted tree. "We
will hold them here!" he shouted, "You girls go ahead and get the
food!"  Two pigs circling the tree snapped at him as he dangled a
leg before them, pulling it back an instant before their tusks
could slash him.

"We were going to do all the work, anyway," sniffed Lucha. She
started back to the trail, along with Red Cloud.

Machita set her burden basket on the ground and started back
toward the milling pigs.

Lucha called back to her, "You can stay here with 'Dances With
Pigs' if you wish.  We are going on to the cache."

"Then I am going with you," Machita said after hesitating,
returning to Lucha with a wistful glance backward.

"I saw the way you were looking at them," said Lucha in a softer
voice, "Do you wish to stay because of him?"

"Huh?  No!  No!" cried Machita hotly, "Whatever gave you that
idea?  They were chasing the pigs, and I wanted to join them!  I
have been womanly long enough!  I want to have some fun!"

Red Cloud chimed in.  "I have a friend who spoke those very same
words," she said, "She said she wanted to have some fun."

"So what?" Machita demanded.

"She got married last month," grinned Red Cloud.

Machita stalked back to her burden basket and picked it up. "That
does it!" she declared, "There is no way I am going to stay here,
now!"  However, she turned for one last look as the trail led
them into the brush.  "I wanted to chase the pigs, too," she
sighed.

Lucha frowned.  "One tomboy in the family is enough," she said.
"And I like to think I have grown out of foolish games.  It is
time you did, too."

As they followed the faint trail, Lucha went on to speak of a
childhood spent moving from one campsite to another.  She told of
one escapade when she met a skunk while exploring the rocks and
crevasses of a new campsite.

Machita countered with a tale of the time Ramon had gone
searching for Estrellita, when the rancherita had deliberately
lost herself.

Then Red Cloud told of her own childhood, and the three were
laughing merrily as they came out of the brush.  Down the slope,
they found the entrance to the storage cave.

Baskets, shattered pottery, broken poles and scattered ripped
clothing littered the ground.  The cave had been ransacked and
the food spoiled, with mounds of sweet-grass and twigs used for
packing strewn about.  Ruined food lay in the dust - baskets of
nuts strewn about, half-eaten jerked meat torn to shreds, and
grain dumped and trod upon.

"The javelinas did this!" growled Lucha.

They saw enough of the spoilage to learn that there was not
enough food left to gather.  They started unhappily back to the
camp.

The noise arose before they could go very far, a rustling grumble
which sounded like the rocks themselves were murmuring.  It came
from the hill they had recently descended, from what looked at
first glance to be mounds of dead bushes.

"The grass is moving!" Red Cloud hissed.

Gray and black bushes stirred and shifted, seeming to bristle,
rolling in waves from an unseen wind.  Fountains of dust spurted
into the air.  A deeper rustling sound arose, and from the gray
mass came a querulous grumble.  Hundreds of small red eyes
blinked open and stared at them as javelinas swarmed down the
hill.

"Caramba!" said Machita, "I think we have stepped in something!"