In an America that might have been, two war orphans from a divided nation, one in the north and one in the south, meet across a vast battlefield, striking out to forge a future together in the west. It's 1892, the fourth and bloodiest year of the Ci...
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"Boys, I would like to introduce you to Deke Hayden."
Deke hadn't expected this as they left the colonel. These men were all old hard veterans, at least from Deke's point of view. Their looks as they nodded in his direction just about sent him back through the tent flap.
"He's a crack shot, practically feral, and honest to the core," Big said, with a smile.
That sent several eyebrows up.
"I'd like to see that," said a steel-eyed, leather skinned, woodsman in an Indian jacket, Union soldier pants, and black boots that looked like they had walked a thousand miles.
Big snorted. "What do you say, Deke?" he said in Deke's ear. "Let's show 'em."
Deke didn't want to show anyone anything. He was thinking that Mexico might have been the right decision after all and was about ready to pack up and head south. But somehow he got pushed outside; so he walked over to Ned to get his rifle.
But he took pity on poor Ned, who had had a long day. "Give me a minute," he said, and he began unloading Ned and the mare. Ned's fur was matted under his blanket and Deke tried to smooth it with his hand. Big handed him a brush and began unloading the other horses. Deke worked out the worst of it, and then checked the hooves. They were fit, but would need some work. Then he pulled his rifle from his saddle holster and turned to see that the men had come out and had been watching.
"Wait for me to finish," Big said.
Deke frowned at the men, put his rifle back, picked up the brush and set to work helping Big. Then their bags were just sitting there in the dirt. Deke looked around but could see no place to rack the saddles or anything.
"That tent over there," Big said, tipping his head towards a nearby tent.
Deke hoisted up a couple of saddles and took off towards the tent, then came back for bags, and then Big was there hauling too. Lastly, he picked up his own saddle, racked it, and then came back with his rifle and a box of cartridges.
One of the men said, "Can I see that rifle?" and held out his hand.
Deke silently handed it to him.
Several of the men glanced at the carved stock.
"That's Navaho isn't it?" the one holding it asked.
"Yavapai," Deke said.
"Bet you didn't buy it either," the man replied, and handed it back.
He stared Deke in the eye, but Deke couldn't figure out what it meant. Then they all turned and started downhill.
"Go on," Big said, still smiling.
So he followed. They had a target range, really more of a trash heap, set up at the bottom of the hill. A couple of the men picked up some hole-ridden cans and set them on top of sticks that someone had poked in the ground. Then they all stood back and looked at Deke.
