Kitt Peak (17 page)

Then the world exploded around him. He saw one of the Apaches running toward him, knife out; saw another coming from the opposite direction. There was pandemonium behind him. The noises got very loud. His eyes began to cloud. The final vision he had was of an old Apache leaping toward him, long knife in hand -

"Down!" Mawdrey shouted. For a moment Roosevelt thought he was shot, and thought immediately of the young boy on his shoulders. He felt himself pushed to the floor of the platform, felt warm blood on his face.

"The boy!" he shouted. But Mawdrey was already covering him. Roosevelt put his hand to his face and drew it away. It was covered in blood. But when he looked up he saw the black man, Lincoln, still standing, dazed, holding his crutches, a spread of blood rising through his shirt at the shoulder.

"Attend to that man!" Roosevelt shouted, thrusting Mawdrey off him, turning to see the boy's mother holding the lad, pulling him close to her.

"He's all right," the woman said. "He's all right."

Roosevelt stood, caught Lincoln as he collapsed, his crutches sliding away from him.

"Sorry, Mr. President . . ." Lincoln said.

"Nonsense!" Roosevelt shouted. "My God, a hero again!"

Lincoln nodded weakly, and then fell to un-consciousness.

Thomas awoke, after what seemed a very long sleep, in the same bed in Marshal Murphy's house he'd had before. For a moment he thought he had never left, and that everything that came rushing back at him that had happened on Kitt Peak and in Tucson had been merely a dream. But when he tried to sit up, and felt the bolt of hot pain shoot through the bandaged wound in his right shoulder, he knew he had not been dreaming.

Mary Murphy appeared with her habitual tray of food.

"You should be hungry, Lieutenant," she said, matter-of-factly. "You've been asleep for two days."

"Two days!"

He slid back down in the bed, finding a spot to accommodate his sore shoulder and aching head.

"That's right," Marshal Murphy said. "Your friend, Lincoln, only slept twenty-four hours. Doctor Hazeltine said you were under the influence of some drug, and might not come awake for days."

"Lincoln — "

"He's fine," Marshal Murphy said. "Wounded in the shoulder, like you. The bullet missed Roosevelt by eight inches. You killed Lone Wolf, you know. You also saved the President's life and my son's, who was on Roosevelt's shoulders at the time."

Thomas grunted.

"Don't you want to know what happened to you?"

"I take it the Apache who attacked me was not accurate with his knife thrust."

"My God, man, you fought him off! There were two Secret Service men a half block away, along with one of my men, but they didn't get there until it was nearly over. Two of the Apaches were captured, the other two killed. You were raving about falling through the sky, an eagle — "

"The peyote," Thomas said. "It was unpleasant, and powerful."

"I take it you have some story to tell me, when you're up to it," Marshal Murphy went on. "We went up to the Papagos reservation yesterday, found a couple of bodies at the base of Kitt Peak. One of them was Cates, the other Bill Adams's daughter."

Thomas said, "Le-Cato, the Tohono O'otam chief, was killed, also. He was something of a hero, in the end."

"He was being buried when we got to the reservation. When you're up to it…"

"Yes, we'll talk later, Marshal."

"Good."

Josh appeared, bearing a book. He went to Thomas, and laid it on the bed, then ran out.

"A present," Marshal Murphy said, "from the President. He wanted badly to meet you, but had to move on. Had a campaign schedule to meet. They're trying to downplay the incident. In fact, they control the press, and they're going to make believe it didn't happen. There's an election coming up, and they don't want anything to mar Roosevelt's western trip. But the President wanted you to have that."

Grunting with the pain it caused him, Thomas turned the book over. It was a leather-bound edition of
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
Inside the flyleaf was written, "To a bully fellow, a real man, from one Holmes admirer to another." It was signed, "Theodore Roosevelt."

"It was his own copy, which he'd brought along on the trip," Marshal Murphy said. "You'll also be happy to learn we captured your friend, Forsen, and his buddies. Frawley's in custody, too, though we're pretty sure he knew nothing about the plot against

Roosevelt. I can guarantee he'll spend time in jail, though. There are Army contingents already rounding up the rest of Lone Wolfs braves."

Thomas nodded, put the book aside. "I must thank the President...."

His eyes were heavy, and when he forced them open a few moments later, before falling back to sleep, Marshal Murphy and his wife were leaving the room.

Later, he awoke, and felt wide awake. The sun was still up, and he heard sounds outside the house. Moving slowly from the bed, he saw outside the curtains the marshal in the back, chopping wood, little Joshua running around as his mother hung wash.

With slow steps, Thomas made his way to the front room. The shades were drawn, but Lincoln was in the spot Thomas had left him in the last time, leg in a cast up on the end of the sofa. A new bandage covered his right shoulder. He turned and grinned at Thomas as he entered the room.

"Hello, Lieutenant."

"Seems we can form a shoulder wound club, Trooper."

"Yes, sir."

"You feeling fit?"

"Will in a week or so. Mrs. Murphy was kind enough to wire Matty. I'm afraid she made me sound like a hero for taking a bullet I didn't know was coming. Matty's heading out here herself to fetch me back home." He grinned. "I don't think she trusts you at all, Lieutenant."

"I don't blame her, Trooper."

"What are you going to do now, Lieutenant? When it's time to move on, I mean?"

Thomas frowned.
"I
don't quite know, but I think I'll be staying out in this part of the country. There's too much of it in me, I'm afraid."

Lincoln sighed. "I know what you mean, sir."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Don't tell me you're thinking of giving up sharecropping?"

"I'll have to talk it over with Matty, first, but. . ."

Thomas laughed. "Perhaps we'll be neighbors, Trooper. Maybe we'll even work together again."

Lincoln winced. "That much I'll have to see about, sir. Somehow I don't think
I
should include that possibility when
I
talk to my wife."

Thomas patted the young man on the shoulder. "You do what you have to, Trooper. But
I
can tell you now; you make one hell of a good Watson. Keep that in mind."

"I will, sir."

"Rest now, Trooper Reeves." Thomas stood up stiffly, trying not to wince at his own pain. He turned back toward the bedroom. "At least for a little while, that's what I'm going to do."