Free The Grey Pilgrim by J.M. Hayes

might normally have been.
    “You all know,” he told them, “Fast Walker and his group have returned from trading with the rancher.” There was murmured agreement. Fast Walker stiffened his spine with pride. Jujul had sent him because he was a man who needed to be kept busy. Like most of the young men, he’d taken too much pleasure in the rock throwing and been hard to restrain from killing when Larson came back with the others. Like all young people, he did not comprehend the possibility of his own death. All he saw in these events was adventure. He had liked it, and wanted more. But Fast Walker was clever. He could follow instructions when he understood the reasons. The village needed to find out what the Whites were doing about them, but they needed to do so in ways that would cast no suspicion. Jujul sent him with a few cattle to trade for ammunition and tools, and impressed on him the need for secrecy. He had Fast Walker and his men take along their wives, making it less likely they might persuade themselves they were on a raid.
    “I hoped the rancher, a man whose name is Burns, would not know about the affair at our village. I thought, perhaps, we shamed Larson and the tribal police sufficiently so they might not talk of this thing. I told Fast Walker and his people that they must be very cautious in asking about the event, but they did not even have to ask. It was the favorite topic of conversation of the rancher and his hands, many of whom are themselves
O’odham
. When our people were asked if they had heard the news, they pretended they had not. They were immediately told several versions, each noteworthy for its elaborate detail, and its inaccuracy. Larson apparently vilified us, claiming we were dangerous, cold-blooded killers who struck without cause or warning. He might have been widely believed but for contrary statements from Deputy Sheriff Gonzales and the White Man with him.
    “Now, it seems, the Whites are of mixed council as to how we should be dealt with. Some even side with us and say we, not Larson and his police, were right. Others wish to hunt us down, make us examples, so our tribe will not forget what happens to those who challenge the White Man’s rules.”
    As he spoke, Jujul unconsciously stroked the pouch at his belt in which he kept the paper the federal man who had been with Gonzales left along with the gift of tobacco. It was a puzzling thing. He knew White Men used paper to send messages. Its marks and squiggles were undoubtedly meant to convey some meaning to him, but he had no idea what it might be. It was one of many things he needed to learn about the people who must now be regarded as his enemies.
    His was a small band, less than two hundred, even counting those too young or ancient to chew their own food. The Anglos were said to be a mighty people, but Jujul knew almost nothing about them. He had purposefully avoided them for more than twenty years. Few of his people had ever lived among the Whites, and those had only worked at their ranches. Some of the men had been to tribal headquarters at Sells, but Sells was a mixed community with pieces of three cultures. It did not seem a good place on which to base too many assumptions. None of his people had ever visited the Whites in their own villages. Thus, Jujul did not know how they lived or what they wanted. His only clues to how they would fight were based on two encounters and only one of those had been against warriors. He needed knowledge, and, surprisingly, he had been offered a chance to get it.
    “The trading of cattle is a new thing for Fast Walker, so I will not blame him for getting too little ammunition and too few tools for our stock.” Fast Walker’s spine slumped a little. Best to instill some humility to offset his growing pride.
    “Perhaps, because he was able to make such a profitable trade, the rancher Burns has offered us a valuable gift. It seems there is a White Woman who seeks to become a sort of elder