Free Riders of the Pale Horse by T. Davis Bunn Page A

the mountains still, are the Svaneti, then the Ushguli, then the Ossetians. The Ossetians are the first tribe both north and south of the mountains, because here lies the first great Caucasus pass. We are also the only Christian hill tribe left alive. You as a warrior will understand what this means. Here in the heart of the mountain tribes stands the Ossetian stake, which the Muslim tribes are sworn to tear from the earth and burn on the fires of their hatred.”
    â€œWhat is there to the east of us?” Robards demanded, focused on the map at his feet.
    â€œNorth of the mountains, the Chechen and Ingush, as I have said,” Mikhail replied, almost chanting the words. “In the southern highlands, some Chechen and Ingush still, but not many. Mostly Tusheti tribes. Some Karachai also, but most Stalin deported to Siberia. They have not returned.”
    â€œIs there trouble in that area?”
    â€œFor the modern man, there is trouble everywhere,” Mikhail replied, “but more here than elsewhere. Farther east the mountains curve down southward and fall into the Dagestani lowlands, which in turn slide into the Caspian Sea.”
    Robards pointed with the toe of his boot to the region where the mountains began their curve. “What about to the west here?”
    â€œThe Kasheti region of Georgia,” Mikhail answered once Wade had translated. “Though they are more a name than a tribe in these days. Stalin had a special hatred for them. Why, no one knows. But almost the entire tribe was scattered. On the other side of the Georgian border, here to the southeast, lies Azerbaijan. Further south, Armenia. To the southwest, Turkey. There again one finds the battle betweenMuslim and Christian, especially in the Christian enclave inside Azerbaijan.”
    Robards nodded approvingly. “Your knowledge is great, old man.”
    â€œIn my youth I journeyed far and wide,” the elder replied proudly. “I was a trader, and a good one. Dagestani carpets were my specialty.”
    â€œAre there passes down through the Caucasus range to the southern lands?”
    â€œNone that are not fiercely guarded by tribesmen.” Mikhail squinted. “Was not our objective the highland hospital?”
    â€œAlways best to know where the back door’s located,” Robards replied. “Ask the gent how old he is.”
    â€œI am about to see my seventieth year.” He cupped his arm close to his chest and made as though holding an invisible gun. “Yet remain strong enough to hold a Skorpion with one hand and shoot a level line.”
    â€œSkorpion’s a machine pistol with the kick of a mule,” Robards explained to Wade. “Says a lot about the world we’re in when an old guy uses that as the symbol of his health. Tell him I hope I’m in such shape at his age, if I make it that far.”
    â€œYour friend carries the scent of good fortune with him,” Mikhail replied. “That is why I agreed to come. He should choose to remain and make his home here. There is much work for one such as him, and the hillsmen are known for their long lives. My father still tends his sheep, and my great-uncle swears he will see his two hundredth year.”
    â€œWe oughta talk once this little jaunt’s over,” Robards replied. “First I need to see how much chance there is of me walking into somebody else’s bullet.” He stared at the crude map drawn in the dust and said, “Tell me about the pass we’ll be taking.”
    â€œWe shall join the Georgia Military Highway south of Vladikavkaz, North Ossetia’s capital city,” the old man replied. “This follows the central and clearest pass through these jutting peaks. It winds through gorges and hairpin turns anddrops and ravines before descending into Georgia. The road is the single paved Caucasus artery, not often either washed out or bombed. Too many trucks carrying far too many goods