Spanish Encounter, II

Elizio was assigned the third watch, that time in the night when the darkness begins to lighten to dawn.

The sun came differently in this mountain valley than it did on the plains, he noted. Its light cast a glow onto the western peaks even while the eastern slopes still lay in shadow. If you didn’t know better, you would think the sun was rising in the west. He shook his head and blinked his eyes, allowing them to adjust.

A mist had risen from the streams meandering along the valley floor, creating mysterious shapes and shrouding the long grasses. Elizio squinted. A figure rose from the mist and came toward him. An Apache warrior. Hands shaking, Elizio lifted his spear. Another figure emerged, then another. Elizio opened his mouth to call for help, but the first man’s hands were empty, palms up to show he had no weapons. The others also.

“Peace,” one of them said. “We would speak to el capitán.”

Elizio lowered his spear and thrust out a hand, palm toward the warriors. He forced his voice calm. “You wait here,” he ordered. “I will go for him.”

Copyright © 2016 Loretta Miles Tollefson


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