Doctor Who_ Atom Bomb Blues - Andrew Cartmel [53]
The men who appeared from the pines were wearing coats of rough woven material that looked like blankets. The bold patterns on the coats, thick red and black lines, emphasised the resemblance. Two of the men wore hats; one a baseball cap and the other what Ace thought of as a regular cowboy hat –
the first she’d seen since her arrival here in what she still regarded as the Wild West. The third man had no hat, and his long, lank, black hair hung down to his shoulders. He was the oldest of the three, with a seamed, haggard face, and dark glittering eyes set deep in nests of wrinkles. The man in the cowboy hat looked like he was in his forties. His face was marked with a 94
purple scar that ran down his right cheek and curled onto his neck. The one in the baseball cap was little more than a kid, just out of his teens. They both shared the old man’s dark skin, black hair and dark eyes.
The guns they were carrying were rifles. The weapons looked battered and well worn. The kid’s had a stock that had split and been repaired with black tape. But they all seemed more than serviceable and the three men standing there, brandishing them in the last rays of sunset, looked formidable, not to mention menacing.
The Doctor smiled and, before Ace could stop him, he set off up the slope towards them, straight into the barrels of their guns. ‘Hello, Black Eyes,’ he said.
The old man smiled, the wrinkles on his face multiplying, and lowered his gun. ‘I thought it was you, Doctor. Your body’s different but your soul is still the same.’ As he lowered his weapon the others followed suit and Ace started breathing again.
Standing behind her, Ray whispered, ‘Who are these cats?’
Ace just
shrugged and gestured for him to shut up.
But the Doctor had caught the whisper. He finished shaking hands with the old man and turned back to Ace and Ray. ‘Allow me to introduce Black Eyes, Scar and. . . ’ he paused, squinting at the young Indian, ‘and this must be Black Eyes’ grandson and Scar’s nephew, Sun Runner.’ The boy looked up at him with surprise and appreciation. ‘How is your mother?’ said the Doctor.
‘Do remember me to her.’
‘OK,’ said the boy shyly. The old man, Black Eyes, set off abruptly down the hillside without a word, and the other two Indians followed him. Ace looked at the Doctor, who nodded, and they set off after the Indians. Ray waited for a moment, then followed the others.
‘I repeat,’ he said in a low voice, ‘who are these cats? I mean, I dig their colourful ethnic names, but who are they?’
‘They’re my friends,’ said the Doctor simply.
‘But where are they from?’ Ray sounded anxious to get his bearings in this new situation and Ace sympathised; she knew that feeling. She was glad that somebody else was asking the questions for once.
‘Where are they from?’ said the Doctor. ‘Well, once they moved freely throughout this land, spending their winters south on the Rio Grande, following the buffalo across the plains in the summer. Now they are restricted to the Mescalero Apache reservation here in central southern New Mexico.’
‘Apaches?’ said Ray. He was impressed. So was Ace.
‘Yes. The word Apache comes from a Yuma word meaning “warrior”. The Mescalero designation refers to the fact that they were originally a hunter-gatherer people who harvested and ate the heads of the wild mescal plants.
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The same mescal which is used to make a certain alcoholic beverage which is popular in these parts.’
‘I’ve drunk mescal,’ said Ace. ‘It’s got a worm in the bottom of the bottle. If you finish the bottle you’re supposed to eat the worm.’
‘Did you?’ said Ray. He picked his way down the hill with a fat man’s caution, stepping delicately among the rocks. They were following the three Apaches, who had almost reached the bottom of the slope, where it met the rising ground of the hill flank opposite.
‘I never finished the bottle, fortunately,’ said Ace.
‘Hey, wait a minute man,’ said Ray. ‘Isn’t that mescal a kind of cactus-type thing?’ Ace sighed, sensing what was coming. ‘Do you suppose these cats