“Stay out of this, Theodosia.”
She had no time to object further. Mamante moved away from the infant, Roman stalked him, and the fight began.
Roman swung the dagger in an arc, barely missing Mamante’s face. He then lunged forward, ramming his head into Mamante’s stomach and causing the warrior to double over. Before Mamante could catch his breath and straighten, Roman knocked him to the ground with a powerful side kick to the chest.
Flat on his back, Mamante clutched handfuls of dirt and closed his eyes. A long moment passed before he struggled to his feet. Heaving, he staggered as if intoxicated, swinging his fists through empty air.
Theodosia felt nauseated by Roman’s vicious treatment of the weakened Indian. “Roman, stop this madness! You’re going tokillhim!”
In answer, Roman slammed his fist into Mamante’s jaw, causing the brave to spin in the dirt and fall once more. Again, Mamante rose from the ground. He stood motionless, his back bowed, his head hung low.
In an effort to force Mamante to summon the strength to fight back, Roman moved toward the squalling infant. When he reached the baby, he stood directly over him and gave Mamante a grim smile.
Fear for the child froze Mamante to the spot for one short moment. And then, fury radiating from each part of him, he released an ear-splitting war cry and sprang forward, knocking Roman well away from the child.
Still on his feet, Roman raised the dagger directly above Mamante’s head, anticipating the Indian’s response. Instantly, the warrior grabbed and squeezed Roman’s wrist.
Having received the exact reaction he wanted, Roman pretended to struggle for possession of the blade, then jammed his knee into Mamante’s belly. As Mamante slipped to the ground, Roman fell with him. Rolling in the dirt the two men continued the battle for the knife.
Finally, Roman slowly unfurled his fingers from around the hilt.
Screaming a second war cry, Mamante yanked the knife from Roman’s hand. Both men rose. Roman stood still, but Mamante leaped backward. His black eyes gleaming, he threw himself back to the ground and somersaulted toward his adversary.
As Mamante rolled past him, Roman tensed in preparation for the sharp pain to come. Though he knew it would happen, he made no move to prevent it, and in the next second he felt a sharp pain rip through his thigh. Clutching the knife wound, he turned in time to see Mamante charging toward him again, dagger in hand. Roman took one long step to the side, and just as Mamante raced by, he took hold of the warrior’s arm. Leaning backward, he shoved his foot into Mamante’s belly and allowed himself to fall on his back, thus tossing the brave over his head.
Dazed, Mamante stared at the sky for a moment before realizing he’d dropped the blade.
Get the knife, dammit!Roman demanded silently.
Mamante lifted his body from the ground with his left arm and stretched his right arm out toward the weapon, but he fell back to the dirt when Roman kicked his supporting arm. Panting, Mamante curled into a ball and rolled directly onto the dagger. Clutching it with both hands, he bolted to his feet and slowly began to circle Roman.
Though he knew full well that the Comanche would fight to the death, Roman had no intention of allowing the battle to continue. Mamante’s exhaustion was obvious, and Roman would not force the courageous warrior to expend what little strength he had left.
It was time to be defeated.
He charged toward Mamante, who responded by leaping into the air and kicking both feet into Roman’s chest. When Roman fell, Mamante knelt by his head, grabbed his hair, and held the knife to his throat.
Roman lay still and silent, pretending a wild-eyed expression he hoped Mamante would interpret as fear.
“Roman,” Theodosia called, her voice almost a whisper. “Mamante.” Standing in the shade beneath a massive oak tree, she held the Indian baby close to her breast, and with a wealth of emotion in her eyes, she begged the men to cease fighting.
They looked at her and saw her tears, which trickled down her cheeks and fell upon the infant in her arms.
Silently, Roman congratulated her. He realized she had no idea how poignant her tears and helplessness appeared as she cuddled the baby while witnessing such violence, but he knew the Comanche warrior would be deeply moved by her concern for his son.
“Please stop,” Theodosia murmured. Pale with the horror of what she’d seen, she lifted the baby to her face and wept into his soft black hair.
Swiftly, Mamante stood. Staring down at Roman, he flung down the knife.
It impaled the ground beside Roman’s left ear. Roman didn’t flinch but only gazed up at the warrior. The renewed pride he saw flashing in Mamante’s eyes convinced him he’d done well by forcing the Comanche to fight him.
Roman pulled the dagger out of the dirt and got to his feet. “Theodosia, put the baby down, and make a bag of food.”
She walked slowly toward the Comanche warrior, laid the child in his arms, and adjusted the infant’s blanket before crossing to the wagon. There she filled a bag with bacon, dried beans, apples, cornmeal, several jars of preserved vegetables, a loaf of bread, and a generous quantity of sugar.
While she finished preparing the sack of food, Roman fashioned a bridle with a length of rope he carried on his saddle. He then unhitched the mustang from the wagon and slipped the bridle over the horse’s head.
His shoulders back, his chin lifted high, Mamante accepted his winnings and took the rope reins from Roman’s hand. While Theodosia held the baby, he swung himself onto his new mount, then slipped the food bag strings over his shoulder. Theodosia gave him the infant, but his face remained void of emotion until Roman held out his rifle and an ample supply of ammunition.
