The Rebel

Wanna come out where I can see ya, friend?

Uncle John.

Well, you're one day and 60 miles out here, aren't you?

I'm early, but I ain't your uncle.

I never was.

No, but you were always mean enough to be.

Besides, my pa always taught me to respect my elders.

They real dead?

Unless they got nine lives.

Some do.

You here to pay your pa's debt?

Yes, sir.

I told him throw away that tin star.

You wear it, you always end up and dyin'.

You remember when I saved your pa's life, huh?

Sure do.

You got some whiskey?

No, sir.

This'll help close the wound and keep it from festerin'.

You didn't even blink an eye.

Ain't my head.

Now you owe me for savin' your pa's life

and now yours, too, boy.

You gonna pay it?

Uncle John, I've come 1500 miles.

What do you want?

You know you was named after me?

Yes, sir.

No more than a half a dozen people warmed me

in all my life.

Your pa, your ma, you.

My wife.

You remember your Aunt Emily, boy?

Yes, sir.

Her fried chicken, too.

She's dead.

I'm sorry, Uncle John.

We got no children of our own

except that died bornin'.

You know what your pa could do?

He could hunt a man.

He had the patience of Job.

And he had the knowledge

to hunt a man.

Boy, you know what I'm talkin' about?

Yes, sir.

Pa always said there were only a certain amount

of moves the hunted could make,

and a certain amount of moves a hunter could make.

Ya knew 'em, you studied 'em,

and peace officers usually came out ahead.

Any of that rub off on you?

Well, pa used to say I had a nose for it.

You know what I am, boy?

No, sir.

I'm a scalp hunter.

They're worth 100 pesos in Mexico, their hair is.

That's how I earn my living.

I was gonna ask you to make a hunt with me.

Your pa woulda said yes.

Hunt who?

Apache.

Boy, I'm half blind.

Oh, I can see find in distance,

but I can't see my nose in front of me,

and I can't follow a trail no more.

Just any Apache or do you have a preference?

The name's Masi.

Somethin' special.

He killed 11 white people.

Not countin' Injuns and squaws.

You gonna pay me what you owe me?

I was sorry about your pa.

He was a good man.

So,

better take their hair.

I remember Uncle John.

Musta been eight or 10 years old

when he saved my father's life.

He stood there in the street with him

when no one else would.

Killed two men.

That night, my mother kissed him and thanked him,

and Aunt Emily baked a blueberry pie.

Aunt Emily sure could make blueberry pie.

Uncle John?

Uncle John?

Hm?

How did Aunt Emily die?

Well,

homestead was burned.

And she was in it.

Why did you come to my camp?

I was huntin' those two.

Besides, the good Lord says to protect little children.

Don't he?

I guess so.

We go to county seat tomorrow

and get us some supplies.

Then we move toward the high Chiricahuas.

Not far, boy

$40 for that nag, huh?

They must think money grows on trees.

Hey, boy, you old enough to drink?

Yes, sir.

Can I buy you one for the road?

No, sir.

Don't you wanna drink with me?

I forgot to buy some shells.

Sheriff?

My name's Armstedder, son, I'm kind of in a hurry.

What can I do for you?

Maybe you can tell me about an Apache called Masi.

You're with John Sims?

Yes, sir.

Well, he's worth $200, if that's what you want to know.

No, sir, I wanted to know about him.

Well, he's Chiricahua Apache.

No one knows what he looks like or how old he is.

The Apaches say he's young,

got gentle features.

He rode with Wild Bear for five years.

Last year Wild Bear signed a peace treaty

with the great white father.

Wild Bear rode in San Calis,

army boys grabbed him.

Threw him and his people into a box car,

padlocked the doors, and nailed 'em up.

They the ones that was shipped to Florida?

That's right.

44 Indians in that furnace for 24 days.

Five of them died and one escaped,

only God knows how.

Masi?

It was in Idaho.

He made his way back here about 1800 miles.

Killed five white men and women on the way,

six more since, they say.

Since then, he's been stealin' food and women

from his own people.

Then he kills the women so they can't betray him

to the Apache police.

That's Masi.

You sound like you like him.

Well, he's a man, you gotta give him that.

Why does John Sims hate him?

I mean, why so personal?

Well, they say Masi stole from him one day

when he was out hunting,

then burned his wife alive in their homestead.

How 'bout that drink you were gonna buy me?

You figure you can stand the smell of me?

You're my godfather, aren't you?

We're seven days out of the country seat now.

I don't think Uncle John is wrong.

Masi killed his wife.

He wants revenge.

Three days ago when I found the lone tracks,

he said just loud enough for me to hear,

"I thank you, God."

"I thank you for this boy's eyes."

The tracks were large and diffuse

but had the look of moccasin tracks just the same,

and there was something peculiar about their gait.

As though one leg might be shorter than the other.

Uncle John believes that they're the tracks of Masi.

It's furnace hot during the day.

I think I'm tracking well.

I feel close to my father.

Feel lucky?

I don't know, why?

He won't run, boy.

He'll try to kill us.

Yup.

Did you lose it?

They're his tracks again,

or ones just like 'em.

Yeah?

With the funny shoe?

Yes, sir.

He is makin' it easier for us.

They're fresh.

Real fresh.

You never know what to do.

You travel along the rim of the hills

and you're a silhouette.

You can be seen, you can be shot.

And you move along the gullies,

and someone can take you from above.

I dunno.