Follow the Wind Read Online Free PDF Page B

much pride in their platoon that it appeared they would follow their young officer into hell itself. The crossbowmen, well-paid professional soldiers,
likewise seemed proud of their position with the expedition. As for the others, most were Garcia family servants. Some had been with the Garcias for generations and would undoubtedly die for the old don if it were requested.
    Sanchez was always alert for an alternative course of action which would allow him flexibility in case he saw opportunity. This was his entire way of survival—to change loyalties when it seemed profitable. His frustration now was based largely on the fact that his choices were so limited. The reluctant scoundrel was being carried along on the crest of a wave of loyalty and enthusiasm. How very odd that everyone else in the party shared this feeling, when the whole mission had been the creation of Sanchez in the first place.
    He glanced over at the conversation in progress between Lizard and the chief squatting across from him. Suddenly, all his attention was focused on the two. The chief was gesturing and nodding eagerly, pointing northward and holding up his spread fingers.
    Don Pedro leaned forward and spoke sharply to Sanchez.
    â€œWhat does he say?”
    Lizard was listening intently to the rapidly talking native. After what seemed an eternity, he turned to the others, a look of mixed wonderment and pleasure on his face.
    â€œHim say yes, hair-face boy! Big medicine.” He pointed to the north. “Him six, maybe seven sleeps.”
    Garcia was bubbling over with questions and, for some time, the awkward conversation continued. Actually, little new information was gained. The basic message was the original one.
    A few days’ travel to the north, there was apparently a village where a young hair-faced man lived. He was regarded with special honor of some sort. Beyond that information, the conversation was limited, both by language problems and by lack of any actual knowledge on the part of their informants. The story was mostly hearsay. There was apparently no one in this village who had actually seen the hair-face. They had only heard rumors.
    Nevertheless, Don Pedro Garcia was convinced that the
young man they told of would prove to be his son. He could hardly wait to begin the next day’s travel.
    Sanchez was not so certain. There was something here that did not ring true. The entire thing was too easy. Certainly, the story told by these savages fit precisely that which he had fabricated for the old don. That bothered him considerably to start with. How could any set of actual facts coincide with the series of falsehoods which came entirely from his own imagination? He shook his head in bewilderment.
    The others could not understand the hesitance of Sanchez. The entire membership of the Garcia expedition was jubilant. The slim chance that had led the party halfway around the world was about to pay off. Ah, the honor that would be their lot if the mission were a success. Some possibly even thought of the generosity of Don Pedro. His gratitude toward those who had taken part in the rescue of his son would be beyond belief.
    Under normal circumstances, those would have been the thoughts of Sanchez. But not now. His confused thoughts seemed to whirl in his head. Sanchez had to get away to think.
    He walked a little way from the village, moving aimlessly, but in the general direction of their travel. A jumble of rock gleamed whitish in the pale twilight and he stopped to sit. Behind him in the village, Sanchez could hear the revelry. Don Pedro had ordered a ration of wine for all and spirits were high.
    This was probably the first time in history that Sanchez had missed an opportunity for free wine. He even neglected to seek female companionship as he usually did during these night stops. This fact reaffirmed the seriousness of this thought as he watched the dusk deepen and the stars begin to appear. The breeze at his back was not