When the sparks were flying, the assassin had fallen from the trough to the ground on his stomach and began crawling blind. The only thing the assassin wanted was to escape at all costs. Sven moves in closer. What he sees gives in to the creeps. Red blood mixed in with snow, dead wolves, clothes ripped to shreds. Sven looks over the scene and shakes his head, "terrible way to die." Sven sees the snow stomped on so much by the wolves he can remove his snowshoes. Using one of his poles with his rifle ready in his opposite hand, Sven moves branches, one at a time until he sees the grizzly scene of a fight for survival. I am searching for a band of Apaches who attacked a government wagon train of four wagons killing six troopers and burning the wagons and taking the horses and what supplies they wanted and burn the rest. Opening my saddlebags, I grab the coffee and hardtack and set it down. What else? Oh, water. I reached down to pick up my canteen and turn around. Standing across from the fire is Two Hands, the Mescalero Apache with a rabbit in one hand and a Winchester in his other. I shouted, "Hello in the camp!" Nothing. Again, "Hello in the camp!" I watched the picketed horse when I yelled. It looked in the direction of a large red cedar. She stepped away from the cedar with Winchester glued to her hip and the barrel pointed at my midsection. "Mister, shuck the rifle and raise your hands so I can see both."I stopped in my tracks. I had to. Mercy, I'd had the pleasure of seeing a few gorgeous women, but for the first time in my life, I was seeing one of this kind of beauty."Mister, NOW. I'm not in the habit of saying it twice."