BILLY STEELE CHAPTER FIVE: MENACE OF THE MOLE PEOPLE

Billy unwillingly had to tell a white lie about the flaming black arrowhead' s origin.

"My friend, White Eagle, he drew it on me Col.," Billy sheepishly said. "It' s a symbol of our friendship. I am like his blood son."

"He did that to you," the Col. exclaimed, his face going from a warm smile to an angry glare. "No son of mine is going to be out of uniform. That crazy old medicine man White Eagle and his kind are still savages no matter how good they appear to you, boy. My job is to make sure they stay peaceful while my government and your country brings progress to this land. Many of White Eagle's kind are savages at heart. But you, Billy, as a white American belong to the greatest people on God's green Earth. You cannot sink to the Indian's level."

"But Col.," Billy argued, "White Eagle and his people have taught me many things. I have learned great magic and wisdom from him-he is my teacher and friend. Maybe my tattoo is the first step towards everyone living in peace, dad."

"When I found you Billy, I made a promise on your parents' graveside that I would raise you to be a great white soldier. I am proud to call you my son and a representative of your people. I love you son and I am not inclined to share your loyalty with a heathen. I order you to stay away from White Eagle, Billy. And when we get back to Fort Yuma, I am going to have White Eagle placed in custody for violating his agreement to stay on his reservation."

Billy stood hurtfully upon hearing his father's harsh words. They stuck him like a thousand piercing arrows. As a soldier, he knew he had to follow orders, but his lip quivered in sadness and rage. Billy had vowed to follow the virtues detailed in the ranger handbook. The handbook detailed the code and honor of the rangers, and he was as dutiful to this "Bible of the frontier," as others were to the church's good book. Billy knew the laws his ranger family enforced would be the foundation of civilization he and his unit hoped to bring to the West. Col. Tim, his father, exemplified the authority and power needed for growth and the country he pledged himself to. But in Billy's heart, he knew his magical sage White Eagle empowered him with the indefinable powers of Indian legend and lore-powers higher than mortal men can rationalize, and a kindred soul that is inseparable from his own. Billy was now forced to choose between his head and his heart.

Suddenly, through the dark, the hoof beats of a lone rider could be heard. The campfire's light exposed Sheriff Whipjaw, galloping feverishly to deliver Holt's Rangers an important message.

"Whiskey Flats has plum disappeared, Col.," the weasel like Sheriff told the troops. "Slade wants you to get White Eagle, dead or alive, he used some kind of Injun magic to create some ugly half human varmints that destroyed the town. He's a menace Col.; you gotta stop him before he turns Paradise Valley to kindlin' wood."

"I have no choice, Billy," Col. Tim sternly said to the boy. "These are serious charges against White Eagle. I have to do my duty and arrest him. Now you stay here with Salvation until I return and that's an order, son."

"He's innocent, Col.," Billy shouted. "White Eagle only uses his magic for good. He wants peace between his people and ours. Don't put him in jail, Dad. His people have been punished enough.