Chief Mangas and two of his braves wearing the colors of apprentice shamans collected blood from each outlaw, whether dead or alive. The blood was obtained from the corpses of the deceased outlaws without protest, but the bound prisoners struggled and howled, cursing the Indians, while they were cut. They had to be restrained with the assistance of burly Rangers. Once the blood from every outlaw was gathered, Mangas poured it into one large bowl. He and his assistants chanted while mixing the blood into a concoction along with herbs from his medicine bag.

The eight surviving members of the Stiles Gang watched, in brooding silence, as the Rangers, braves, and women labored throughout the afternoon. There had originally been nine still alive at the end of the battle, but one of the outlaws expired from his wounds as the afternoon faded into evening.

“Lucky bastard,” one of the prisoners remarked, as his fellow outlaw emitted his death rattle.

Just before dusk, the braves assembled in the square. All had stripped to the waist and were wearing paint on their chests and faces. Chief Mangas motioned to Bina.

“It is time,” she announced. “Those who do not wish to view the ceremony must leave now. Go inside and do not watch. Those who wish to bear witness must come forward and be marked.”

A number of women complied and went inside the buildings. The children had already been herded into the schoolhouse at the far end of town, earlier in the day, to spare them from observing the butchering of horses and collection of bodies.

Rangers and townsfolk, with Franchard and Maggie in the lead, lined up and filed past Chief Mangas. Dipping his fingers into the bowl of liquid concocted with the outlaw’s blood, he streaked Apache symbols on the cheeks and foreheads of the men and women.

Bina and Pritchard were the last in line. When it was Pritchard’s turn to stand before the chief, Mangas did not paint his face. He gestured for him to remove his hat and shirt.

Pritchard looked to Bina, who nodded her assurance. He removed his Stetson and bib-front shirt. The three bullet-hole scars in his deep, muscular, chest, and diagonal scar across the length of his back, matched the circular scar on his forehead.

Chief Mangas and his two shamans surrounded Pritchard and began to chant. As they chanted, they painted Apache symbols on his chest, back, and arms. The diminutive chief finished by reaching up to the towering Ranger’s face. He drew symbols of the moon and stars on each cheek, and the sun on his forehead.

“What’s this about?” Pritchard asked Bina.

“They are honoring your shadow, so as not to incur its wrath.”

When Mangas finished he looked up to the sky. The last vestige of the sun dipped below the Lady on the Mountain, overlooking Magdalena. He again motioned to Bina.

“Maggie,” she said. “It’s time to light the fire.”