For a long time, nobody said anything. They just stood on the bank of the strange new river with the wounded as if the whispering of the water would explain what had happened. All in all, Dance thought, it could have been a whole lot worse and it probably would be before the end. Pete asked, “You want to get up a posse and go after them, Sheriff?” Dance shook his head. “Let’s figure out what we’d be raiding into before we go a-raidin’. Besides, if that boat went upriver, it will come back down. Next time we’ll be ready for target practice. As Dance thumbed rounds into his Winchester the Englishman walked up and stood next to him. Dance looked him over and said, “You got sand, Mister. But if you’re gonna pass the time out West, you best get heeled.” “Archimedes Croryton, but my friend call me Archie,” he said, holding out his hand. “Good for them,” said the Sheriff, “John Dance. What was that you were barking at them?” “Aramaic, Syriac, Latin, some Attic Greek. Anything I could think of really.” “You know what the hell they was?” “Not a clue,” answered Archie. He nodded at the body of an archer floating in the river he said, “But I know how to find out.” And started stripping off his clothes. When he reached his underwear, Archie waded into the river and swam out to the dead archer. His silken garment had billowed out around him, trapping air and giving the corpse buoyancy. Archie grabbed a handful of fabric and dragged the body back ashore. When Archie got to the mud, Dance helped him land his strange fish. As Archie caught his breath, Dance asked, “Anything familiar about this to you?” “I was hoping you would know, you’re the native.” Archie rolled the body over on its back and brushed the mud off the face. The man had a dark, olive complexion with a large, hooked nose and strange characters tattooed on his cheeks. Out of respect, Archie closed his eyes. The man’s silk garments were held at the waist with a thick belt of bronze plates. Archie asked for the Sheriff’s knife and used it to cut the shirt open. It was surprisingly tough. The man’s chest was tattooed in the same diamond pattern as his face. Archie made a close examination of the man’s hands. Dance asked, “Mr. Croryton, how’s a man like you, an educated man, wind up here?” “Sheriff, if you can tell me where here is, I’ll answer your question.” “Hell, you’re in Grantham, Arizona Territory.” Archie said, “Last night, I was reasonably certain that I arrived in Grantham. But now, I am not so sure.” “Fair enough,” said the Sheriff, “What do you make of our guest?” “My guess is this man has done little else in his life but fire a bow.” “Professional military?” “No, I am saying, this man was not merely in the army. His entire body and one might well say his being, has conformed to being an archer.” He gently turned the dead man over in the mud and pointed to the imbalance in the musculature of shoulders and arms. The right arm with a noticeably bigger biceps muscle, the left with a well-defined triceps from extending the bow. And the muscles between the shoulder blades stood out in almost chiseled detail. “He is a professional warrior. Like a Spartan or a Myrmidon.” Dance said, “I ain’t never heard of them, but were they too dumb to duck too?” “Yes, they did not react like men who had ever seen a firearm before. The question is where did they come from?” Dance spit and said, “No idea. Not yet,” as he looked grimly up the river. “Well, then you’ve got bigger questions. Who is this military power on your doorstep?” “Hardly call them military if they don’t have guns.” Archie said, “Did you not see how cool they were under attack? How they continued to nock and fire even as their commander was struck down and their comrades were dying around them?” Dance rubbed his chin. “Yeah, fair point. I was at