By the end of the day everyone on the reserve knew of the newcomers and of the wealth they had brought with them. Few braves on the reservation had horses, but the ones who called themselves Rancho Verde Mescaleros had fine mounts and good saddles. They also had a wagon, a team of mules, and a fine load of blankets and food. Few who were brought to the reserve came with such wealth, and it created suspicion among many.
In full view of the Apaches in the rations line, the Verdes—as they soon came to be called—were processed by the Indian agent and assigned tag-band numbers. To the astonishment of those watching, nearly all of them spoke the white man’s language and could even write their names in Newsome’s ledger.
Once they had been given their meager share of agency rations, they were told to disperse and make their camp.
Normally the resident Mescaleros would have helped the newcomers find a place for a temporary encampment, but the Verdes were strange, and no one wanted anything to do with them. The others were all reserving judgment until they could study and understand the strangers. If they were truly Mescaleros, the Verdes would take the initiative to make themselves part of the tribe by presenting gifts to the elders and sharing their wealth. If they did 67
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not, they would be shunned and might very likely perish, for cooperation was the key to survival on the reservation.
Sun Hawk had collected his rations early that morning and had spent the afternoon hunting in the southern foothills of the Capitans. There was little game at this time of year, but he had snared several rabbits that would help feed one or two of the larger families whose rations did not go far enough to fill the hungry bellies of their children.
When he returned at dusk and began distributing his gifts, he was told about the Verdes at every camp he visited. By the time he reached his father’s camp, it was old news, but he sat by the fire and listened as though hearing it for the first time.
“Ten horses and two mules?” he queried as though asking for verification that he had heard his father correctly.
“And a wagon,” Naka’yen said with a nod of his head.
“Do you know the name of their chief?” Sun Hawk asked. This was one bit of information he hadn’t yet learned.
“The name Consayka was overheard by your uncle’s wife,” Naka’yen replied, and Sun Hawk looked across the fire to Klo’sen.
“This is true,” his mother’s brother said with a nod.
“I have heard of Consayka and his people,” Sun Hawk said. “They have not lived among us for many years.”
“Consayka chose the white man’s way long before you were born,”
Naka’yen replied. “It did not spare him their wrath. Now he must learn to be one of the People again.”
Sun Hawk considered this for a moment. His own contact with the white man made it inconceivable that any Mescalero would want to live as they did. He could not escape a feeling of sympathy for them, though.
Whatever their lives had been, they were no more, and he understood that only too well.
“Who among us greeted them when they arrived, Father?”
Naka’yen seemed surprised by the question. “No one.”
“You did not speak with Consayka or help his people find a place to build their camp?” Sun Hawk asked, astonished.
The old chieftain drew his shoulders back proudly. “I am the leader of all our people. It is Consayka who should come to me.”
Sun Hawk hid a smile. “But, Father, if no one will speak to the Verdes, how is Consayka to know who you are and where you can be found?”
Naka’yen’s weathered face wrinkled in concentration. Then he looked at his brother-in-law. “My son is right. Perhaps that is why Consayka has not come to me with presents.”
“I could send my wife to speak with some of their women,” Klo’sen suggested.
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“That is not necessary,” Sun Hawk told him. “I will go and say words of welcome to Consayka. If he has questions, I will answer them.”
“They may not understand you, my son,” Naka’yen warned. “It is said that they speak the white man’s language so well that they have forgotten their own.”
This was a surprise to Sun Hawk. He had not considered the possibility of a problem communicating with his own kind, but more than that, he was intrigued by the Verdes’ knowledge of the white man’s language. In this one thing he envied them. Though his father was the chief, Sun Hawk was often called upon to deal with the agent, Newsome, or with his assistant or one of the reservation policemen. Only the assistant spoke Apache, and that he did so poorly that Sun Hawk was never certain his words had been understood.
He had made an attempt to learn a few of their words, but when he used them, the white men often laughed at him. It was a constant source of frustration and humiliation to him that he could not deal with the Indian agent and other white men as an equal. Consayka’s band would not have that problem. They would not be laughed at when they spoke to Newsome, and they would never have to fear that their words had been misunderstood.
Perhaps at least one good thing had come from Consayka’s break with the People. Meeting Consayka, which had before seemed like a duty to Sun Hawk, was now something he anticipated with relish.
He listened patiently to a few words of advice from his father and uncle, then went off to find the Verdes’ encampment.
Though Skylar was trying very hard not to be sad, it was difficult for her to look around the pitiful excuse for a camp she and her friends had made and not feel the tug of that emotion. Their departure from Rancho Verde had been so swift that they had not had time to dismantle the poles of their lodges, and this afternoon they’d had no chance to search for stout saplings to replace them. Instead, they had constructed several brush-covered wickiups like those the Mescaleros used when they traveled. There were not enough shelters to accommodate everyone, but at least the elderly would have some protection from the chill night air as they slept.
The departure of Major Ashford with the other soldiers had also saddened Skylar, but she tried not to dwell on his absence. She had to rely on herself now that there was no one to act as her protector, and she tried to imagine what Rayna would do if their situations were reversed. Knowing her sister as she did, she found it easy to visualize her taking charge, telling people where to construct their wickiups and deciding who should collect firewood and who should carry water from the trickling stream nearby. And Rayna, in the 69
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midst of the noise and confusion she had created, would be doing as much work as anyone, if not more.
Skylar couldn’t imagine herself taking over as Rayna would, but she found it easy to take the initiative in one area. Since she had never made a wickiup before, she knew she would only get in the way if she tried to help Gatana, so she focused instead on preparing supper. Foraging through the supplies Rayna had sent, she found flour, sugar, beans, dried beef, and even some rice, which she knew Tsa’kata was quite fond of. Consuelo, the Templetons’ housekeeper, had even thought to send along cooking utensils to supplement those the Mescaleros had brought.
While Gatana and the others finished constructing the wickiups, Skylar prepared a fire and began cooking beans seasoned liberally with strips of beef.
With Mary Long Horn’s help, she rolled out tortillas, and by the time darkness fell, the Mescalero braves were seated around the fire eating. The women served their men in the traditional fashion, then retired to a separate fire, almost too exhausted to eat.