“For your daughter,” Sun Hawk said, handing a long leather-bound object to Consayka.
The old man examined it and pulled on both ends. A flash of steel glinted in the waning firelight.
“Enju,” Consayka said. It is good.
He handed the gift to Skylar, and she realized that it was a wicked-looking knife in a Mescalero-made leather scabbard. Long laces, presumably to be tied around her waist, dangled from the sheath.
Astonished by the gift, she looked up and found Sun Hawk’s eyes boring into hers.
“For the next soldier who touches you,” he said, his voice hard and hushed.
Before she could reply, he was gone.
The next morning when they broke camp and moved out, their train formed a wide, straggling line more than a mile long, with soldiers in the front and the rear, and a number who rode back and forth in pairs among the Mescaleros. As before, the Verdes on horseback flanked the wagons, but Skylar noticed that today Sun Hawk’s family was traveling close to hers.
Coincidence? she wondered. Or did the brave’s presence have something to do with the knife hidden beneath her long overblouse? He never seemed to look in her direction, but was always in view.
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There could be no doubt that he was concerned about her; otherwise he never would have given her a means of protecting herself. After his brutally honest assessment of her by the fire, his show of concern was both surprising and touching. In one way, Skylar took great comfort from his nearness, but it also worried her. Was he planning some timely rescue of her if Talbot came back? If so, he was signing his own death warrant, and the same would be true of anyone else who might try to help her.
Fortunately the first day passed without incident, but by the end of it, Skylar was more exhausted than she had ever been in her life. Knowing that food and water for their animals would be scarce, the Verdes walked more often than they rode, hoping to tax the mules and horses as little as possible.
The elders took turns riding in the wagon, but Skylar stayed afoot most of the day. By the time they made camp for the night her moccasins were in shreds and her feet were bruised and bleeding. Before she could retire for the night, she had no choice but to repair them.
With so many others in similar straits, Skylar removed the canvas canopy from the wagon and divided it among her friends. She put aside one large piece, and after mending her moccasins, she quietly made her way to Naka’yen’s camp, adjacent to that of the Verdes. Not caring about the propri-ety of her act or the questioning eyes that bored into her, she approached Sun Hawk and handed him the canvas.
“One gift deserves another,” she told him, meeting his surprised gaze boldly.
A pleased smile teased the corners of his mouth. “Your kindness will be remembered.”
“As will yours,” she replied, then turned and went back to her Apache family.
Puzzled by the exchange, Naka’yen watched her go. He glanced at Sun Hawk and frowned. He had not seen such a tender expression on his son’s face in a very long time.
“We traveled with the Verdes today,” the old man said matter-of-factly.
Sun Hawk forced himself to look away from the Verde camp. “Yes, we did.”
Naka’yen searched his son’s face. “Why did you insist on it?”
His father’s scrutiny embarrassed him. “We had to walk someplace. That seemed as good as any.”
“It had nothing to do with the white soldier’s attack on Consayka’s daughter?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Sun Hawk sighed with exasperation. “You ask too many questions, Father.”
Naka’yen shook his head. “And you do not ask enough. You are not thinking with your head. That girl is not one of us.”
“But she is learning, Father,” he argued, wondering why he was defending her.
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“This is true. She is a hard worker, and she does many things to take care of her elders. It is clear she has a good heart, but you told me that she longs to return to the whites who raised her.”
Sun Hawk clenched his fists, collecting a handful of useless dirt. “Why do you say these things to me? I do not care if she goes back to her people.”
Naka’yen fell silent a moment, looking him over, and Sun Hawk prayed that the discussion would end. It did not.
“Where is your knife?” the old chief asked, looking down at the sheathed blade at his son’s waist. “Not that one, but the one you took many years ago in your first battle against the Mexican soldiers?”
Disgusted, Sun Hawk tossed away his handful of dirt and jumped up. “I told you, Father, you ask too many questions,” he said harshly, then gathered up his belongings and moved to the opposite edge of the camp, as far away from his father—and the Verdes—as he could get.
The next day, Skylar saw Talbot again. He was riding with Norris as part of the detail that swept through the Mescaleros several times a day to hurry them along and make certain no trouble was brewing.
Skylar knew that it had to be a tense job for them, outnumbered as they were by so many Apaches, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel sympathy for any of them—particularly Talbot. She was easy for him to spot because she stayed close to the wagon, and with his first pass through the slow-moving crowd, he drew his horse alongside her and stared down at her for a short time that seemed like hours to Skylar. She didn’t acknowledge him with so much as a glance, and he didn’t say a word. There were no threatening gestures, no posturing . . . but he made his presence known and his intentions clear.
He sought her out on his return pass and twice again that afternoon. The tension he created was almost more than Skylar could bear, for it went beyond her own jangled nerves. Whenever Talbot approached, all the Verdes became watchful, alert for any sign of trouble. When he passed on, Skylar invariably saw that Sun Hawk, too, had drifted a little closer to the wagon, but he never made an effort to speak with her or even acknowledge her presence.
The encounters with Talbot became a daily ritual, but repetition didn’t make them any less unnerving.
By the end of the first week as they reached the rugged trail that led through the Caliente Mountains, the forced march had become a grueling test of endurance. The heat was fearsome, rations were scarce, and water was even more so. On the seventh day, word circulated among them that an old woman had died. A detail of soldiers stayed behind while her family buried her in a shallow grave along with all her worldly possessions. In less than an hour the mourners rejoined the main body of the procession.
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That night they made camp near a tributary of the Gila River, and for the first time since they had crossed the Rio Grande, there was enough water for all to drink their fill and ample grazing for the animals. There were even trees for firewood in the glade where they made camp. Captain Haggarty announced to Naka’yen that they would stay there for two nights to allow them to “recuperate” before they began the difficult trek through the Calientes.
The Mescaleros were too weary to rejoice, but Skylar noticed a subtle difference in their demeanor that night. They were able to build fires for the first time in days and the next morning the women took advantage of the opportunity to wash clothing and bathe. This they accomplished by entering the cool swift river fully clothed, for soldiers had been assigned to patrol up and down the irregular banks because the rugged terrain hid the river from view of the camp.