“Come on, squaw. You and me are going to find someplace quiet. I got me a nice little spot already picked out in them rocks up there.”
He pulled her up, and the movement freed Skylar’s right hand. Too pan-icked to think, she groped for Sun Hawk’s knife again, and this time she found it. It slipped loose from the scabbard, and as soon as she had sure footing on the rough ground, she slashed at Talbot’s arm.
With a yowl of pain and surprise, he let her go and whirled toward her.
“You dumb bitch squaw! You cut me!”
Keeping the knife extended between them, her eyes wild with fear, she began backing away. “If you come near me again, I’ll kill you.”
“Why you—” His wounded hand moved toward his revolver, and Skylar realized that if he reached the gun, he would kill her.
“No!” She lunged forward, slashing at him with the knife, and Talbot instinctively made a grab for her arm. When he missed, she slashed again, and this time he went for his gun. Desperate, she thrust the knife at him, and Talbot lurched back, losing his footing in the rocks. As he grappled for balance, he pitched forward and knocked Skylar to the ground.
She cried out in pain as his weight forced her down, pinning her on the jagged rocks. A wave of nausea coursed through her and she pushed at him while her feet clawed at the rocks, seeking purchase that would help her escape. She shoved at his shoulders, and when he finally fell away, she scrambled back.
But Talbot didn’t move. A dark, wet stain was spreading across his shirt, radiating from the knife, which had been driven to the hilt into his heart.
Sun Hawk looked around the Verde encampment, frowning. Consayka and the braves were there, but he saw only a few women. Obviously they had gone to the river.
Sun Hawk cursed himself as he moved off along the trail that led to the water. He should not be worrying about Skylar. If her family did not feel obliged to protect her, neither should he, but he couldn’t keep himself from going after her despite the other problem that weighed heavily on his mind.
Hacké’tisan’s wife had become ill, and her husband had asked for prayers to be spoken over her. Sun Hawk had not been able to refuse, but he doubted the song he had sung to drive the fever out of her body was going to work.
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sons, and many others. If he was right and the fever was spreading through camp, hundreds of his people might never live to see Rio Alto.
His concern for Hacké’tisan’s wife warred with his fear for Skylar’s safety, but that was foolish. She was not even one of his people. He should not be thinking about her at a time like this. He had sent Klo’sen to fetch the soldiers’ medicine man, and Sun Hawk knew he should have been scouring the camp for others who might be ill. He had no time to chase down a woman who was not his and whose life and welfare were not his problem.
That didn’t stop him from hurrying down the trail.
He was only halfway up the hill when the first group of soldiers appeared above him, dragging Skylar between them. Her wrists were bound, her face was wet with tears, and blood stained the front of her dress. A few paces behind, more soldiers were carrying the body of Talbot.
Skylar was speaking desperately to her captors, but Sun Hawk couldn’t have understood her words even if he had been close enough. He didn’t need to know what she was saying. It was clear to him that she was telling the soldiers that Talbot had attacked her and that she had defended herself. But Talbot’s friend was also there, shouting her down, pointing and accusing.
If Skylar and the cavalryman told different stories, as it appeared they did, Sun Hawk knew the soldier would be believed.
Knowing he could not help her, Sun Hawk vanished into the trees and rocks, making his way back to the camp. His mind was racing, and his blood burned with rage.
Skylar was an Apache. She had killed a soldier. There wasn’t a doubt in Sun Hawk’s mind that the white men would take her life for it.
And he was the one who had given her the knife.
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11
The dark clouds gathering over the Datil Mountains warned Rayna of an approaching thunderstorm. The weather was always fickle in New Mexico; clouds promised rain and then evaporated like will-o’-
the-wisps, but late September was the worst. The summer drought ended, and when the rains came, they were torrential downpours that turned streams into rivers, flooded dry creek beds, and transformed certain ravines into death traps.
Dead Man’s Wash was one of them, and it was Rayna’s misfortune to have found a knot of skittish cattle in the arroyo as she’d been making her way back to the ranch. For her own safety, she wanted to beat the storm home, but she couldn’t leave the small herd to perish. Kicking Samson into motion, she used her coiled lariat to hurry them along, determined to get the stubborn cows to safety before they died of their own stupidity and took her with them.
Long before she reached higher ground thunder was rumbling and lightning was dancing in the distance. Dark clouds were spreading like spilled ink, and she could already hear her father teasing her about not having the sense to come in out of the rain. Finally, though, she reached a gently sloping bank 136
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and managed to guide the herd up it. She scattered them with a loud “Eee-ya!”
and urged Samson into a gallop toward home.
A few minutes later she was charging into the ranch yard with lightning nipping at her heels. Gil Rodriguez was outside the stable, grinning at her.
“You are still trying to outrun the thunder, Señorita Rayna?” Gil asked with a smile as she dismounted. “I thought you had stopped playing that game.”
She grinned at him. “I like to keep in practice every now and then.”
Gil reached for Samson’s reins. “Here, Señorita. I will take care of him.”
“That’s all right, Gil. I lathered him up, I can cool him down.”
His smile faded. “Let me, please. You must go to the house now. Your mother has been asking for you.”
Rayna’s heart tripped in alarm. “Is Papa—”
“No, no,” he assured her hurriedly. “But Flint went into Malaventura to pick up supplies this morning and there was a letter from Señorita Skylar.”
“Thank God,” Rayna murmured, her face wreathed with a brilliant smile as she tossed Samson’s reins to Gil and dashed to the house. She was too excited to wonder why Gil hadn’t been happier about the news, but the chaos she found inside dashed her buoyant spirits.
“Raymond, you can’t! I forbid it!”
“Damn it all, Collie. I’m not sitting still for this any longer. By God, I’m going to take Sam Whitlock apart piece by piece if he doesn’t do something about this!”
The voices were coming from the upper balcony, and Rayna looked up to find her father stalking down the gallery and Collie scurrying after him as they moved toward the room they had shared before his illness. Just the fact that he was up there was terrifying, for he was still too weak to be navigating the long flight of stairs.
“Papa, what’s going on?” Rayna demanded, taking the stairs two at a time.
“I’m going to Santa Fe!” he roared, almost drowning out the rumble of thunder overhead.
“You can’t do that!” she protested.
“The hell I can’t!”
Rayna ran down the gallery and caught up with them just as they entered the room where only Collie had been sleeping for the last two months. “Tell me what’s happened, damn it! Gil said there was a letter from Skylar. What did she say? What’s wrong?”