“That type of weapon is not forbidden to us, Captain,” she said evasively.
She was in enough trouble as it was; bringing Sun Hawk into the picture wouldn’t do anyone a bit of good. “A knife is considered essential to survival on the reservation.”
Haggarty picked up the bloodstained knife and the leather sheath they had taken off Skylar. “True enough. A brave needs a knife for killing and skin-ning game. But as I recall, you were searched thoroughly when you came into the agency, and nothing like this was found.”
Skylar could hardly deny it. “That’s true.”
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“Then where did you acquire the knife? This is an exceptionally fine weapon—certainly not Apache made. Ergo, it must have been stolen.”
“Have any of your soldiers reported a knife missing that matches the description of that one?” she challenged.
He paused a moment, his weathered face furrowed into a frown. “No,” he finally admitted. “I’ve had the men check, and no one reports anything of this nature missing.”
Skylar raised her head defiantly. “Then how can you accuse me of stealing it?”
“It had to come from somewhere,” he argued stubbornly. “Now, who gave it to you?”
“It wasn’t given to me, exactly,” she said hesitantly, feeling her knees about to buckle. “The morning after Talbot’s first attack on me at the agency, I woke up and found it on the ground beside me.”
“You’re lying.”
“Prove it,” she flung back at him.
The soldier on her right slapped her soundly across the face, splitting her lip and knocking her to the ground.
Haggarty came to his feet. “Get her up,” he commanded, coming around the desk. The soldiers pulled her roughly to her feet and supported her until she could shake off their hands. The captain took a stance directly in front of her and glared down at her. “You murdered one of my men, and before we reach Fort Stanford, you’ll confess the deed, squaw! I don’t care what it takes!”
“I did not murder him!” Skylar shouted desperately. “Why would I?”
“Because you were offended by his search of you at the agency,” Haggarty replied, giving every appearance of being convinced of the accuracy of the conclusion he had drawn. “You didn’t like the manner in which he performed his duty, and you wanted revenge. When you caught him unaware at the river, you saw the perfect opportunity.”
Skylar felt nauseated, but she managed to hold her ground. “That’s one version of the truth. Personally, I have another.”
“I would be delighted to hear it.”
“I think that having one of the soldiers under your command accused of attempted rape would be bad for your career.”
Skylar saw his blow coming, but before she could react, Haggarty back-handed her across the jaw. This time the soldiers grabbed her before she could fall. “Get this squaw out of here at once! Place her in irons and withhold all food and water. I want her under twenty-four-hour guard. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Zaranski said, stepping forward from his post at the tent door. “Come on, men. Get her back to the wagon.”
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and she could taste her own blood in her mouth, but she squared her shoulders proudly as she trudged between the soldiers. It wasn’t until they threw her to the ground at the base of a wagon wheel and reattached the heavy irons that she finally gave way to her anguish. With her shoulder leaning heavily against the wheel, she drew her knees up, wrapped her arms around her legs, lowered her head, and let the tears come.
Such behavior was decidedly un-Apache, but she didn’t care. The soldiers were the only humans within a hundred miles who even saw her as an Apache. Sun Hawk and his people knew better. Certainly Skylar knew better.
She was a dismal failure as a white woman and as an Indian.
Skylar had always known that there was no real place for her in the world, but she had never imagined that her life might end in this fashion, chained to an army wagon, accused of a murder that was, at the very least, a case of self-defense.
But die she would. She had no doubt about that. If she could survive long enough to reach a military tribunal at Fort Stanford, she might have a slim chance of convincing her judges that she hadn’t committed cold-blooded murder. Having a natural compunction against hanging women, they would probably only sentence her to spend the remainder of her life in some filthy Indian agency jail. If that happened, Rayna and her parents might have a chance to effect her release and eventually take her home.
But Skylar knew she wouldn’t live long enough to reach a tribunal at Fort Stanford or anywhere else. Haggarty would see to that. He would try to starve a confession out of her, and when that failed, he would have his men beat it out of her. If she somehow managed to survive the beatings, he would have her shot “while trying to escape,” so that no one would ever learn of her abuse or of Talbot’s assault.
There was certainly precedent for such an occurrence. Skylar couldn’t count the number of stories she’d heard about Apaches who had foolishly tried to flee from their captors. In not one of those accounts did the army ever admit to having been at fault. Haggarty had already tried and convicted her. Somehow he would see that a sentence he considered appropriate was carried out.
Going without food that night was no problem for her. Even the smell of the evening mess brought bile to her mouth and increased her nausea. The blood on her dress was dried and crusted, and residue of it on her hands made her even sicker. It reminded her of Talbot’s bloody corpse and the way he had touched her.
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his fault; he’d brought it on himself. The only tragedy was that Skylar was going to suffer for it.
As the evening wore on, a steady procession of soldiers began finding excuses to stroll past the wagon on the perimeter of the camp. With her armed guard looking on, smiling, they jeered and cursed her. They spit at her. They made threats. Occasionally one would squat beside her and grab her breasts or roughly try to shove his hand up her skirt. Skylar fought them as best she could, but her efforts were useless and her screams were ineffectual. Her only salvation was that her guard seemed to draw the line at out-and-out rape, but by the time the camp fell silent for the night, Skylar already wished she were dead.
The defiant words she had flung at Sun Hawk about the beauty and value of life came back to haunt her. Tomorrow’s sunrise was one she never wanted to see.
There was no moon that night, which was good. The pitch blackness would make what Sun Hawk had to do easier. He had said nothing to his father before stealing away after everyone had fallen asleep. If he was not dead when the morning came, Naka’yen would know what he had done.
The thought of leaving his family behind saddened Sun Hawk, but he refused to dwell on it. His family was large; he had many sisters with fine husbands who would see that his mother and father were cared for. The soldier medicine man had looked at Hacké’tisan’s wife and decided that the fever was one caused by bad meat, not an epidemic that would sweep through the camp like wildfire. Though Sun Hawk trusted the word of no white man, the fact that the medicine man had not separated the woman from the rest of the camp convinced him that his people were safe from that horror.