It was apparently ration day, and a considerable number of Mescalero had gathered at the agency. They stood in long lines in front of two wagons at the end of the compound, and Skylar wondered how two small wagons could possibly hold enough food to feed so many people.

The cavalry line eventually veered away from the agency buildings, and the wagon jolted to a halt. Somewhere in front of the team, Skylar could hear Captain Greenleigh’s voice, but his words were indistinct. Private Gless, however, was all too understandable as he stepped to the end of the wagon and unceremoniously ordered everyone out. Some of the old women moved too slowly to suit the trooper, and he took a perverse pleasure in hurrying them up by grabbing them roughly and all but slinging them onto the ground.

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Throughout the journey Skylar had stayed close to Tsa’kata, and she did the same now, holding the old woman’s arm to balance her as she moved to the wagon gate. They were the last out, and when Gless yanked at Tsa’kata’s arm, Skylar tried to protest.

“Please, Private. There’s no need to hurt her. I’ll help her out.”

“You just get out here yourself, squaw, and let me worry about the old woman,” he growled.

“That’s enough of that, Private. Let her go.”

Skylar looked up and wasn’t at all surprised to see Major Ashford, still mounted, scowling down at Gless. She flashed him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Major.” Moving quickly, she jumped out of the wagon and helped Tsa’kata down.

“That will be all, Private Gless,” Meade said as he dismounted. “I’ll handle it from here.”

Gless hesitated a moment, then joined his fellows some distance away.

Skylar watched him go. “I’ll be glad to see the last of him,” she told Meade.

“He enjoys hurting people.”

“I’m sorry to say he’s not the only such man in the army,” Meade replied.

Skylar looked toward the agency and caught sight of Captain Greenleigh.

“No, he isn’t.”

Meade followed her glance. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to see the last of him, too.”

Skylar’s answering smile was gentleness personified. “That I will, but I shall regret your departure, Major Ashford. I shudder to think how much more difficult this journey would have been without you along. You have been more than kind.”

Meade smiled down at the young lady who had become a study in para-dox to him. Except for her youth and beauty, she looked no different from any of the other Apaches, yet her manner rivaled that of any gently bred lady of his acquaintance. Even Libby, for all her quiet compassion, couldn’t hold a candle to Skylar Templeton.

Unbidden, Meade thought of the other Miss Templeton and wondered how two young women raised in the same household by the same loving parents, given the same education, could be so different in personality and temperament. Given Skylar’s brief Apache upbringing, he would have expected her to be the more aggressive of the two, and yet she was not. Rayna was fire, and Skylar was a draft of cool, soothing water.

But that wasn’t his concern, he tried to remind himself. In a short while both the Templeton ladies would be out of his life forever. To his great irritation he suspected that Rayna would be more difficult to forget. She hadn’t been far from his thoughts for a minute since he’d left Rancho Verde.

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“Come,” he said, offering Skylar his arm. “I think we should have a talk with Mr. Newsome, the agent. I want to explain your situation to him.”

“Does he have the power to release me?”

Meade shook his head. “I don’t believe so, but he should be made aware that your incarceration is unfounded and possibly even unlawful. It might secure better treatment for you and your friends.”

“I wonder if that would be wise, Major,” Skylar said with concern. “If we are treated differently, it might cause resentment among the other Mescalero.”

“I don’t believe talking to Newsome can hurt anything. From what I’ve heard about him, it’s unlikely that he’ll be more generous with your friends, but your sister made it clear to me that we were to leave the wagon and teams with you, and I want to be certain that Newsome doesn’t try to confiscate them. I also want it made clear that you aren’t to be mistreated in any fashion.”

Skylar lifted her head, trying to replace fear with pride. “Once you are gone, Major Ashford, I fear nothing will guarantee that.”

Meade didn’t know how to respond, because she was absolutely right.

Anything could happen. Encouraging words failed him, and all he could do was introduce her to Buck Newsome and hope for the best. With any luck, Rayna had already secured her sister’s release and someone would arrive soon with the appropriate papers to get Skylar off the reservation and back where she belonged.

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.