“Crook doesn’t know, but it may not be for a while yet. I won’t be leaving until the campaign begins.”

Libby sighed with relief. It might take Crook months to prepare.

Case wrapped his arms around his wife. “When I go, I’ll ask Jedidiah to come stay with you and the children.”

“Good.” She smiled up at him, pleased with the thought of having their old friend so close. Jedidiah’s small cabin was only a few miles away, but he was spending more and more time in the mountains these days. “He stays away too long.”

“And Meade will be home soon,” Case reminded her. “You won’t be alone, beloved. I’ll see to that.”

“I know you will.”

He cupped her jaw and raised her face to his. “You are my life, Libby,” he said softly. “If you tell me to stay, I will stay.”

“I know that, too,” she replied. “That’s why I would never ask.”

He gathered her close, and their long, tender kiss blossomed into the quiet passion that made them one spirit, one soul, one life.

110

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

9

My dearest sister,

Even as I write this letter, I have no idea whether it will find you or not. I have begged Agent Newsome to deliver it to you, and I can only hope that he will take pity on us and place it in your hands along with the parcel I am including.

Father is alive and growing a little stronger with every passing day.

I know he has been your deepest concern, but you may rest easy. He longs to be as active as he was before, but seems resigned to the changes his weakened heart has forced upon him.

Naturally his greatest concern is for your welfare, and we all ache for news of how you are faring. We love you, and we miss you, dear Skylar, and we are doing everything we can to secure your release.

How I wish I could say that would be soon, but it seems that we have become trapped in a sea of bureaucratic nonsense. General Whitlock in Santa Fe could not help us, and I have been forced to initiate a correspondence with . . .

111

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

The tears in Skylar’s eyes made the words blur beyond recognition, and she had to stop for a moment. It was the second time she had read Rayna’s letter since Agent Newsome had given her the packet less than an hour ago. She had devoured this one as well as the letter from her mother and the brief note from her father that proved he was indeed alive.

The joy of knowing that was more than enough to overshadow the disappointing news that Rayna had related in the rest of her letter. Skylar could endure anything now that she knew her father was alive.

At long last she had a tangible connection to her family. Smiling through her tears, she touched the packet of writing materials Rayna had sent her.

They were lying on the end of the wagon the Verdes’ had driven to the agency to collect their supplies, but otherwise the wagon was empty. Her friends were standing in the long line awaiting their weekly rations, and Skylar knew she should join them, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She wanted to savor Rayna’s letter, so she dried her eyes and read again how the military departments had changed, how Rayna had waited in Santa Fe for Whitlock’s return, how kind and helpful Major Ashford had been.

She read Rayna’s promise to write again soon, and she smiled. Rayna hated letter writing, but Skylar had no doubt that she would eventually receive another letter from home. When that might be was anyone’s guess, of course, since this packet had taken nearly three weeks to arrive. Whether that was due to the inconsistency of the mail delivery service, the remoteness of the agency, or Newsome’s neglect, Skylar couldn’t have guessed and she didn’t care. The packet was here, and that was all that mattered. Skylar could hardly wait to return to camp and begin a letter to her family.

When she finished reading Rayna’s letter for the second time, she glanced up and noticed that Gatana was watching her. She couldn’t delay going to the ration line any longer. Clutching the parcel, she hurried across the compound and was halfway there when she noticed a disturbance near the agency office.

Looking closer, she saw Naka’yen and several subchiefs. Sun Hawk was there, too, as was the assistant Indian agent, Frank Hawley, who acted as Newsome’s somewhat ineffectual translator.

Even from a distance Skylar could tell that Naka’yen was agitated. His voice was raised, but the words were indistinct. She didn’t have to hear him to know that something was wrong, though.

“What has happened?” she asked as she hurried to Gatana.

“I do not know,” the elderly woman replied, her face drawn into lines of concern.

Others had noticed the disturbance and had begun moving toward their chief. Skylar moved, too. Gatana tried to hold her back by placing a hand on her arm, but Skylar gently shook it off and joined the others.

112

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

“We will not go! This is our land,” Naka’yen shouted at Newsome. “It is all we have left to us. The white man has taken everything else and left us with only this one small piece of land. Our hunting grounds are gone, and there is not enough food. We will not go!”

Go? Go where? Skylar wondered, desperately clutching the letters and papers to her breast. More murmurs went through the crowd as Hawley translated Naka’yen’s words.

Quickening her pace, Skylar forced her way through the growing crowd until she was standing between Sun Hawk and Newsome. “What’s happening?” she asked the agent.

“I’m trying to explain to your chiefs that this agency has been closed.”

“Closed?”

“That’s right,” he said, clearly no more pleased with this than the Apaches were. “All of the Mescalero are being transferred to the Rio Alto agency in Arizona.”

Skylar was appalled. “But that’s absurd! Why?”

“Damned if I know,” Newsome barked. “It’s got something to do with the reorganization of the Indian Bureau. They’re trying to consolidate all the Apaches into one area so that they can be controlled better.”

“You mean the Apaches will no longer have their own land? They’ll be sharing a reservation with other tribes?” she asked, trying to comprehend what was happening.

“That’s right,” Newsome answered. “They’ll be on the Rio Alto with the Tonto, the Lipan, and what’s left of the Chiricahua—those who didn’t take off with Geronimo.”

“Is the Rio Alto a large reservation?”

“No,” Newsome said, growing impatient with her questions. “It’s just a little bigger than this one.”

“But that’s insane,” Skylar said. “This reservation is barely big enough to support the Mescalero. You can’t expect that many people to survive on a tiny reservation.”

Newsome poked a finger sharply at his own chest. “I’m not the one doing this,” he said hotly. “These are the orders, and I’ve got to obey them—just like all of you do.”

Skylar discovered suddenly that all eyes were on her as she conversed in English with Newsome. Sun Hawk’s gaze finally captured hers, and in Apache he asked her bluntly, “What does he say to you? What do you say to him?”

Skylar realized with some embarrassment that she had taken over the conversation and that many would think what she had done was inappropriate.

She couldn’t refuse to answer, though, and she looked up at Sun Hawk hesitantly. “We are to be sent to Arizona. We will live on the Rio Alto reservation.”

113

Constance Bennett—Moonsong

[ e - r e a d s ]

Sun Hawk frowned as more murmurs went through the crowd. “Where is this Rio Alto?”

Skylar had no idea, and she looked at Newsome. “They want to know where Rio Alto is located.”

“It is below San Carlos near the Pinaleno Mountains,” he replied, and Skylar translated to Sun Hawk and the others. There were more angry shouts, and Skylar felt herself being jostled as the Indians pressed forward. Sun Hawk called for silence and looked down at Skylar.

“Ask him who made this decision.”

“It was the Indian Bureau,” she told him.

“Can nothing be done to stop it?”

Skylar looked to the agent. “Is there any way to prevent this? Is there anyone we can talk to?”

He shook his head with disgust. “No. The Apaches are not going to like it, but they’re going to have to live with it. Soldiers from Fort Travis will be here this afternoon, and they’ll move out day after tomorrow.”

“You expect them to be ready to leave in a day?” Skylar asked, aghast.

“That’s right. Make that clear to them. As soon as they’ve collected their rations they should begin making preparations for the move.”

Skylar looked at Sun Hawk and reluctantly told him what Newsome had said.

The crowd erupted into shouts of anger as they surged forward, but when Hawley brought up his rifle, everyone stopped.

“Get back, all of you!” he demanded in his less than perfect Apache.

Newsome drew his own pistol and took a step back. “Hawley, put an end to this at once! Tell them that if they make trouble, there will be no more rations distributed and they will have to make the trip without food!”

Hawley raised his voice again and spoke to the Indians, but what he said did nothing to quell the disturbance. More angry shouts rent the air, and it was easy to see why. Instead of repeating Newsome’s threat in its entirety, Hawley had inadvertently told them that the rations were being cut and there would be no food for the journey.