“That’s a lie,” Skylar said, her voice trembling with anger and the remnants of her fear.

“I beg your pardon?” Zaranski said, looking around to see who had spoken.

Skylar stumbled to her feet and stepped toward him. “I said that man is lying,” she repeated. “He was using the search of this wagon as an excuse to assault me. My friends were only trying to protect me.”

Zaranski stared down at her with a combination of bemusement and irritation. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought himself in some grand lady’s parlor in Philadelphia. “You speak English.”

Skylar sighed heavily. “That’s right, Lieutenant. And so do all of the Mescaleros you see here.”

Zaranski nodded. “Ah, you must be the Apaches from Rancho Verde that Mr. Newsome was telling me about.”

“That’s right.”

“And you’re the one Newsome uses as an interpreter, isn’t that correct?”

he asked.

“I have acted in that capacity, yes,” Skylar replied.

“Well, we have our own interpreter, so don’t expect any special treatment,”

he said somewhat haughtily.

“We have asked for none,” Skylar said tightly. “But we do not expect to be singled out and abused, either.”

Zaranski wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he looked at Consayka.

“Are you the chief of this band?”

“Yes.”

“Well, get them loaded up and join the others. Everyone with horses will be allowed to keep them, but you’ll have to be responsible for feeding and 126

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watering them yourselves. When it comes to forage, remember that the army’s livestock comes first. Understood?”

Consayka nodded. “We understand. Are you going to punish the soldier who attacked my daughter?”

Zaranski looked at Talbot, who had slowly edged away from the circle of Indians. “I believe Private Talbot has learned his lesson. Have a care in dealing with these people, Private,” he warned lightly. “We don’t want any more misunderstandings.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lieutenant looked at the soldier on his right. “Sergeant, get these people moving again.” With that, Zaranski wheeled his horse and returned to the agency headquarters. The sergeant’s command to load up came a little late, since the Verdes had all started climbing back into the wagon.

Still trembling from her disgusting encounter with Talbot, Skylar gingerly fingered the darkening bruises on her arm and tried to ignore the similar pain in her breasts. “That will happen again, won’t it?” she asked Joe quietly, too embarrassed to look at him.

He kept his eyes straight forward as he urged the mules into motion. “You should never go anywhere alone until we reach Rio Alto,” he advised.

It was good advice, but it was less than reassuring. If Talbot or someone like him wanted to have his way with any of the Mescalero women, a witness or two wouldn’t stop him. Any of the soldiers could kill an Apache, claim self-defense, and be heralded as a hero. Conversely, any Apache who tried to defend himself or herself would be shot without question.

Sickened by the injustice of a situation she couldn’t change or control, Skylar glanced at the growing number of Mescaleros gathered at the agency.

When she saw Sun Hawk looking at her, his face set into a hard, unreadable mask of marble, she looked away, too humiliated to hold his gaze.

She didn’t see that his hands were clasped in barely controlled rage.

It took most of the day to count the four hundred Mescaleros and get them on the trail. Captain Haggarty, commander of the cavalry detail charged with moving the Apaches, was anxious to get on his way despite the fact that more than a dozen braves and several of their women were missing. He wasted no time looking for them, since they were undoubtedly long gone, probably making their way to Mexico.

Before they moved out, Skylar was able to place her letter to her family in Newsome’s hands, and he promised to post it as soon as possible. What she considered truly miraculous, though, was that he had quietly given her the balance of the money Rayna had sent to him as a consideration for handling Skylar’s correspondence. It wasn’t much, but it could come in handy.

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They were less than ten miles from the western boundary of the reservation when they made camp for the night. Some of the soldiers erected tents, but there was no shelter for the Mescalero. They spread out as much as the soldiers would allow and built their fires.

The huge sea of humanity hemmed in like animals in a pen sickened Skylar, but she did her share of the work as always. Though fetching water was considered woman’s work, Joe Long Horn and the other braves accompa-nied the women to and from the nearby stream. No one commented on it, but Skylar knew they were hoping their numbers would prevent a repeat of this morning’s attack. Fortunately the soldiers kept their distance, and Skylar was relieved that she didn’t spot Talbot all evening.

When darkness came, the camp fell silent, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional wail of an infant or the abrupt bark of a laughing soldier.

Conversations around the campfire were hushed, and nearly all of the Mescaleros laid out their blankets early and tried to sleep.

Skylar made her bed alongside Gatana, but before they could retire, a shifting shadow that Skylar recognized instantly as Sun Hawk approached stealthily and crouched in front of Consayka.

Skylar studied his face in the light of the fire and found it as unreadable as it had been moments after Talbot’s assault on her.

“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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