One evening she clambered up on Judah Frost’s knee and then looked up at his face. He smiled at her. She stared, dark eyes widening, then slipped down and ran to Talitha, who was her favorite refuge in time of trouble. Frost’s smile deepened. Everyone watched him in startled silence. Afterward, Sewa kept her distance from him.
As for Frost, it seemed to bother him not a whit that he’d killed the child’s father. Why should it? In his days as a scalp hunter he’d probably cut the hair off children her age and blithely pocketed the twenty-five pesos paid by the Sonoran government for scalps of Apaches under fourteen.
James was fifteen in July. He enjoyed the barbecue in his honor, especially since Frost was away on one of his extended Sonoran business trips, and was delighted with his array of gifts: fringed buskins, gauntlets, a new quiver, a wrist protector Cat had painstakingly embroidered. Still, next morning Talitha found him gazing at the mountains with a longing on his face that stabbed her.
“Oh, James,” she said, touching his hand. “Can’t you be happy here?”
“Happy?” He tilted his head and watched her in some surprise. “I never thought about that, with the People. It was just where I belonged.”
The quiet words struck Talitha harder than any excited praises of the Apache way of life could have. She clenched her hands behind her to keep from crying out at him: Was it for this that I kept you alive, that Shea was branded, that you lived here from before the time you could remember until you were seven? Do you really belong to the Apaches?
Her brother must have read some of this in her face. “I will stay till Shea comes back or there are so many bluecoats that my people will need protection more than yours,” he said. “It’s just that I should be going on raids, learning how to do things right. Probably, had I stayed with Mangus, I would have been on four raids by now and could count as a warrior.”
“Here you do the full work of a vaquero. Belen says he never saw anyone take to it so quickly.”
James moved his broadening shoulders. Already close to six feet tall, he was packing hard muscle onto his bones. Impossible to believe she’d once carried him around in a cradleboard.
“Belen and Santiago taught me much when I was small. I like vaquero work, though it’s funny to doctor screwworms and nurse calves instead of running them off.” His smile faded. “Remember what you promised, Talitha? That in the hungry time I may take some of the cattle you say are mine to the Apaches?”
“I remember.” She searched his eyes. In their dark blue depths she could read nothing of whether he intended to return. She dared not ask.
Three young hawks fledged by the pair nesting along the creek had left the nest. For the month or so they were learning to feed themselves they pursued their parents, screeching and screaming, catching in midair the snakes, mice, and other food sometimes dropped to them.
When able to fend for themselves, the young vanished, gone to seek ranges of their own, but K’aak’eh still lingered, feeding from what James or the twins put out for him. He could fly, but though he spent the day circling and dropping to earth, it was rarely that he was seen gripping anything in his talons.
His injury must have thrown him off by the split second that made all the difference. He would have perished in the wild, but it scarcely mattered here. He was a beautiful bird, molting into his adult plumage, with his tail now a deep rich rust, his underbody pure white to where the speckling blended into the brown of the shoulders and upper wings.
“I suppose he’ll start hunting a mate next spring,” Talitha said one day to James as he held the hawk on his padded arm.
A strange look passed over James’s face.
Several days later, Talitha, riding back to the ranch from the day’s hunt for strays, saw him standing on a hill. He was watching a hawk soar up, up, wheeling toward the sun. Abruptly, it hurtled down. She couldn’t see it light, but in a few seconds K’aak’eh was aloft again. There was nothing in his claws.
She was watching the hawk, not James. For a moment she didn’t comprehend the shaft that rose like the bird, joined its flight, stopped it. They fell together.
Talitha looked at James then. He had sunk down by a rock, face buried in his arms. She understood with a thrill of pity and horror.
James had loved K’aak’eh. Loved him too much to let him live on as a beggar, crippled subtly, dependent on men.
Talitha wept as she rode home, both for the hawk and for James. She never mentioned what she’d seen. Later, when K’aak’eh was missed and Cat wondered where he was, James went abruptly outside. It was left to Talitha to say that she supposed the young hawk had gone where he belonged, back to wilderness.
IX
Carleton didn’t enter Tucson himself until the artillery battery got there and could fire a salute in welcome on June 7, 1862. Next day, he proclaimed martial law, with himself as military governor. No man over twenty-one could remain in the territory unless he took an oath of allegiance to the United States. No disloyal words or actions would be tolerated. Every man must have a lawful way of earning of living.
“Merchants praise Carleton out of one corner of their mouths and curse him from the other.” Frost chuckled. “On one hand, he’s provided for fair trials, and property and land disputes will be taken before a military commission with the right of appeal to civil courts, once they’re established. But while the good citizens are applauding this amazing law and order, the colonel’s slapped an occupation tax on all merchants, and each saloon and gambling room has to fork over a hundred dollars every month. This all goes to benefit sick and wounded soldiers. On balance, the people seem glad to have some kind of government again.”
Talitha frowned. “If that’s how this martial law operates for loyal citizens, I wonder what he’ll do to Confederate sympathizers?”
“He’s arrested those who didn’t have sense enough to leave the country, but Sylvester Mowry’s his prime target. There was bad blood between him and Carleton from Mowry’s army days, so maybe you think the colonel wasn’t pleased to get a letter from the Patagonia mine’s metallurgist that accused Mowry of carrying on treasonable correspondence with secessionists, selling Captain Hunter percussion caps, and offering to bet that he’d shortly be governor of the Confederate Territory of Arizona!”
“After the way the Unionists pulled out of here and left us defenseless, I don’t think they have any business yelling traitor at anyone!” Talitha said scornfully.
“Careful, love.” Frost smiled, sealing her lips with his finger. “Colonel Carleton would judge those words ‘calculated to impair that veneration which all good patriots should feel for our country and government.’”
“Patriots!” Talitha laughed bitterly. “My parents were hounded out of the United States because of their religion. Shea was branded and flogged for deserting and fighting against an army he believed was unjustly invading another country to steal its territory. Practically the whole white population here still think of themselves as Mexicans. It’s crazy to talk about patriotism!”
“Yet both Shea and Marc Revier, foreigners born, charged off to fight.”
“You certainly didn’t.”
Frost shrugged gracefully. “My dear, even Colonel Carleton agrees that my special talents and contacts serve the Union far better in keeping its troops supplied than could my services as a soldier.”
He went on to say that Mowry had been arrested, his mine and smelter confiscated, and on June 16, right before Frost left Tucson, a military board had been convened to try the former West Pointer for treason.
“Sylvester manages to be dashing even under arrest,” Frost added admiringly. “He brought his mistress, private secretary, and personal servant along to Tucson and paraded through the streets more like a conqueror than an accused felon.”
Mowry might better have left his secretary at the mine. Under oath, the mart testified that his employer had not only written to General Sumner and Captain Hunter for protection against Apaches, for which he could sc
arcely be blamed, but had also written to Jefferson Davis and members of the Confederate cabinet and army. Early in July Mowry was found guilty and sent to Yuma. On July 4 Colonel Eyre with men of the 1st California Cavalry, after losing three men to Apaches, reached the Rio Grande and raised the Union flag amid wild cheers. On July 15 another advance force had a fierce battle at Apache Pass with Indians led by Mangus Coloradas and Cochise. The wounding of Mangus caused the Apaches to drop the fight. Reaching Apache Pass in July, Carleton ordered the establishment of Fort Bowie to protect this hazardous and vital location and proceeded toward the Rio Grande.
Having seen armies and commanders come and go while Apaches and brigands remained, the citizenry yawned and were glad when Carleton marched to Santa Fe, where he became commander of the Department of New Mexico.
“Now that there aren’t any Rebs to fight, Carleton’ll train all his guns on the Indians,” Frost predicted. “I don’t envy the Mescaleros and Navajos his attentions.”
Talitha scarcely heard. What had happened to Shea? With the Confederate arms utterly defeated in the West, where was he? She had hoped that Revier or Irwin might send word to her through the Tucson garrison, but no private news came, though Frost liked to talk about military affairs and the lobbying of Charles Poston and General Heintzelman to make Arizona a territory separate from New Mexico. Such a bill had narrowly passed the House in May and was awaiting Senate action.
Those favoring creation of Arizona Territory had argued that the region’s sixty-five hundred whites deserved more protection than New Mexico could give them against thirty thousand hostile Indians and that the proposed territory’s mineral wealth would many times repay the cost of such protection.
Opponents of the bill sneered that all the loyal Unionists had been driven out by the Confederates, that ninety percent of the alleged whites were half-breeds and Mexicans who had no wish to be U.S. citizens, and that the region had better be first rescued from the Confederacy.
“Now that’s been done,” said Frost complacently, “I expect the Senate will finally pass the bill, but I think I’ll go up to Washington when Congress opens in December and pull all the strings I can. Too bad my former father-in-law’s in the wrong Congress, the Rebel one.”
Leonore, Frost’s sweet and beautiful first wife, had been the daughter of an influential congressman. Frost had put it about that she’d been killed in a fall down the stairs, but Talitha would always believe he’d pushed her. When she said nothing, staring out the window toward the mountains, Frost came up behind her. In the possessive gesture she hated, he put his arms around her from behind, cupping her breasts in his long fingers.
“Would you like to go with me, love? We’d travel with one of my supply trains to Camp Bowie, get a military escort to Santa Fe, and join up there with traders heading for St. Louis, where we can get a train the rest of the way.”
His hands caressed her, making her hate and despise her body. His desire for it had made her his captive; worse, it responded to his assiduous wooing, constantly betrayed her.
“You promised I could stay here,” she reminded him coldly. “It’ll soon be time for fall branding, and the children need me.”
“Your husband doesn’t?” he asked silkily. “What kind of woman are you, Talitha? With the clothes and jewels I’d buy you, you’d be the sensation of Washington society—but you’d rather stuff powdered cow chips into maggoty sores and get black and blue wrestling calves!”
She didn’t answer. If she angered him, he might insist she come with him, hampering as her presence would be on the way to St. Louis. “Why are you so eager for Arizona to be separate from New Mexico?” she asked. “You’re certainly doing well as it is in hauling military supplies.”
“Indeed.” He laughed. “But where there’s a seat of government, there’s rich pickings. I prefer mine closer than Santa Fe.” Bending his head, he took her mouth, swept her into his arms. “Well, sweet, if you won’t go with me, I must sate myself while I can!”
He left that week. The twins’ fourteenth birthday celebration was, for Talitha, also a celebration of being free, at least for a time, of the powerful, handsome, deadly husband Cat used to call the Silver Man.
There had been a good calf crop that year, compensating for stock driven off by thieves and Apaches, so when a young lieutenant from the quartermaster’s rode up to the ranch with a squad of men and said he would take all the beef she could sell him, Talitha decided to get rid of barren cows, the scrubbier yearlings, and any beasts that looked as if they might not winter well.
While the lieutenant went to buy ham, bacon, and other supplies from Pete Kitchen, the Rancho del Socorro’s herd was culled. The lieutenant gave Talitha vouchers for three hundred head of cattle and twenty mules.
“The paymaster’ll be through twice a year to redeem these,” he explained as she frowned at the pieces of paper. “But you can use these as you would money.”
He gladly accepted an invitation to dinner, sitting with the household while his men lounged on the porch and heartily devoured the food Juana and Anita took them. Sandy-haired, with a fresh, boyish face, the officer freely expressed his disgust at being on garrison duty rather than at the front.
“I’d rather be at Camp Bowie and get a crack at old Mangus or Cochise,” he grumbled. “Or over in New Mexico. Going to be lots of action before Col. Kit Carson gets the savages tamed.” He went on to say that Carleton, now a general, had issued an order to Carson that all Apache men were to be killed whenever and wherever found and the women and children taken prisoner.
“But what if the Apaches want peace?” Talitha asked. James had muttered something and was staring fixedly at the soldier in a way that brought a scowl of puzzlement to the young man’s face.
“General Carleton says if the Indians send a flag of truce or want to make peace, they’re to be told they’re being punished for their past treachery. As you know, Mrs. Frost, they’ve frequently attacked after pretending to be friendly.”
“I suppose the general figures they certainly won’t attack after they’re dead,” said Talitha dryly.
“That’s right.” The lieutenant nodded, missing her sarcasm. “Carleton thinks this is the most humane course in the long run—forcing the savages to understand that they’ll be left alone only after they give up their depredations.”
“Humane?” Talitha burst out. She had no love for Apaches, but she wished they could be persuaded to stay in their mountain fastnesses and live at peace. “Lieutenant, did you know that Jefferson Davis stripped Colonel Baylor of his command exactly because Baylor gave orders to exterminate the Apaches?”
The officer flushed. Talitha reached across Cat to place her hand on James’s arm. “My brother’s half Apache, sir. Is it your duty to kill him?”
“Mrs. Frost! Of course the general’s orders apply only to the hostiles. I do assure you that your—” The lieutenant looked at her and gulped. “Your brother’s in no danger as long as he’s living with you, or in any civilized fashion.”
James said, “Soldiers aren’t the only ones who have to eat, Lieutenant. So do my people. I’ll be taking beef to them this winter.”
Light blue and dark blue eyes clashed. “Then I’d advise you to keep off the old Butterfield route, where patrols might take you for a thief or a hostile,” the officer warned.
Rising, he bowed to Talitha, thanked her for the meal, and soon departed, his men driving the mules and cattle.
Carleton’s merciless order put James in a fever to be gone at once, but, yielding to Talitha’s pleading, he stayed for the Roof Feast. He couldn’t drive forty head by himself, so it was agreed that Talitha and Belen would help him.
Cat and the twins had begged to ride along, but Talitha had refused. The excursion was dangerous. She had no mind to jeopardize Shea’s children because her brother wanted to feed Apaches.
On the morning they were to leave, Talitha stared at her brother in shock, hardly knowing him. He wore the buckskin he’d ha
d when he came over a year and a half ago, loose then, now fitting snugly. A leather breechcloth reached almost to the tops of his high moccasins, which were cuffed just below the knee. The folds of such boots were used, Talitha remembered, to hold extra soles, an awl, a yucca thorn with fiber still attached, perhaps a knife. He carried a knife in his buckskin sash, and cartridge belts crossed over his chest. His long black hair was held out of his face by a red headcloth. Except for the eyes he was pure Apache.
The twins stared, uneasily admiring. Carmencita crossed herself. The vaqueros, except for Belen, watched him with closed faces. But Cat clapped her hands and ran to throw her arms around him.
“James, you look splendid! But you will come back, won’t you, as soon as you deliver the cattle?”
On one knee, holding the girl against him, James spoke so softly that Talitha had to strain for the answer to the question she’d been afraid to ask. “I don’t know, Caterina.”
“But Mangus sent you to us!”
“Yes, but that was before soldiers started hunting Apaches for their lives. My people may need me more than you do now.”
Cat’s mouth trembled. She scrubbed away tears that sparkled in her eyes. “But—but, James, I love you! I couldn’t bear it if you stayed as long as you did before. Please! Come back as soon as you can—”
He sighed. “As soon as I can.” He kissed her, held her fiercely, protectively close; and for that moment neither seemed a child.
On the third night they camped in a grassy basin watered by a small creek that meandered down from the northern mountains. “We’ll have been seen by now,” James said. “Tomorrow you’d better start back.”
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