Home. He thought suddenly of another home with a green expanse of lawn, an orchard with fruit-laden trees and a pond that grew the biggest and tastiest catfish east of the Mississippi. He'd been happy there, living with his grandfather, and even happier when his parents had come there to live as well, their days of running stage stations in the territories behind them.
He mentally compared the locations and was about to ask himself which of the two he preferred when he reined in his thoughts. The Apaches had taught him that there was beauty, harmony, and power in all land; that the desert should not be likened to or measured against the mountains, or the valleys to the canyons.
His mouth drew up in a smile as he rode into the little vale that was crowded with shrubs and trees. It wasn't as green and lush as his other home, but it was beautiful all the same. Among the pine trees sat a dozen brush-covered wickiups, sturdily built to withstand the seasons. Toriano and his people, almost all relatives by blood and marriage, had made the Valley of Thunder a permanent campsite. Both water and game were plentiful. They had no need of moving from place to place as did most of the other groups within the central band.
Above him, from a point that overlooked the valley, a vedette screeched like a hawk to announce his arrival. At the lookout's call, three young boys came stampeding across the valley floor to meet him, whooping and hollering. They were followed by a half-dozen women, who gathered at the camp's edge, waving at him, as if he was an honored warrior returning from a successful raid. Toriano and his brother Luga and their cousin Eskinyea set aside the sinew they had been wrapping around their arrows and came to stand near the women.
The smell of game roasting over a slow-burning fire made Shatto's mouth water. He was glad to come home, but was not eager to tell Toriano and the others—his second family—about his visit to Camp Bowie and the bargain he'd struck. Though they were all anxious for peace, they would not like the road they would have to take to get there.
Toriano's straight black hair swung forward over muscular shoulders as he moved ahead and took the pinto's reins. "My heart is glad to see you, but could you not have come later, after the meal? The buck was a young one—very small— and you have a big hunger. I do not think there is enough for all of us to share." The glint in his eyes belied the seriousness of his tone.
Shatto raised his brow and cut Toriano a sharp sideways glance. "But I am very hungry," he said, patting his stomach. "I smelled the meat as soon as I reached the summit. Are you sure there is not enough?"
Toriano shrugged his shoulders. "I am sure."
"Well then, if as you say, there is not enough"—Shatto pulled the reins out of Toriano's hands—"I will have to go hunting. My story of the bluecoat colonel will wait until I get back." He reined sharply to the right and kicked the pinto into a trot.
Toriano's expression turned to disbelief. He broke from the group and sprinted after the horse. The women and children laughed and shouted with excitement at the game between the two warriors. Their shouts turned to screams of encouragement when in a sudden burst of speed Toriano reached the pinto's left flank and grabbed on to Shatto's leg.
Shatto whooped with surprise and released the reins. Had the attack come from an enemy he would have kicked the pinto into a gallop and dragged his attacker over the ground. Instead, he succumbed to Toriano's hold and slid off the pinto's back. He hit the ground hard but was quick to gain his feet and spring catlike at Toriano who lunged at him at the same time. The two men locked in mock combat, rolling over and over in the dirt, grunting, snarling like mountain lions, and laughing like children, until they looked up and saw Toriano's wife standing over them, scowling like an angry she bear.
Darkness crept slowly over the mountains, softly veiling the valley in shadows. Shatto sat cross-legged several feet from Toriano's campfire. He had discarded his civilian clothes for the breechclout and moccasins worn by the other men. The buck had not been small as Toriano had said, but a large one, big enough to feed the entire group, which now numbered twenty-five: ten women, eight men, and seven children.
Shatto talked of his visit to Bowie and his discussion with Captain Nolan and the colonel throughout the meal. When he had finished, he talked of his vision of the People's future. "Every day more white men come here to these mountains and the desert." His expression was grave, his tone solemn as befitted the subject. "It is true some go beyond to the great water, but many stay here to build homes, plant seeds in the ground, or search for the yellow iron. They do not think of the land in the way the Apache does. To them, it is a thing to be owned—like a rifle or a horse." He stopped, giving them a moment to digest his words. Because the Apache did not believe that land could be bought or sold—that it was for all men to use—they would have difficulty understanding.
"They want this land," he said with a wide sweep of his hands, "because it is rich in gold, silver, copper, and lead. There is coal and salt and much more that the white men want and nothing will stop them from coming and taking it, for they are greedy and they do not respect the land like the Apache."
"Let them come," said Eskinyea. At eighteen, he was full of himself. "We will fight them and send them away."
"Yes, you will fight them and some of them will go away, but more will come—always more will come. Not even Cochise and all his warriors can stop them. There are more white men than all the Apache, Zunis, and Navajo together." The mood of his audience suddenly tensed and they stared at him through the flames, their expressions fierce.
Luga, Toriano's youngest brother, had a surly disposition and tended toward being argumentative. He grunted now and shook his head. "There may be many as you say but they are weak like women. I see this with my own eyes."
Stretching his arm across to Luga and grabbing his shoulder, Shatto said, "Am I weak?"
Luga did not flinch. "No, but you are—"
"No different than they," he finished for him. "Not all white men are weak or fools like the bluecoat colonel. Not all Apache are strong like Luga." Turning back to the others, he continued. "The day when the Apache could move about like the wind is no more." His hand left Luga's shoulder to slash through the air.
"We have talked of this before," Toriano spoke out, his voice carrying to everyone around the campfire. "Shatto's vision is greater than ours because he is a white man and knows the white man's ways and the Apache ways. He has guided us in the past. We must listen to him now and believe."
Toriano made an excellent chief; he was diplomatic and open-minded—like Cochise had been until he was unjustly accused of abducting the son of a Sonoita Valley rancher. The ramifications from that affair—eight years ago—had begun a long and bloody war—a war that would have no winner, no victory.
In language they could understand, Shatto went on to explain President Grant's proposed Peace Policy, as told to him by Captain Nolan. It would be a system that would concentrate all Apaches onto reservations, where they would be educated, civilized, and taught the principle of agriculture so they could feed themselves. He didn't expect them to like the idea of being confined. He sure as hell hadn't liked that month he'd spent in confinement in a military prison. But he had to make them understand that the reservation system or something equally as bad was inevitable.
"You would be wise not to resist, because you cannot win." In the end, the braves sat staring morosely into the flames, their spirits going the same way as the sparks that died once they left the fire. "I have made a bargain with the nantan at the soldier fort." He explained what the colonel had offered and what he had agreed to do in return. "I have thought long on this and have decided that it is right that I should do this."
Luga stood, fire in his eyes. "You say we should not fight the white eyes—that we should be herded like cattle and live on their reservation, where they will treat us like dogs." He spat into the fire. "I say no! I say it is better to fight and die than to live on the white man's reservation!"
"Luga!" Toriano rolled to his feet. "Your tongue is quick li
ke the snake but your eyes do not see what is before you. We are here in this valley because we chose not to fight the white man as Cochise wanted us to do. We are here because we chose not to die. Cochise, Juh, Victorio, Chie—they will never agree to the white man's peace. Shatto is right in what he has agreed to do. Helping the white man will save Apache lives. Now, go from this council and ask the Great Spirit to take the blindness from your eyes."
Shatto knew that Luga would never understand and neither would he humble himself by coming back to the fire. "My heart is sad for Luga, for me, and for all Apache."
Much later, when the moon was high, Shatto left the council fire and went to his wickiup where he laid down among the animal skins that made his bed. He didn't want to think about the days and weeks ahead. It was all he could do to make himself believe that he had not made a devil's bargain—that what he had agreed to do was for the good of the People—that he was not betraying them, but helping them by bringing a quicker end to the fighting.
Even if Grant didn't initiate his Peace Policy and the reservation system never came about, it was still only a matter of time before the white man ran the Apache from their homes and off their land. A few years at the most, he thought. Regardless, the great Apache nation was destined to become a memory—a notation in the annals of history.
He clasped his hands together beneath his head and stared up at the sky through the smoke hole in the wickiup's center. There was much about the Apache way of life he had come to love, but he had to admit, there were a few things from his old life that he missed and looked forward to enjoying again, even though he knew it would only be temporary, for he was sure that he would want to live out his days within these mountains.
Independence Taylor reminded him of the good times before the war, before he'd been accused of murder and gone into exile. Her scented hair and velvet soft skin brought to mind fancy military balls and lavish midnight suppers. Her soft touch and hazel eyes made him think of long carriage rides around the square with Tess. Tess, who had sweet-talked him into getting engaged when marriage was the furthest thing from his mind. Tess, who had professed her undying love, then turned her back on him when he asked her to visit him one last time before they hanged him.
Tess was as unlike Independence Taylor as Camp Bowie was to West Point. Tess had known exactly what she wanted and how to get it. She had seen him as a means to wealth and position. Her sexual appetite had been voracious and he'd been willing to accommodate her every wish because they were his wishes too.
As far as he could tell, Independence Taylor wasn't looking for wealth and position; she was looking for love—from her father. Having met the colonel, Jim was certain she would never find it. The man was incapable of that particular emotion—the man was a fool. As to Independence's sexual appetite—he'd bet his skinning knife that she had never experienced a man. He knew by the way she reacted to him whenever he got close or touched her—an odd mixture of fear, curiosity, and desire.
He found the combination interestingly arousing.
He laughed at himself for entertaining such a thought. He'd been celibate since the last time he'd been with Tess. He hadn't thought all that much about it until he'd met Independence; there had been other things to keep his interest and give him contentment. Now, however, he couldn't seem to get his celibacy or Independence Taylor out of his mind.
Her name came to him on the wind that moved the light flap covering the entry. He imagined he was back there in Indy's bedroom holding her small delicately boned hands in his. He could feel her trembling and it made his blood race through his body down into his groin. He swore softly when he felt the involuntary quickening, the kindling. It had been so long he'd almost forgotten what it was like—that surge of excitement for a special woman.
The trouble was—he was here and she was tucked in her bed at Camp Bowie. Not since his youth had he succumbed to bringing about his own relief and he wouldn't do so now.
"Damn you, Independence Taylor," he muttered raggedly. "I knew you'd be trouble the minute I laid eyes on you!"
Outside, the wind eddied around his wickiup, whispering a different name, a name he’d heard before but refused to acknowledge.
“Peacemaker.”
Chapter 7
An unnatural peace filled the parlor that evening in the wake of Shatto and Captain Nolan's visit. Indy sat at the table by the window, watching the parade ground as two troopers lowered the flag and folded it while the bugler blew taps. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw her father sitting in a wooden rocker, making notations in his journal. He looked content as a cat in a creamery.
Considering all the pressure her father had been under from the soldiers' petition and the impending visit from the Indian commissioner, Indy thought his look of contentedness odd, but obviously he was confident that the bargain he'd struck with Major Garrity would resolve everything. The soldiers' complaints had been shelved once word had gotten around, and when the Indian commissioner arrived, her father would tell him he had reestablished the military escorts through Apache Pass and was sending out details to check on local ranchers. He seemed confident that those things would convince the commissioner that Camp Bowie was in fact in good hands.
Turning back and looking down at her hands, Indy thought about Shatto. She had felt all along there was something different about him— something that set him apart. And now she knew what that something was. He wasn't an Apache. Prudence had felt it as well, she recalled, and by now would have heard the news. Indy could imagine Pru's elation upon learning that Shatto was indeed a white man and not an Indian.
"Independence. In-de-pendence!" The colonel's autocratic voice broke into her thoughts. She looked over at him. "I want you to put together some sort of welcome reception for Major Garrity. Do you think four days will give you ample time?"
She stared at him, surprised by his request. "A welcome reception?"
"Yes. You know. Like the one we attended at Fort Montgomery last year. Only on a much smaller scale and without all the formality—since that would be impossible anyway."
Indy couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Well, y-yes, of course I can," she stammered.
"What about your burns? Won't they be a significant hindrance?"
"Not to any major degree. I won't be able to lift and carry things for a few days, but I can do all the planning and arranging." Seeing his dubious expression, she quickly offered, "I could ask some of the officers' wives to help me. I know they would be delighted. It would give them something fun to do for a change. That is, if you're agreeable."
"Yes, of course. Ask whomever you think would be of help."
Indy was afraid to show her delight. It wasn't just the planning of the reception that excited her so much, but that her father was entrusting her to do it. It had been years since he had asked anything of her. That he had now gave her hope that the day of forgiveness was forthcoming. Maybe the trip to Bowie wasn't a mistake after all.
"Everyone is to be invited," the colonel proceeded with uncommon enthusiasm. "The officers, enlisted men, and all the women and children. Make certain there's plenty of food and drink, and not just lemonade if you get my meaning. Put somebody in charge of that who knows what they're doing." He stood up. "And music and dancing," he added. "The men haven't had any entertainment since before I arrived here. It will be good for them. Boost their morale." He threw his head back and chuckled. "Yes. God, yes, that's exactly what it will do. Boost their morale!"
Indy had never seen him so exuberant. "I'm sure it will," she agreed, somewhat bewildered by his peculiar behavior but pleased by it as well. It was a rare occasion, not one to be scrutinized or questioned.
"Then I'll leave it to you," he said, again implying trust, but when Indy started to get up he called her back. "Independence." He waited until she was looking at him before speaking. "You won't let me down, will you, daughter? This is extremely important to me . . . and to my career."
"No, Father. I won't let you down.
I know exactly what needs to be done. It'll be a grand reception. Don't worry. I'll make you proud."
Indy started out early the next morning, going first to the auction, where she accidentally outbid herself by fifty cents on a chair she wanted.
Ava, Opal, and Aphra were there, and after the auction, Indy drew them aside and asked if they'd like to help work on the reception. Ava declined, her advanced state of pregnancy being her excuse. Aphra and Opal were, much to her surprise, anything but eager to lend a helping hand, but they did agree, which eliminated having to ask for Prudence's help.
On the morning of the reception, the bugler sounded the nine o'clock drill. Soldiers came running from all directions to line up, two deep, within their own companies around the perimeter of the parade ground. They stood straight as broom sticks, arms close and stiff against their sides, awaiting orders.
Indy had gotten up at reveille to prepare her father's breakfast. The burns on her hands were healing nicely but she had to take care with everything she did and that made her slow at performing her tasks. She heard the clip-clop of a horses’ hooves and ran to open the front door, instinct telling her it was Shatto’s big pinto.
The early morning air seemed to crackle with excitement as the high-stepping horse came trotting along the western boundary of the parade ground, then slowed to a walk in front of Officers' Row. Today, Shatto--she had to start thinking of him as Major Garrity--was to be introduced to the entire garrison, look over the facilities and the men. Tonight, he would be the guest of honor at the welcome reception. Tomorrow, he would make his choices among the men and begin the training.
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