They are watching through glass. If I hand you anything other than a trade, they will call it an alliance and send the cavalry to burn us both out. They understand greed. They do not understand mercy." The elder narrowed his eyes.
"You speak in riddles. I speak in survival, Cal said. I need to speak to her alone. I have things to tell you that I cannot say while the agent spies are watching. The elder looked at Gojo.
Go looked at the horses. You ask for her, Gojo said loudly. For the benefit of his warriors. You pay the price. 1,000 horses, Cal said.
Delivered in three groups. 300 today, 300 at midnight, 400 at dawn. If I touch her without her consent or if I harm her, you keep the horses and you kill me. Gojo looked at Naelli. Come here, he commanded.
Nielli walked forward. The sand was soft under her moccasins. She stopped three paces from the white man. She smelled the dust on his coat and the tobacco smoke. She saw the scar that ran down his jawline, white against the stubble.
Do you agree to this? the elder asked her. It was a formality, but a necessary one. Nailey looked at Cal up close. The desperation in his eyes was even clearer. He was pleading with her again.
"Help me stop this," his eyes said. "Help me," she looked at Gojo. He was smiling, a cruel, tight smile. "I want my people to eat," Nile said clearly. Her voice did not tremble.
"I will go." Gojo nodded. Take her. But know this, rancher. If she does not return by sunrise, the desert will not be big enough to hide you.
The transfer of the horses was a chaotic, thundering reality that silenced the mockery of the settlers. Cal had hired three Mexican drovers from down south, men who didn't care about local politics, to drive the first herd. They came over the rise in a cloud of dust that turned the sun blood red. 300 horses, wildeyed mustangs, sturdy quarter horses, unbroken colts. The ground shook.
The noise was a physical weight. The drumming of 1200 hooves, the winnying, the cracks of the whips, the settlers, who had gathered on the distant bluffs to watch the show fell silent. They had come to see a scandal. Instead, they were seeing a fortune poured into the sand. "That man is crazy," someone whispered.
That's $5,000 in horse flesh for a [ __ ]. Another man spat. It ain't right. It's against nature. But the sheer scale of it stopped them from interfering.
It was too big. It felt like an act of God or the devil. Cal watched the herd flow into the box canyon where the Apaches waited. He saw the young warriors whooping, riding alongside the new stock, their faces lit with a joy that had been absent for years. He felt a sickness in his gut.
He was buying their trust with stolen property. These horses were technically his, but if the bank knew, they would hang him as a thief. He was gambling everything on a single night of truth. He rode to where Naelli stood waiting. A fresh horse was saddled for her.
"Ride with me," he said. She mounted with a fluid grace. She did not look at him. She looked straight ahead. They rode away from the noise toward the high country where Cal's line cabin sat nestled in a grove of stunted pine.
Two of Go's scouts followed them, keeping a distance of a 100 yards, their rifles across their saddles. They would watch the cabin all night. The line cabin was a single room of rough huneed logs chinkedked with mud. It smelled of pine pitch and old wood smoke. Cal opened the door and stood back.
Naelli walked in. She stood in the center of the room, her hands at her sides. She did not look like a captive. She looked like a queen inspecting a prison cell. Cal entered and closed the door.
He slid the wooden bolt into place. The silence in the room was sudden and deafening. Outside, the wind whispered in the pines. Inside, the only sound was their breathing. Cal moved to the table and lit a kerosene lantern.
The golden light pushed back the shadows, revealing a cot in the corner, a wood stove, and a simple table with two chairs. He turned to face her. He took off his hat and set it on the table. Naelli watched him. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, but she kept her face smooth, so she said.
Her voice was cold, sharp as obsidian. The great man has his prize. Cal flinched. He looked pained. Please don't.
Don't what? Niley asked. She took a step toward him, her anger finally cracking the surface. Don't speak the truth. You bought me.
You humiliated me before my husband and my enemies. You made me a [ __ ] in the eyes of the territory so you could sit here and what? Look at me. She tore the blanket from her shoulders and threw it on the floor. Is this what you wanted?
She demanded. A trophy? No, Cal said. He held up his hands, palms out. Naelli, stop.
Please do not tell me to stop. She hissed. You white men take everything. You take the water. You take the land.
Now you think you can take our dignity with horses. She was shaking now, the fury pouring out of her. Cal reached into his coat pocket. He did not pull out a weapon. He pulled out a folded sheath of papers.
"I did not bring you here to touch you," he said. His voice was rough with emotion. I brought you here because you are the only one who can read English well enough to understand what this is. He threw the papers on the table. Nil stopped.
She looked at the papers, then at him. What is this? Cal pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. He looked exhausted. He looked like a man who had not slept in a week.
It is the reason your children are dying, he said. Na hesitated. The anger was still hot in her veins, but curiosity was cooling it. She walked to the table. She looked down at the top page.
It was a ledger sheet. It had the seal of the Indian Bureau at the top. Date: October 14th. Appropriation 400 head. Destination: San Salano Reservation.
Actual delivery zero. Diverted to CV ranch holding pen. Naelli read the line again. C V. Cyrus Vance, the cattle baron.
She flipped the page. There were lists of blankets, flower, rifles, all marked as delivered by the agent. All diverted to private sellers or Vance's warehouses. She looked up at Cal. Her eyes were wide.
They are stealing it all, she whispered. Every bit of it, Cal said, Agent Reed and Vance, they starve you to make you desperate. They want you to raid the settlements. They want the newspapers to scream about the savage Apache menace. Why?
Because if there is a war, Cal said, leaning forward. The army comes. If the army comes, they need beef. Vance has the beef. He gets the contracts.
And once the army clears you out, Vance gets the water rights to the canyon. Nailey sank into the other chair. The enormity of it washed over her. It wasn't just hatred. It was profit.
Her cousin's baby hadn't died because of bad luck. He had died because a man in a suit wanted to sell beef to a regiment that wasn't there yet. You stole these? She asked. I took them from the clerk, Cal said.
But papers are just paper. If I take this to the judge in Tucson, it will disappear. Reed has friends everywhere. So, what do we do? Nile asked.
The Wii slipped out before she could stop it. Cal heard it. He looked at her and for the first time the desperate tension in his face softened into something else, something dangerously vulnerable. "I need a witness," he said. "I need someone who can testify to the starvation who can stand up in a court, not a local court, but a federal hearing, and verify that these supplies never arrived.
Me?" Naelli shook her head. "They will not listen to an Apache woman. They will if she is standing next to a white rancher who is willing to lose everything to prove she is telling the truth. Cal said he reached across the table, his hand hovering near hers but not touching.