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A few days later, Daniel presented Tommy with a drawing of a functional wood and leather leg. At the Navajo’s summer encampment up in the mountains, they held a short conversation with the elders, then headed for a rather neglected hogan on the far side of the camp. Tommy showed the drawing to the boy and his mother, explaining that the leather cup would fit over his leg and the wide bands would stabilize it at the calf and thigh. Though Daniel understood little of their language, he could read the excitement in her face as Small Cloud at Night spoke eagerly to her son. The boy’s dark eyes were glued to hers, but he gave her no response. Small for a child of twelve, he looked waxen and tired.
In his pocket, along with a handful of rawhide laces, a pencil and a scrap of paper, Daniel usually carried pemmican or dried fruit. He knelt beside Blue Deer’s bed of blankets and offered him a wrinkled slice of apple.
After looking to his mother for permission, Blue Deer reached shyly for the fruit and took a firm bite, glancing once at the woodsman before averting his eyes.
“T’anks,” he murmured.
Daniel pulled another slice from his pocket and puffed out his lips, then chewed so loudly and with such facial contortions Blue Deer had to laugh. “Speak English?”
The boy shook his head. “T’anks,” he repeated.
“Welcome.” Daniel chuckled and offered another piece of apple. Blue Deer peered around his shoulder to see if his mother was watching, then his hand darted out for the extra slice and hid it under his blanket.
“T’anks.” The word was scarcely a whisper this time. Daniel winked at him.
Tommy was still talking to the boy’s mother as Daniel rose and made a great show of brushing off the seat of his pants, garnering another small chuckle from Blue Deer.
“I’ll see you later,” the woodsman said to Tommy, throwing a salute to the sick boy and nodding to his mother. She returned a graceful wave of her hand. Turning once more to the boy on the blankets, he tossed another piece of apple to him and slipped out the door.
***
THE FOREST WAS COOL and shady, the sun creating a dappled carpet that changed with the breeze. Birds and squirrels paid no attention as the woodsman glided along on the mat of loam and pine needles. Three deer—a doe and two fawns—pricked their ears up at the slight rustling of his footsteps. But seeing only the movement of hide identical to their own, they dipped their heads to the stream again.
Daniel moved warily, leaving no trail, listening to the sounds of the forest, knowing someone was close by. When he stopped, he heard the man tracking him stop a split-second later. As he stepped out again, the footsteps that dogged him weren’t quite attuned to the rhythm of his stride. The follower was taller than he. As he left the next clearing, just at the edge of the woods, the woodsman pivoted.
Like a child caught in a game of Statues, Alec Twelve Trees stopped mid-stride. In place of the flared vaquero’s pants and velvet shirt he habitually wore, today he was dressed in buckskins identical to Daniel’s. His hair hung loose below a leather headband decorated with silver medallions. As the woodsman leaned on his rifle, Alec settled his feet together.
“Tell me,” Alec growled.
“I can’t.”
“Tell me who killed my mother.”
“He’s gone now. There’s nothing you can do.”
“Tell me.”
“Alec, we’ve been through this before. I have no proof.”
“I don’t care. I want to know. I need to know.”
Daniel shook his head slowly. Conversation seemed useless. Still, he tried to reason with his friend. “There’s family left―”
“You bastard. I’ll kill you.”
“No. You won't.”
But Alec didn’t hear—he’d turned on his heel and disappeared into the trees.
Daniel looked up to the canopy but saw only his friend’s face—a face that had always been solemn and yet always calm, now twisted and tortured with pain, dark eyes smoldering with despair. He wanted nothing more than for his friend to find peace.
A deeply spiritual man, Daniel considered the outward trappings of religion nonsense. He’d found solace in nature, coming to believe that all things have a sacred meaning of their own. His beliefs had been crystallized by discussions with Alec and Tommy, and he’d accepted much of the Navajo way—he believed that a man’s word was as good as his deed, that nature’s bounty wasn’t to be taken lightly, that waste was the greatest sin. That a man without honor is no man at all. He also found hope in the optimism of the prayer of the Navajo, which always ended with, “Now all is well.” He stopped for a moment, closed his eyes and tried to force the belief into his heart, but it brought him no comfort.
Letting out a long slow breath, he rubbed his face with both hands. He had no choice—he had to protect an innocent. She was almost a stranger, but she needed him more than his friend ever could.
He continued on his journey and, after another mile, arrived at the edge of the forest and stepped out onto his father’s land. The foothills rolled gently behind him, and even more gently in front of him—down to the river and the village of White’s Station.
This was his home—the Arizona Territory. From the desert in the south to the mountains surrounding Flag to the Tonto Basin, Daniel knew the Territory intimately. He loved it all, but he loved these foothills best. Here the winter could be harsh but wasn’t too long, and the other seasons glided into one another much as he glided through the forest. His brothers sometimes remarked he loved his Territory even more than his family.
A smile played on Daniel’s lips. It wasn’t true, of course, but it made for some interesting conversations. A bit more settled in spirit, he continued on his way home.