That night Colorados managed to sit up and lean against the side of the wagon. Near him, food. Untouched.
From a distance Sister Bonney had watched as he lay in the wagon after the others had left, watched him stir, try to rise, then put his head down again on the rolled blanket she had provided as a pillow.
Later she brought a plate of rabbit stew and a tin cup of coffee, placed it next to him and walked back to the campfire.
Around the campfire were Ike, Jake, the three boys, Ben, Melena, Binky, Dolan and the miners.
Jake had just finished lighting the last candle on the menorah.
“If the rest of you will bear with us, it’s Rosh Hashanah, one of our holiest times, the beginning of a new year, a time of introspection. A time to look back at the mistakes of the past year and plan the changes we’ll make in the year to come. It is a time of repentance, prayer and good deeds. The common greeting at this time is L’shanah tovah. The custom is to drink a little wine . . . we have none. The custom is to eat a special bread . . . we have none. It is also customary to taste something sweet, so it will be a sweet new year. I just happened to have a bag of candy—enough for all—and I will pass it around. And so, friends, please join us, as you have joined us on our journey, in this our celebration of Rosh Hashanah—L’shanah tovah.”
“Bravo!” Binky exclaimed. “L’shanah tovah!”
The celebration of Rosh Hashanah, such as it was, began.
Later, Sister Bonney walked over to Ike Silver, who stood alone some distance from the others.
“It’s amazing. He’s regained consciousness, but he’s very weak.”
Big Ike nodded as he lit his pipe.
“He hasn’t touched his food,” she said. “Why don’t you—”
“I will, Sister.” Ike walked toward the wagon.
Colorados did not stir as Ike approached. He stared straight ahead.
“Colorados.”
No response.
“Do you understand me? Do you speak our language?”
Nothing.
Ike pointed to the food with his pipe.
“You ought to eat.” Ike motioned toward his mouth. “Eat.”
“I meant,” Colorados said, still staring straight ahead, “to kill you.”
“So, you do speak our language—and you came skin-close to doing it, too . . . killing me, I mean.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why.”
“I mean why didn’t you let me die?”
“Would you have let me die if I were in your place?”
“I have killed many soldiers in battle.”
“It’s not the same. I’m not a soldier, not anymore, and we were not in battle. At least I wasn’t.”
“And that is why you didn’t let me die?”
“Sister Boniface did most of the patching.”
“She is your sister?”
“No.”
“Is she your woman?”
“No. She’s what is called a nun.”
“What is a nun?”
“She’s dedicated her life to helping people. That’s part of her religion, to help people. Look, you better eat.”
“Are you a nun?”
“No.” Ike smiled. “Like you, I’m from another tribe.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re an Apache.”
“Apache chief.”
“That’s right. But the Apaches have many tribes. . . .”
“Yes.” Colorados nodded. “Mimbreno. Chiricahua, Tonto . . .”
“My people are called Jews.”
“Jews?”
“Yes.”
“I do not know of Jews.”
“We come from twelve tribes. My family is from the tribe of Joseph.”
“Is he here with you?”
“No. He died a long time back in our homeland.”
“Where is your homeland?”
“Far away . . . far across the ocean.”
“Why are you here?”
“Well, our homeland was taken away from us . . . a long time ago.”
“And now Jews come to take ours.”
“No. There’s just my brother, my two sons and me.”
“What do you do here?”
“We’re traders . . . merchants.”
“You bring guns for the army?”
“No. Food. Supplies for everybody.”
“For Apache?”
“If you want.”
“The little man . . .”
“My brother. His name is Jacob.”
“He looks like Apache.”
“I guess.” Ike smiled. “He does at that, Colorados.”
“You know my name.”
“Yes. Everybody around here does.”
“I won’t go back to prison. I will die first.”
“You will if you don’t eat. But every living thing wants to go on living.”
Ike blew smoke from his pipe, including a couple of smoke rings.
For the first time Colorados moved a little, trying to sniff the smoke without being too obvious.
“You like to smoke?”
Colorados nodded.
“Well, that’s something else we have in common.”
Ike extended the pipe.
“Smoke.”
Colorados hesitated.
“Go ahead. Take it.”
Colorados accepted the pipe. He put it to his lips and inhaled deeply, appreciatively.
Ike thought he could detect just the trace of a smile, but he wasn’t sure.
“Keep it. I’ve got another one.”
He put a pouch and some matches on the bed of the wagon and started to walk away.
“Your tribe . . .” Colorados said.
Ike stopped and looked back.
“Did your tribe ever fight against the army?”
“In another country.” Ike nodded. “But there they were called Cossacks.”
When Big Ike was just a few steps away, Sister Bonney stepped out of the shadows.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said.
“Mind what?”
“My eavesdropping. I wondered what you’d say to him.”
“So did I.”
“I found out something.”
“About Colorados?”
“No, about you, Isaac Silver. I found out that you’re not only a father, a former soldier, a merchant and a Moses, but something else.”
“What?”
“A diplomat.”
“I don’t know about that, but you know he’ll try to run away as soon as he’s strong enough.”
“Of course he will. But after tonight it’ll be different.”
“How different?”
“Before he runs away, he won’t try to kill any of us.”
For the next two days and nights Colorados didn’t have enough strength to run away.
He never said another word. Not to Sister Bonney, nor to Melena or Ben, or to Benjie, who were all with him in the wagon most of the day—not even to Ike Silver, who occasionally rode alongside.
Sister Bonney would set a tin plate of food and a container of water next to him. No one ever saw him eat, but when they returned after their meal, the tin plate and the container would be empty. And at night, when the others were around the campfire, Colorados smoked the pipe that Ike had given him.
During those days Ben Brown was almost as silent as the Apache, talking only to Melena and sometimes to Benjie and only giving a terse answer if anyone asked a question.
And during the journey, Benjie never took the yoyo out of his pocket.
Somehow Jedediah still managed to look neat and proper and Obadiah was still his restless, disorderly self.
In the evening Sean Dolan and some of the miners serenaded the rest of the travelers with surprisingly sweet renditions of “Lorena,” “Shenandoah,” “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen” and other sentimental songs.
Binky regaled his captive audience with abridged interpretations of Shakespearean dramas and sonnets.
Jake grumbled about whatever he could find to grumble about and occasionally counted again what was left of the bankroll, then pinned it back inside his pocket.
Away from the others, Sister Bonney knelt alone with her rosary.
Ike Silver smoked his other pipe, looked at his watch and listened to the melody it played.
On the third day as the sun arced toward its zenith, Sean Dolan rode up next to Ike Silver.
“Well, Big Ike, so far, so good.”
Ike Silver nodded.
“What do you intend doing?” Dolan asked.
“Getting to Fort Whipple, what else?”
“I know that. That’s not what I mean.” Dolan motioned back toward Ben Brown’s wagon. “I mean about Colorados. You know there’s a reward.”
“Not interested in any reward.”
“I figured that, but—”
“But what?”
“He’s getting to the point where he might do something, I mean, you think we ought to tie him up, or . . .”
“No, we’re not going to tie him up, or anything else.”
“You gonna let him escape?”
“This is not a prison, Sean. It happens to be his home.”
“You’re the boss.” Dolan grinned. “There’s something else you oughta know, boss.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve made this trek before, you know.”
“So?”
“So did you see that outcrop of white rocks a ways back?”
“What about it?”
“That was the halfway mark to Fort Whipple. We’re past the point of no return.”
Near the outcrop of white rocks, Gallagher and his men on horseback watched as the caravan in the distance moved farther ahead.
“Well . . .” Rooster said.
“Well, what?”
“You got any ideas yet? About getting that cargo for Mister Lessur.”
“Rooster . . .”
That’s when a rifle report cracked through the air and one of Gallagher’s men grabbed at the wound in his leg.
There were other shots—and Indian yells.