The next morning the general store and the area around it were a wellspring of activity.
Tom Bixby and an assistant had taken down the old sign and were affixing the freshly lettered new one.
Scotty had reported for work and he, Big Ike and Ben were collecting items and loading the wagon with supplies to be delivered to the Rattlesnake Mine.
Sister Bonney was in the soon-to-be-schoolroom with Gallagher and Rooster, who had brought over the crate from Santa Fe.
“Sister,” Gallagher asked after they had set the crate where she had indicated, “you want me and Rooster to empty it?”
“No, thanks. Just open it, please. I’ll empty it. There are some . . . personal items along with the books.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Benjie was showing Jed and Obie how to do the yo-yo. When he finished the demonstration he handed it to Jed.
“Now you try.”
Jake was sweeping the porch when a well-dressed, heavyset gentleman approached smoking what was left of a cigar.
“Good morning,” Jake said.
The gentleman looked up at the new sign. “You one of the new owners?”
“Right. Name’s Silver. Jake Silver.”
“John Davis. I’m the mayor of Prescott. Also have a real estate business. Just got back into town this morning.”
“How do you do, Your Honor?”
His Honor ignored the question, but spat out one of his own. Ben, who had been carrying a heavy sack of beans, could hear this part of the conversation. “You’re Jews, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, up to now, we haven’t had any Jews in our little village.”
Jake shrugged. “Maybe that’s why it’s a little village.”
The mayor looked Jake up and down and through and through in as deprecating a way as he knew how, dropped his cigar on the porch and proceeded along the street of his little village.
“Watch where you drop your butt,”—Jake swept the cigar off the porch—“Mister Mayor.”
Ben Brown was still watching and listening as Obie, followed by Jed and Benjie, walked up to his uncle.
“Uncle Jake, why did he say Jews like that?”
Jake looked after the mayor.
“Boys, it would take a couple of thousand years to explain that.”
Ben went on his way, carrying the heavy sack of beans.
Jake pointed the handle of the broom. “Now, Sister Bonney is in the storeroom cleaning it up. Why don’t you boys see if you can help?”
The boys were agreeable to Uncle Jake’s suggestion. They scampered around the corner.
Tom Bixby, who had also heard the conversation with the mayor, came closer to Jake.
“I wouldn’t pay too much attention to His Honor. He’s not as honorable as he makes out, and most everybody knows it, but they don’t let on.”
“You mean he runs a crooked real estate business?”
“Not that. You heard him say he’s been outta town.”
Jake nodded.
“He bought a mortgage on Widow Brown’s place over in Pinto.”
“So?”
“So, he collects payment by spending a couple of nights there every month.”
“I get it.” Jake smiled.
“So does he.”
Jim Gallagher and Rooster had come back from delivering the crate to Sister Mary Boniface. Rupert Lessur stood outside his office and motioned for Gallagher to follow him inside. The motion did not include Rooster, who waited outside.
Lessur sat behind Cardinal Richelieu’s desk and lit one of his long, slim cigars.
“Well, Gallagher, what the hell is going on?”
“Where, boss? What do you mean?”
“At the store over there. Where the hell do you think I mean? What’re they doing?”
“Like I said, Mister Lessur, they’re settlin’ in. Gettin’ ready to open up, and the Sister, she’s gonna fix that back room into a school.”
“Not a very informative report. I knew all that. Anything else?”
“Well, no . . . except ole Scotty went back to work over there.”
“I knew that, too. Well, never mind. I think you and the boys better head back to La Paz and pick up a load. . . .”
“La Paz? What about them Apaches?”
“What about them?”
“Well, they’re . . . hostile.”
“You expect me to wait until they’re tame?”
“Well, no sir, but—”
“But what?”
“You ain’t the one goin’ to La Paz.”
“That’s right. You are. That’s what you’re paid for. Besides, Colonel Crook said something about providing an escort, he—”
There was a knock on the door; then it was opened by Rooster.
“Mister Lessur. I thought you’d want to know . . .”
“Know what?”
“Colonel Crook and some of his troopers just turned into town and they’re comin’ this way.”
“Very good.” Lessur rose, cigar in hand. “Probably wants to talk to me about that escort.”
Rupert Lessur, Gallagher and Rooster came out just in time to see Crook ride past without slowing down and head toward Ike Silver’s general store.
Gallagher thought it wise to make no comment as Rupert Lessur abruptly turned on his heels and moved swiftly back inside.
As Crook dismounted, Big Ike stood outside the doorway.
“Morning, Mister Silver.”
“Good morning, Colonel. You must’ve been up before dawn.”
“Old army habit.”
“I know.”
“You’ve done some soldiering?”
“I thought so. Were we on the same side, Mister Silver?”
“We were.”
“Good. We still are.”
“Coffee, Colonel?”
Crook nodded.
“Come on in, sir.”
There was a large pot atop a stove close to Ike’s rolltop desk, near a corner of the store. His hand reached for it and poured the hot black fluid into a couple of tin cups.
Ike sat at the desk and Crook nearby on a Douglas chair.
As each man drank from his cup, Ike took a closer look at the wilderness soldier. While in California after the war, he had heard tales about how the man now sitting across from him had subdued the Humboldts, then the Rogue Rivers and the Shastas, tribes that had been marauding the mining camps. Crook also had been successful in campaigns against the Kalmuths and the Tolowas, and then the Columbia River tribes.
Ike had heard the tales and now he was sitting across from the man himself.
“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, Mister Silver.”
“Ike, please, and I didn’t think you came all the way here just to get some coffee.”
“You’re right, and while we’re at it, my name’s George.”
“Not as long as you’re wearing that uniform . . .”—Ike smiled—“or what’s left of it. What did you want to talk about, Colonel?”
“That eagle claw Colorados gave you. I see you’re still wearing it.”
“Good idea. Are you aware of its significance as far as the Apache is concerned?”
“Not altogether.”
“Of all living things, the Apache holds the golden eagle in the greatest respect and reverence. The eagle embodies those attributes the Apache considers supreme. Courage. Vigilance. Swiftness. Bravery and independence. When an Apache chief bestows the claw of an eagle on a warrior, it means he holds that warrior in the highest regard.”
“I’m not a warrior.”
“You are in the eyes of Colorados . . . and a friend, close as a brother. Maybe closer. Good coffee. You know much about Colorados?”
“No.”
“Neither did I. But I made it my business to find out. His father was Mangas Colorados. Organized all the Apaches some years back. Put on a hell of a war.”
“I’ve heard about that.”
“Did you hear about what started that war?”
“No.”
“Wars have been started over land . . . over religions . . . even over a pig. This one started over a whipping.”
Crook took a deep drink.
“Yes, sir, good coffee . . . Some white men got hold of Mangas, tied him up and whipped him like a dog. Hard to get good coffee out here.”
Ike poured another cup.“Have some more.”
“Thanks. Mangas hit the army hip and high. Then one day he came in to talk peace. We outnumbered him, outgunned him, but we raised a white flag. So, Mangas came in to talk. That was his mistake and ours.”
“Why?”
“Because this time he wasn’t whipped. He was tortured with hot bayonets . . . then shot to death.”
“Colonel, I’m glad I’m not soldiering anymore.”
“But somebody has to. You know what Arizona is?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Arizona is a sort of nature’s laboratory, where the Almighty’s tried some rewarding experiments. Underneath, there’s gold and silver, copper and coal. And on top, land for grazing—land for the plow. Enough for everybody.”
“What’re you getting at, Colonel?”
“I want to be fair.”
“I know that.”
“How do you know?”
“You’ve been fair with the Indians before. The Columbia River tribes in Yakima, the Humboldts in California. I was in California when you were.”
Crook took another swallow.
“I went in there with a command of forty men, my uniform and a toothbrush. Didn’t see a house for over a year.”
“The Indians saw plenty of you.”
“Well, that was then and this is now, here and now . . . and here and now there are some people who don’t want peace in the Territory, and I’m not just talking about Indians.”
“Still don’t know what you mean, Colonel.”
“I mean as long as the Apaches are stirred up there’s contracts to be got. The war department disburses over two million dollars a year inside the Arizona border. Those contracts mean big profits to white men. They supply the army with beef. Then there’s beans and bacon at forty and fifty cents a pound, flour at twenty dollars a hundred weight. And it all has to be freighted in. Those men don’t want the Apaches to be too quiet.”
“You think I’m one of those men?”
“No, I don’t. That’s the reason I’ve come to see you.” Crook pointed at Ike Silver’s throat. “That and the eagle claw Colorados gave you. If you see Colorados again—”
“That’s not likely.”
“It might be more likely than you think. He’ll listen to you. I want you to tell him something.”
“That the army wants to talk again?”
“That I do.”
“He won’t go back to prison.”
“He won’t have to—not if the plan I have in mind works. I’ll get him pardoned. But it’ll take some time.”
“What plan is that, Colonel?”
“It’s called a truce. He and his tribe can live and hunt wherever they are now. I’ll look the other way. In fact, he’ll be under my protection so long as they don’t hunt us . . . our supply trains, stagecoaches, settlers and troopers. I can be his best friend . . . or his worst enemy.”
“I believe that.”
“I make damn few promises, but I keep ’em.”
“I believe that, too, Colonel.”
“I’ll meet him any time, anywhere he wants. No weapons. No tricks . . . so we can make a beginning. Will you tell him that?”
“I will . . . if I see him.”
Crook drank the last of the coffee from the tin cup.
“Mister Silver, you make good coffee.”
“Colonel Crook, you make good sense.”
As Colonel Crook and Ike Silver came out of the store, Rupert Lessur approached.
“Colonel.”
“I saw you ride in just a little while ago.”
“Did you?”
“Were you coming by my office?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, I was wondering if you thought over what we talked about. . . .”
“We talked about a lot of things. What were you wondering about specifically?”
“I, uh . . .” Lessur glanced at Ike.
“You can speak in front of Mister Silver. The army has no secrets where its friends are concerned.”
“Yes, well, about army escorts for my . . . for civilian supply trains and—”
“Oh, yes, that, Mister Lessur.” Crook also glanced at Ike. “We’re working on a plan, aren’t we, Mister Silver? I’ll do what I can as soon as I can.” Crook looked toward Ben Brown’s wagon, which was loaded with cargo.
“Mister Silver, I see you’re already starting in business.”
Ike nodded.
“We’re delivering supplies up to the Rattlesnake Mine.”
“Uh-huh. In that case, I hope you’ll remember what we talked about.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Good luck, Mister Silver. Good day, Mister Lessur.” Colonel Crook walked to where the other troopers were saddled and waiting. He mounted and led the troopers as they rode off toward Fort Whipple.
Lessur smiled. “Mister Silver, about that trip to the mine . . .”
“What about it?”
“I hope you don’t run into any . . . trouble.”
“Do you?”
Big Ike walked back toward the store.
Rupert Lessur walked back toward his office.