CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

The two things that Quemada coveted most were Colorados’s coup stick and Colorados’s wife.

Quemada was determined to do something about both.

The secret campsite of Colorados and the Mimbreno Apaches was no longer much of a secret. Crook, the officers and troopers at Fort Lowell pretty much knew the approximate location, but Crook had given explicit orders that the U.S. Army was to give the area wide berth. And Colorados had made it clear that the Apaches were not to leave the immediate area with any weapons until an agreement was concluded between Crook and Colorados, and a treaty signed. Neither commander wanted to chance any encounter that might provoke hostility on either side.

But in both camps there were elements of uneasiness, suspicion, resistance and resentment. At Fort Whipple, Captain Bourke and other officers and troopers, who had clashed with Apaches before in bloody campaigns, believed that the only Indian they could trust was a dead Indian.

And at Colorados’s camp, despite the fact that the tribe had been provided with food and other necessities better than ever before, Quemada, Secorro and a couple dozen other young bucks were determined to take back the vast territory where they could roam, hunt and raid as they and their forefathers had done since time remembered.

While Crook and Colorados met in the open at Spanish Flats to smoke and come to an agreement, Quemada and Rupert Lessur had met in secret, where Lessur had put forth his plot to help Quemada achieve his goals, and, not incidentally, achieve his own.

 

The weather was a mite intemperate for picnicking, but the picnickers were determined to picnic, so picnic they did—Ike, Jake, Jed, Obie, Sister Bonney, Melena, Ben and Benjie.

No one was quite sure who had first made the suggestion, an adult or child, but once suggested, the notion was quickly ratified and implemented.

And so, on a Sunday afternoon, the scanty remains of a sumptuous picnic feast rested on a blanket that had been spread on a verdant vale, while the adults sat nearby in various postures of contentment and the three boys busied themselves with yo-yos moving down and up in harmony until the strings somehow became tangled together and Jed, Obie and Benjie went about the task of disentanglement.

Jake, in a dreamy torpor, resting on both elbows, was endeavoring to digest what he had ingested. Sister Bonney and Melena still sat on opposite sides of the blanket with Ben next to his wife. Ike sat leaning against a tree, smoking his pipe.

“Melena,” Ike said between puffs, “that was delicious. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, and you can thank Sister Bonney too, she certainly did—”

“Much less than you, Melena, but it was a pleasure.”

“Yes, yes,” Jake said, not moving anything except his mouth, eyes still closed, “we’re all very pleased and it was delicious. But someday I’m going to show you both how to make kreplach and matzos.”

Ben rose and walked over toward the boys, who were failing miserably in their attempts to untangle the strings of their yo-yos.

“Fellas, from now on when you’re doing the yoyos, stand two feet apart, and if you’re walking the dog or going around the world, stand four feet apart.”

“That’s what I was doin’, Daddy. Walking the dog.”

“What’s ‘going around the world,’ Mister Brown?” Obie inquired.

“Here,” Ben Brown said, “hand me your yo-yo, Benjie, and I’ll show the fellas.”

He proceeded to do just that.

Sister Bonney rose and walked a few yards to the slight crest that overlooked the tranquil espadrille just below.

Ike watched her for a few moments, then relit his pipe, rose and walked slowly until he stood just to one side behind her. Whether or not it was because of Belinda Millay’s advice, Ike had the Remington holstered on his hip.

“What are you thinking, Sister?”

“What? Oh, Ike.” She turned.

“You seem to be far away, Sister Bonney.”

“Oh, not so far. Just down there a ways.”

“What’s down there?”

“Nothing . . . now. But someday . . .”

“Someday, what?”

“I was thinking that someday that would be a very nice place to build a school.”

“I guess it would. But why out here?”

“It’s rather close to town and not far from . . .”

“From where Colorados’s people’ll be?”

“The Apache children might not want to come into Prescott, but out here it might be different, and I could get one of the older Apache girls to help with the language and—”

Ike couldn’t help chuckling.

“Ike Silver,” Sister Bonney said, “why are you laughing at me?”

“I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“Then what were you doing?”

“Well, I was amused, I guess.”

“At what?”

“Sister, you have hardly enough books or proper equipment, a makeshift classroom, barely enough money to keep going, and you’re already thinking about building a school. True enough?”

“Well, true enough, but—”

“But?”

“Man’s—or woman’s—reach should exceed his grasp . . .”

“. . . Else what’s heaven for?”

“You know your Browning, Mister Silver.”

“And I guess you know your business.”

“Not business—purpose.”

“Well, I’ll bet on one thing. . . .”

“And that is?”

“Sister Mary Boniface is going to succeed in her purpose.”

“With God’s help,”—Sister Mary Boniface nodded—“and yours.”

“Ike! Ike!”

Both Ike and Sister Bonney turned toward the sound of Jake’s voice.

“Ike, look!”

Jake had run up close to them and was pointing to their right.

“Over there.”

Along the ridgeline, a young Indian boy, maybe ten or twelve years of age, was half running, half stumbling down from the rise; then the boy did stumble, fall and lay motionless.

They ran across the field, Ike in the lead, followed by Jake and Ben, then Sister Bonney and the others.

Ike and Ben were the first to get to the boy, who was breathing hard and may or may not have been conscious.

They both bent down and reached out to help the boy.

“No!”

The voice was familiar. They turned and looked toward it.

Colorados, astride his horse, was framed against the rise.

As Colorados prodded his horse forward, the rest of the picnickers also reached the area where the boy lay, still unmoving.

Colorados reined up just a few feet away. They all watched in silence as Colorados looked down, then spoke to the boy in Apache.

“Arida! Varenga!”

It seemed that the boy, at the sound of Colorados’s voice, breathed a little harder.

“Arida! Varenga!”

The boy’s head moved, slightly at first, then more. He managed to turn face up, open his eyes and look at Colorados.

Their eyes locked.

The boy, seeming to summon an inner strength, struggled to his knees, then managed to stand, pumping air into his aching lungs. He wavered, off balance, as if he might fall again, but looked once more at the stern face of Colorados.

The gaze of his chief appeared to vivify the boy. Without the least acknowledgement of the others, the young Indian boy burst forth into a run again.

When the runner was some distance away, Colorados looked for the first time at Ike and the rest.

“The time of his trials. When they are through . . . he is a man.”

Jake nodded and smiled at Ike.

“Bar Mitzvah.”