"What have you to say, my son?" his father asked.
Tykota began to object, but at Mangas's nudge, he said simply, "I will do as you say, my father. But must I stay away long?" he couldn't help adding.
"If I think it necessary. George Silverhorn lives in a place called England far across the big water to the east. I believe that you will learn much there, and I expect you to respect my friend as if he were your father."
The boy fought back his tears. "Can Mangas go with me?" he blurted, then feared he had offended his father by showing weakness.
The chief nodded. "Mangas will go with you, and he will continue teaching you our ways, but you will also go to the white man's school and learn about their world. There will be hard times ahead for you, my son. But I charge you to always remember what is expected of you-to always remember who you are and who you must become."
Tykota's lips trembled as he looked into his father's eyes. "Must I leave?"
"Yes. You must."
"But who will take care of Inea when I am gone?"
"Your sister will be well taken care of-I will see to that."
"I do not understand the events of this night."
"Tykota, you may be in grave danger if you remain here in our valley. You have enemies. One was your stepmother, but there may well be others, and if you remain, they may succeed in ending your life. That is one sacrifice I am unwilling to make."
Tykota had much to think about for one so young. He wished his father had not sent his brothers away. Coloradous had always been kind to him, and even though Sinica sometimes bullied him and this night had made a threat, Tykota was sad to see them so shamed by their father.
Valatar held out a hand. "Come with me, my son. There is a secret I will reveal to you-a secret none but you must know."
Texas, 1868
Weary, Makinna Hillyard leaned her head back against the worn leather seat, her eyes closed. The stagecoach rocked and swayed down the bumpy road, and her body felt every rut. The sound of a whip cracking to urge the mules forward was quickly swept away on the blistering desert wind and the waves of breathstealing heat.
Opening her eyes, Makinna gazed at her traveling companions, glad that she could study them through her black mourning veil but that they could not see her through it. There were three men on the stage with her. Mr. Horace Rumford was a distinguished looking gentleman with white hair, a neatly clipped white mustache, and, above his gray eyes, thick white eyebrows. She had learned from his conversation that he was an agent for the Butterfield Stage Line. The passenger sitting beside Makinna was Alvin Carruthers, a short, balding man with a nervous habit of blinking constantly. He was evidently a clothier from St. Louis.
Reluctantly, her gaze fell on the man directly across from her. Since he'd been asleep when she boarded the stage at Whispering Wells, she knew nothing about him. She assumed from the fine cut of his black suit and the quality of his European-made leather boots and gloves that he must be a man of some consequence. His wide-brimmed hat was pulled low over his face, and he still appeared to be sleeping. Although she could not tell for sure, she thought he must be younger than the other men. She could see the broadness of his shoulders, and he looked decidedly taller and more muscular than his fellow passengers.
Horace Rumford glanced out the window, his gaze traveling the parched land. He frowned as he turned back to Alvin Carruthers. "If trouble comes at us, it'll be on this godforsaken stretch of country from here to El Paso."
"Indian trouble?" his companion asked anxiously blinking rapidly with concern.
"The worst kind of Indian trouble-Apaches. That's why we have two men riding shotgun instead of the usual one. But I don't expect any trouble on this trip."
Alvin Carruthers's eyes darted nervously to the window, as if he feared an attack at any moment. "Why this stretch of land? And why Apaches? I'd always heard that the Comanches were the fiercest tribe in Texas." His voice trembled, but he managed a tight smile. "Before I left St. Louis, I was assured that the army's presence here would keep the journey safe from Indian attack."
The agent's smile was not reassuring. "Even the Comanches stay clear of these parts, lest they tangle with the Apache. As a rule, the army's presence in El Paso has made things a good deal safer, but the Apache never follow the rules. They certainly don't abide by our laws.
"This was their land before we took it from them," Makinna said with a conviction that surprised the two men. Expressing her opinion so fervently surprised her, as well. "We are the intruders here, sir."
"Please pardon me, ma'am," Mr. Rumford said kindly, "but that is a mistaken notion. We make the land habitable with farms and ranches. We start settlements, develop towns, build schools, and bring civilization to an otherwise inhospitable locale."