Luke looked up to see Ayanna standing there. She wore a dress of buckskin that was soft and worn, stained with the dust of the trail. Her hair was pulled back, revealing the sharp, elegant lines of her face. She held a basket of roots against her hip, her posture rigid. Do not speak for me.
Father, she said, her voice cold. And do not speak of me to him. She turned her gaze on Luke. It was a physical weight. You eat our food, she said.
You breathe our air, but you will never be one of us. You smell of the army. Nantan sighed. Ayanna, he was a scout, was he not? Ayanna demanded, stepping closer.
Look at the way he sits. Look at his boots. Government issue. Worn down, but recognizable. He is not just a cowboy.
He is a tracker of men. Luke looked down at his boots. There was no point in lying. The truth was the only thing he had left. Even if it damned him.
She is right. Luke said quietly. Nantan went still. Ayanna let out a sharp breath. A sound of vindication.
I scouted for the third cavalry, Luke said, keeping his eyes on the fire. Two years. I signed on because I was broke and hungry, and they told me it was about keeping the peace, protecting settlers. He looked up, meeting Ayanna's furious gaze. I didn't know what that meant until the winter of '74.
We hit a camp in the Tonto Basin. They weren't a war party. They were starving. Old men, women. Luke's voice dropped, rough with the gravel of memory.
I saw what the Gatling guns did. I saw what the soldiers did after the shooting stopped. The laughter, the trophies. I realized then that I wasn't keeping the peace. I was helping to wipe a people off the earth.
And so you ran? Ayanna asked, her lip curling. Like a coward. I walked away. Luke said.