She stood in the pre-dawn darkness, Chaya and Shilah and Shilah was checking her weapons and supplies with the methodical care of someone who knew mistakes cost lives. Jesse found her there. He moved slowly, his wounded shoulder wrapped tight, his heart medication measured and ready in his vest. Three days of rest had helped, but he remained a man dancing at the edge of mortality. "You'll need this," Jesse said, holding out a leather document case.
Inside were papers, carefully forged by one of Diving Hawk's contacts. "Says you're the property of James Montgomery, a Texas rancher looking to buy more household staff. It'll get you into the auction house without suspicion. " Nahooma took the case, her fingers brushing his. "And you think I can pretend to be property? " "I think you can pretend to be anything if it means saving Chenoa. " She almost smiled. "You know me too well, Jesse Walker. " "Not well enough, but I'm learning. " They stood in silence for a moment, then Nala spoke.
If I don't return, you'll return. You're too stubborn to do otherwise. If I don't return, she continued firmly, you make sure Chinua and Yazzie get the education my father wanted. You use whatever money comes from our land to build that school. Promise me.
Jesse met her eyes. I promise, but you're going to build it yourself because you're coming back. Nala nodded, then in a gesture that surprised them both, she stepped close and embraced him. Not long, not romantic, but the embrace of one warrior acknowledging another before battle. "Thank you," she whispered against his shoulder, "for giving me back my family, for becoming part of it. " Before Jesse could respond, she was gone, mounting her horse, riding into the darkness with Swift Bird and three of Diving Hawk's most trusted warriors.
Five riders heading toward Tucson and whatever awaited there. Jesse watched until they vanished into the gray pre-dawn. His chest ached, but not from his heart this time, from something deeper and harder to name. Tucson sprawled across the desert like a ambitious promise of civilization. 10,000 souls, maybe more, living in adobe and wood structures that tried to ignore the harsh land surrounding them.
It was the largest settlement for 100 miles, which made it perfect for men like Silas Crane to conduct business that required witnesses and the veneer of legality. The auction was scheduled for September 3rd at the Grand Hotel, Tucson's finest establishment. Three stories of whitewashed adobe with actual glass windows and a dining room that served food on China plates. The kind of place where wealthy men gathered to discuss opportunities and seal deals over cigars and brandy. The kind of place where Apache girls could be sold like cattle and no one would question it.
Nala and her companions arrived in Tucson two days before the auction. They separated immediately. Swift Bird and the three warriors would gather intelligence and secure escape routes. Nala would infiltrate the hotel as a prospective buyer's assistant. The disguise was perfect.
She wore a simple cotton dress, her hair pinned up beneath a bonnet. Her features, which any Apache would recognize immediately, could pass for Mexican to white eyes that saw what they expected to see. She carried the forged documents in a small purse containing $50, enough to be taken seriously, but not enough to draw suspicion. She entered the Grand Hotel at noon on September 1st. The clerk barely glanced at her papers before assigning her a room.
Third floor overlooking the street. Nala paid for two nights and climbed the stairs with her head down, playing the part of a servant on her master's business. Once in her room, she allowed herself to breathe. The auction would take place in the hotel's ballroom. She'd seen the posted notice.
Private acquisition event by invitation only, September 3rd, 7:00 p. M. The language was deliberately vague, but everyone knew what it meant. Nala spent September 2nd mapping the hotel. She moved through the halls and common areas like furniture, invisible in her servant's dress.
She found the ballroom spacious enough to hold 100 people. She found the kitchen and the service corridors. Most importantly, she found the holding rooms where merchandise was kept before being displayed. Chinua was in the third holding room. Nala caught a glimpse of her youngest teenage sister through a briefly opened door.
14 years old, so thin she looked 12. Her eyes holding a blankness that spoke of trauma beyond words. Two guards stood outside the door at all times. Nala's hands clenched, but she kept walking, kept playing her part. Patience.
Her father had taught her patience. The hunter who rushed missed the shot. That night Swift Bird found her. He climbed to her third floor window after dark, moving up the exterior wall with the skill Crane had ironically trained into him. "I have found an ally," he reported in whispered Apache.
"A judge named Morrison. He is staying at this hotel. Diving Hawk says he is honest, one of the few. If we can get him evidence of Crane's crimes, he might help. " "Crane is dead," Nala said. "What evidence matters now? " "His network still lives, the men who worked with him, the railroad companies that funded him.
If we expose them, we end more than just one man's evil. " Nala considered this, then nodded. "Where is this judge? " "Room 212, second floor, but he is guarded. Four US Marshals travel with him. " "Then we need something he cannot ignore, something that makes him act immediately. " She pulled out the documents she'd taken from Crane's body at Echo Valley, the forged land deeds, the contracts with railroad companies, the lists of kidnapped children and their assigned Apache names versus their birth names. "Take these to the judge," Nala said, "but not yet. Wait until the auction begins.