They have taken our buffalo. They have taken our husbands. So, he will take their place. Not as a husband, but as a beast of burden. " Ayanna stepped forward, protesting. "He is dangerous. " "Naylin, he is only dangerous if we let him be," Naylin said.
She looked at Luke, her eyes narrowing. "Listen to me, Carver. You want to live? " "Yes," Luke "Then you will work," Naylin said. "You will do what the women of this camp tell you to do. You will carry the heavy loads.
You will dig the holes. You will fix what is broken. You will be hands and a back for every woman here. " She leaned in close, her face inches from his. "You will please us," she said. The words were heavy with a dark, biting irony.
"You will please us with your labor. You will please us with your obedience. As long as you are useful, you breathe. The moment you become a burden, or the moment you try to run, Ayanna will get her wish. Do you understand? " Luke looked at the ring of faces.
He saw no pity. He saw only a grim pragmatism. He was being offered a life, but it was the life of a mule. "I understand," Luke said. Naylin nodded once.
"Take him to the horse lines. Tie him there. He can start by cleaning the filth from the corral. Let him smell the dung of the horses he tried to steal. " The first week was a blur of agony that stripped Luke of every layer of pride he had ever possessed. They did not keep him in a cell.
The canyon itself was the prison. By day, his hands were unbound, but he was watched constantly by the old warriors or by Ayanna, who sat in the shade sharpening her knife, her eyes never leaving him. By night, he was tied to a stake near the horse corral, sleeping on a rough pallet of woven grass that offered no protection from the cold ground. His day began before dawn. A bucket of cold water was thrown on him, usually by one of the younger boys, who would giggle and run away.
Luke would wake shivering, his joints stiff, his stomach cramping with hunger. His first task was water. The spring that fed the camp was a trickle located half a mile up a steep, rocky incline. Luke was given two large wooden buckets, suspended from a yoke that sat across his shoulders. He had to make five trips every morning.
The path was treacherous, slick with loose shale. On the second day, his legs trembling from exhaustion, Luke slipped. He went down hard, the buckets crashing, the precious water spilling into the thirsty dust. He lay there for a moment, staring at the wet stain on the red earth, despair washing over him. "Get up! " Ayanna's voice lashed at him from the rocks above.
Luke looked up. She was perched on a boulder like a hawk. "I slipped," Luke gasped, struggling to his feet. "The water does not care why it was spilled," Ayanna said coldly. "It is gone.
Go back and fill them again. And this time, if you spill it, you will not drink tonight. " Luke glared at her. "I am doing my best. " "Your best is weak," she said. "A white man's best is soft. You are used to sitting on a horse while the animal does the work.