Chapter 7

1883: the porcupine’s CHILDREN

“I understand you are looking for me,” the tall, bruised Apache said, using intelligible Spanish. He held an old Colt Walker pistol, aimed our way.

“Dahszine,” Prado gasped.

I looked at the man, noting the swollen, discolored face and the scabbed wounds on his lip and ear. Still, he maintained a calm demeanor, and so I relaxed my shoulders and allowed my arms to move slowly into a more natural position, though still away from my body.

Using Spanish, I said, “Dahszine, my name is Judah Becker. I am a Deputy United States Marshal. I came to take you to Santa Fe to stand trial for murder.”

“I know that is your purpose,” he replied in accented but understandable English. “But you should know that I killed no one. The constable’s finger was on the trigger when he went to hit me with the butt again. I backed away, and put my hand up. He hit my hand and stumbled toward me and shot himself.”

My recollection of the railroad policeman’s report was that Dahszine’s hands had just been released from the shackles, which hadn’t made sense to me at the time. However, that was of no consequence at the moment. I said to him, “I understand that you maintain you did not kill the constable. Nonetheless, there is a murder charge against you and it has to be answered. If you do not answer it, the charge will remain in effect and you will be a hunted man until you answer it in court. Or until you are killed.”

He looked at me for a moment, then said, “I must find my daughter. She is not at the school at Fort Lewis and they say they know nothing of her. Now I fear my son is in danger there as well.”

Prado said to him, “Reverend Simms says you only have one child, your son.”

El Cazador, who was now standing off to our side, away from the rio, said, “Dahszine and his wife have a son and a daughter. The boy is nine summers and has been kept at the school now for two years. The daughter was taken to Fort Lewis ten days ago, along with the other Jicarilla children of seven years.”

This assignment had taken an entirely unexpected turn. Still, the criminal justice system had been set in motion. I said, “Dahszine, I will offer to see what I can find out about your daughter. However, you must come with me to Santa Fe. No matter what else you do, if you do not comply with the arrest warrant, you will become prey to any man who wants to kill you. If Reverend Simms would decide to offer a reward for your capture, even dead or alive, any number of greedy men will happily join the hunt. Your ability to search for your daughter will be severely hampered. If you shoot Sheriff Prado and me, other lawmen will pursue you. Beyond those considerations, your actions in leaving the reservation means that the Army will also have the authority to come after you.”

“I can escape those who would hunt me,” he said in quiet self-assurance.

“I’m certain you can,” I said. “But that leaves your wife and both children vulnerable. Men will expect you to come after your son at Fort Lewis. Do you think they won’t prepare for that, even use your son as bait? They’ll likely lock him in the fort’s stockade, I know that’s what I’d do if I wanted to trap you.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Dahszine, but the murder charge has been imposed over every other concern in your life. There is no way to get around that.”

“But I killed no one. The officer was brutish and clumsy and he shot himself.”

I shrugged. “Even if I’m inclined to believe you, it makes no difference. You have been charged with murder by the federal prosecutor, not me. I am simply an agent of the court. You must convince the court of your innocence, not me. Only the court in Santa Fe can remove the murder charge and the arrest warrant.”

“And my son and daughter? What becomes of them?”

That was the question that had begun to haunt me. I won’t try to pretend that Dahszine’s plight didn’t affect me. My thoughts ran to young Neto Guerrero, even though I had no familial relationship with Hector’s nephew. But when my imagination placed Neto in that situation, I began to suspect how deeply Dahszine’s feelings must run. I found that I couldn’t meet Dahszine’s eyes as I tried to think of something sensible to reassure him.

El Cazador chose that moment to say, “She is not the first young child to have disappeared in the past years among the children who were taken away to the Fort Lewis school.”

“What?” I said

Dahszine said, “Four other young girls and one younger boy have supposedly died at the school, and were said to be buried there.”

I looked toward El Cazador “What does Reverend Simms say about that?”

“Reverend Simms is the one who tells the parents,” El Cazador said, with apparent skepticism. “The information usually arrives some weeks after the child’s death.”

“But you think he is not being truthful?”

El Cazador shrugged.

Watching him, I said, “It’s sad, but three or four small children dying over a couple years does not seem all that remarkable, I’m sorry to say.”

El Cazador shrugged again.

Meanwhile, Prado had remained quiet. I asked him, “What do you think?”

He shrugged and shook his head, then said, “You’re right, it is a sorry thing, but children die all the time.” Then he added, “On the other hand, no one reported this little girl dying. Instead, Simms denied that she even existed.”

That did put an entirely different light on it. Still, I’d been sent here to transfer a prisoner. I said, “Nonetheless, I need to take you into custody, Dahszine.” I sighed and added, “But I will look into this.”

Dahszine still held the revolver trained in our direction., and he was gently shaking his head. “No,” he said. “I cannot--”

El Cazador interrupted him, saying, “El mariscal tiene razon, mi amigo. Tienes que rendirte a el. (The Marshal is right, my friend. You need to surrender to him.)” He went on, in Spanish, “You may find your daughter faster if he looks into it.”

For the first time, Dahszine looked uncertain. His eyes had moved to El Cazador, but now they returned to me.

Dahszine, returning to Spanish, asked, “You will search for my daughter if I surrender to you?”

I paused a moment while I thought things through. Finally, I nodded and told him, in Spanish, “I will have to tell the district marshal what I will be doing, but I will begin while I wait for his approval.”

“And if he does not approve?” Dahszine demanded.

Prado said, “Si el mariscal no puede, la buscaré. (If the Marshal can’t, then I’ll look for her.” We all looked at him. He said, en español (in Spanish),”If there is a problem in Rio Arriba County, then it is my job to deal with it.”

Dahszine looked at El Cazador. “Do you trust these men?”

El Cazador told him, “It is not a matter of trust, it is a matter of accepting how things are. They knew to look for you here. They, among other, less friendly men, will know where to look for you as you search for your daughter. You can escape into the open country and save yourself, but if you come back for your children, men will be waiting for you. If you want to save your children, you must give up your own freedom, at least to answer the murder charge.”

Dahszine asked me, “How will you go about your search?”

I looked at him steadily and said, “I have not had much chance to consider it, but I reckon I will have to question Reverend Simms more closely. I also expect that I may have to go to Fort Lewis. You may have to go with me. But first I have more questions for you.”

“What questions?”

“Well, for one, what made you think that there might be a problem for your daughter at the school?”

Dahszine stood there, looking uncertain, and the barrel of the Colt he held began to sag. He took another glance toward El Cazador, who returned a steady gaze.

Then, from among the trees closer to the river, came a woman’s voice: “Creo que debemos hacer lo que sugiere el alguacil blanco, esposo mío. (I think we must do as the white marshal suggests, my husband.)”

I slowly turned my head to look over my right shoulder to see a lithe young Apache woman emerging from a thicket on the river bank. She wore a blue and yellow paneled cotton skirt and a plain unbleached cotton blouse. This was, I was certain, Mujer Baya -- Berry Woman -- Dahszine’s wife. I turned back to find that Dahszine had tucked the heavy Colt Walker revolver into the buckskin sash that he wore at his waist. I heard Prado take a deep breath and relax his stance.