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"Matthew, you are right. We will." She sighed fighting the tears that threatened to fall.
"Once we leave here, no one will ever know who is buried here." She cried.
"You will know." Hawk told her his voice was soft, caring.
"I do not know where to go now…" She reasoned as she let a tear slip down her cheek. "My folks are buried here, my children. I feel pulled to this land, as though I'm leaving something very important behind. It tears at me to leave them here."
"And your husband, do you regret leaving him?"
"No…" Guilt riddled her for saying such a thing, but it was the truth, and for some reason she could not lie to Hawk. It would do no good, for he could see right through her.
He was silent.
"That sounds very callus of me, doesn't it?"
Matthew continued to hold her hand, as though letting her know he understood.
"I should not have asked."
She shrugged.
"I'll take you to Fort Concho." He informed her. "You'll be safe there. Colonel Mackenzie and his raiders are there, but you will be safe. It is east of here, a ways."
"And will you stay?"
"No, I will not."
She grew silent for a moment, wondering what that meant to her, that he would leave and she might never see him again. However, she knew the answer; it was deep within her heart. Buried there, where it belonged. This man was only briefly in her life, and she had to remember that.
"Why are the Comanche's here now? I thought they were on reservations." She cried out.
"They were, and they are, but reservations are intolerable, and not home for so many. Comanche's are one tribe that cannot be forced or tied down like that. They are no mads, that live by the buffalo. Many tribes are wanderers. They are used to chasing the buffalo and moving to different parts of the country depending on the seasons. Many leave…and come back. Many never come back. To be restricted, an Indian is almost like putting them in prison."
"Will they go back?" She asked, looking at Hawk.
"If the soldiers find them, yes. Many will fight and die first. They would rather die that way, than go back to living like an animal in a cage. We can tell them when we reach the Fort." The way he said that sounded almost sad.
"You don't want to tell them, do you?"
"I was a scout for the blue coats for a few years. I fought some of my own people, because they would not go back. In '72, Colonel Mackenzie attacked a village to the north; they killed twenty-three braves and took nearly a hundred and thirty women and children prisoner. What kind of people takes women and children prisoner?"
"Isn't it better than slaughtering them all?"
He shrugged. "I don't know about that. Some would say no, others yes. But, no, I do not want to report it. I grew tired of it. I understood why they would not go back to the reservations, but at least they were together there and would not be slaughtered. Like you, they have tied themselves to the land. Peace is always better, but I feel for their struggles. I understand them. The Comanche will not die peacefully. They are warriors."
Matthew lay with his arm around his sister and Eve smiled, he was growing up and becoming so protective of his little sister. It made Eve proud.
"I can understand them not wanting to go back to the reservations. And yet, with a raid like that, I think they would be terrified to leave the reservations."
He stared at her now, his eyes glistening.
"The Comanche are warriors! they will always be warriors. Like a wild horse, you break it, you break their spirit."
The silence seemed to slice the very air between them.
"Listen…we need to talk about what happened."
"It is late we should rest." He said flatly.
