LITMIR.BIZ

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a box canyon. They were the only ones with time for such a luxury.

      Kuchana hesitantly followed McCoy into the large adobe building. Her eyes rounded as she studied the interior. Thirty rifles hung on one wall. Geronimo stood no chance against so many guns. Once in Polk’s office, she was forced to stand in front of the desk while the colonel sat down.

      Polk looked at McCoy. “Sergeant, I understand she knows some English, but for the sake of speed, I want you to interpret.”

      Gib stood next to the Indian woman, refusing to sit down. “Yes, sir.”

      Kuchana noted the tightening of McCoy’s face. She wished mightily that the pindahs wouldn’t speak so quickly. If they slowed their speech, she’d be able to understand what they said. Dizziness assailed her. She planted her booted feet apart so as not to appear weak in front of them and waited for her inquisitors to begin their questioning.

      * * *

      Gib’s patience thinned. For the past two hours Polk and Carter had relentlessly questioned Kuchana. Polk seemed oblivious to the fact she was weak with hunger. If the fat bastard had gone one day without food, he’d be baying like a coyote. Their treatment of Kuchana was unconscionable.

      Risking another blistering tirade from Carter, Gib came to attention. “Colonel Polk, I request this session end. The woman is obviously tired and in a weakened condition. I’d like permission to take her to the cook’s tent, feed her, and then find her quarters over at the scout area.”

      Carter glared at the sergeant. “We’re not done interrogating her. After all, these Apaches are tough as nails.”

      Polk chuckled in agreement. “I’ve never seen such endurance.”

      Kuchana closed her eyes as another wave of dizziness nearly overwhelmed her. She was dying of thirst and wanted to sit down. McCoy’s hand settled on her arm. She quickly opened her eyes and realized she was swaying. Heat flooded her face and she looked away from the concern in the sergeant’s eyes.

      Gib glared at Polk. “You’ll get more out of her on a full stomach than an empty one, sir.” He hated putting it in that context, but Polk’s regard of Apaches as little more than animals was well-known.

      “Very well,” Polk muttered. “Get her out of here, Sergeant.”

      Carter leaped to his feet. “You’re in charge of her, McCoy. If she escapes, you’re responsible.”

      Gib nodded. “Yes, sir.” Carter would like to see him drummed out of the army for allowing one of Geronimo’s warriors to escape. Turning his attention to Kuchana, Carter released her, telling her to follow McCoy.

      Relief fled through Kuchana once they were away from the building and walking across the arid parade ground. The sun was hot overhead, but it felt good. She noticed a number of tents to the left with women inside them scrubbing clothes on corrugated tin washboards.

      “What’s that?”

      “Our laundry facilities,” he explained.

      “The dark ones are there, too.”

      He smiled. “They’re called Negroes, Kuchana.”

      “And these women come from across the great sea, too?”

      “Yes.” And then Gib amended his statement. “They were brought here as slaves. Twenty years ago, they were set free and allowed to pursue whatever they wanted, just like white people.”

      Kuchana noticed a large black woman in a yellow calico dress and a thinner, younger one in a dark green dress who were openly staring at her. Their stares weren’t like those of the pindah women, however. There was only curiosity in their eyes.

      “They are different from the pindahs.”

      “They’re good people,” said Gib. “The older one’s husband is a lance-corporal here at the post. I’m sure you’ll be meeting all of them sooner or later.”

      “Then, I am to be a scout?”

      He nodded, watching her eyes widen with happiness. “That’s what Colonel Polk said. I’m in charge of the scouts, so you’ll be working directly with me, not Carter.” Thank God. Gib saw her flush, and he realized that whatever he felt toward Kuchana, it was mutual.

      Kuchana wanted to give a cry of triumph, but resisted the urge. Instead, she sent prayers of thanks to Painted Woman. “I will be a good scout. I will not shame you.”

      “I’m not worried,” Gib said. He pointed to a large tent that had been bleached white by the burning sun. Its flaps were open at both ends to catch what little air moved sluggishly across the post. Inside were two big black kettles bubbling with beans, and a table filled with hardtack. “This is the enlisted men’s chow tent. Why don’t you go and sit down under that cottonwood and let me get you something to eat?” Gib pointed to one of the few trees that managed to survive on the post.

      Not needing another invitation, Kuchana gladly headed toward the shade of the tree. She noticed the two men in the tent watching her. One, a big man with a black mustache and brown eyes, sent a shiver of warning up her spine.

      “Who’s that, Sergeant?” Private Odie Faulkner asked, with a leer at Kuchana.

      Scowling, Gib took a tin plate from the stack on the table. “Our newest scout,” he growled. Gib took the ladle and dished up the food from the kettle. Beans, moldy bacon and weevil-infested hardtack was the usual fare for a soldier or scout.

      “That there’s a woman, ain’t it?” Odie asked, licking his full lower lip.

      “That’s right. One of Geronimo’s warriors.”

      “I’ll be go to hell,” Odie murmured. “I heard about them women warriors, but never saw one. She looks starvin’. That why she crawled into our post?”

      Adding three hardtack biscuits, McCoy kept his anger at Faulkner in check. “She didn’t come here because she was starving. She came to offer her services as a scout.”

      “Right purty,” Odie noted, craning his thick neck out the side of the tent, watching her.

      “Mind your own business, Private.”

      Faulkner’s bushy black brows drew up in surprise over his heavy German features. “Yes, sir.”

      Kuchana watched McCoy saunter in her direction. He was dressed like most of the other soldiers: a pair of yellow suspenders holding up his dark blue trousers, and a dark blue shirt that was damp with sweat, clinging to his upper body. There was much to admire about McCoy. Everything about his demeanor claimed him to be a warrior. There was an economy to his movements, and he carried himself proudly. There was no doubt that he was a leader of men.

      Her attention shifted to the food he handed her. Eagerly, Kuchana took the plate, amazed at how much was on it. In seconds, she was using her fingers, eating ravenously.

      Gib crouched in front of her. “Take it easy,” he cautioned. Kuchana was wolfing down the food. Dammit, he shouldn’t have filled the plate so full. “Why don’t you eat the biscuits first,” he suggested, trying to get her to slow down. “Your stomach isn’t used to this kind of food….”

      His husky warning came too late. Kuchana had eaten half the food when her stomach violently rebelled. With a cry, she leapt to her feet and turned away. Within seconds, everything she had eaten had been thrown up. Sweat covered her features as she knelt on the ground, her arms pressed against her stomach. Kuchana stayed that way, her head bowed with embarrassment and shame.

      “Dammit,” Gib whispered, moving quickly to her side, “I should’ve known better.” Instinctively, he reached down, placing his hands on Kuchana’s shoulders. She was trembling badly. “Come on, let’s get you over to the tree.” He pulled Kuchana to her feet. Her face was flushed and she could barely walk. Anger at Polk’s and Carter’s insensitivity to her physical condition raged through him.

      Gently, he

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