LITMIR.BIZ

       Gate.

      Eyes-of-the-Sky knew the word. She knew many of the whites’ words now, though she refused to give her captors any sign that she was learning. For the first few days, the words had been nothing more than a confusing jumble that made her head ache, but as time wore on, distinct sounds began to separate themselves and she began to understand.

      The foreign tongue almost seemed a part of her somehow. At night, the words invaded her dreams until she dreamed both in Nermernuh and in the white man’s tongue. She dreamed odd dreams filled with Nermernuh and whites, faces she knew so well and others that were unfamiliar. Unsettling dreams that left her feeling anxious and confused.

      On the first day of her arrival, when they took away her clothing, it became clear to her that she was a slave, and that she now belonged to the woman, Hattee-Hattee. From sunup until the evening meal, she worked with Hattee-Hattee and did everything the woman told her to do.

      In this, she realized, the whites were no different from the her people. Whenever the warriors returned to the encampment with captives in tow after a raid, their possessions were taken from them. They were beaten, whipped, even burned and tortured by their owners.

      That was the Comanche way and, knowing she was now a slave, Eyes-of-the-Sky was determined not to shame herself by crying or showing fear. Among her people, things always went easier for those who showed courage and strength of will. Weak or cowardly captives were tortured by the women, if not killed outright. She never let herself forget that Hattee-Hattee, no matter how kind she appeared, had the power of life and death over her.

      For now, she would obey. She would pretend to have accepted her fate.

      In the beginning, the man remained close by, watching her, making certain she did not try to escape or attack the woman.

      Whenever she turned around, he was there. Whenever she followed Hattee-Hattee from one place to another, he was there. Sometimes he would speak to the woman and then leave them for a short while, but he soon returned. He was always watching.

      As a slave, she had no right to deny him anything. When he decided to use her in any way he pleased, that was the way of things. She would do what she must to survive.

      She had endured the Blue Coats’ attack. She could endure him, too, if that was her fate.

      Lately he had begun riding out before the sun rose and would bring more cattle back to the enclosure near the dwelling. She thought him crazy for collecting worthless cows.

      She was sitting in the place where the food was prepared—the kitchen —when she recognized his whistle. It was his way of letting the woman know he was nearly there, that he had returned with more cattle.

      It was Hattee-Hattee’s task to meet him at the corral, to lift the rope, push the heavy wooden gate wide, so the cattle would run into the enclosure.

      But today the woman was making bread, the food that she enjoyed most of all. She loved the taste of it in her mouth, the warm comfort and softness of it. The magic way it melted on her tongue. She loved to inhale the scent of it as it grew plump and hot inside the iron beast with fire in its belly—the stove. The woman’s hands and arms were covered in the white powder— flour. Mixed with yeast, it magically became bread.

      Outside, the whistle grew sharper, louder, as the man brought the cattle closer and closer to the house. So close that she could feel their hooves against the earth.

      Hattee-Hattee was speaking to her, saying the words Joe and gate among others that she didn’t understand. Suddenly, Hattee-Hattee turned to her and commanded her to go.

      She leaped to her feet and ran for the door, then outside into the blinding sunlight. Shielding her eyes with her arm, she tripped over the edge of her long garment and almost fell headlong down the steps but regained her balance just in time.

      The long skirt was always in her way. It was a useless garment, one of flimsy, shiny cloth, not of sturdy, tanned buffalo hide. It was easily soiled and torn. Not only did all the whites’ garments have to be washed, but Hattee-Hattee would sit with them on her lap and repair them after all the outdoor and kitchen work was done.

      Across the open yard, the first of the cattle neared the corral. She grabbed handfuls of the long gown in her hands, lifted it high above her ankles and started running.