Kuchana was vaguely aware that people were gathering around them, standing blank-faced, watching. She refused to back down from his tirade. “I would rather eat biscuits than starve to death,” she answered, gesturing at the inhospitable mountains. “I would rather my sister survive than be murdered by culo-gordos!”
“Your memory is short,” Geronimo snarled, his lips lifting away from his teeth. “You think the pindah army is going to keep us alive? They were the ones slowly starving us to death. Don’t make the mistake of thinking the pindah soldiers are your friends. They are not. They have lied to us. They have stolen what was rightfully ours and broken the treaty.” He looked around. “I would rather die out here, like a warrior, than sit on a reservation accepting my fate like a stupid donkey. Think this through, Kuchana. Stay here with us. We need you.”
Kuchana’s breath came in heaving gulps, all her carefully closeted emotions unraveling. “I will not change my mind. I am leaving, Geronimo. If you want to kill me, then do so. I will join the army as a scout and hunt you down. Our only hope is the pindah reservation.”
The flinty anger in Geronimo’s eyes grew. “Get out of my sight, Kuchana. You are a coward. I would not stain my knife with your traitorous blood.” He raised his arm, jabbing a finger toward the northwest. “Go. From this moment on, you are no longer one of the people.”
Kuchana gulped, a sharp breath issuing from between her lips. Geronimo had just delivered a sentence worse than death. Even if she was able to save the last of her band, they would all consider her dead. No one would ever speak to her again, not even Ealae, her sister. Her stomach knotted, and she longed to sob out her grief.
“Go!” Geronimo roared. “In your next life, you will turn into a donkey. You have deserted us. Take your horse and leave.”
Kuchana whirled on the heel of her boot, blindly moving toward the hobbled horses just outside the camp. The crowd parted, their faces long and saddened. None of them understood her actions. It didn’t matter.
“Kuchana!” Ealae reached out, gripping her sister’s arm. “Do not do this…”
Halting, Kuchana looked down at her older sister. Ealae had cut off her hair and painted her face black over the death of her daughter. There were tears streaking down her features. Choking back a sob, Kuchana whispered, “Let me go, sister. You will be punished for speaking to me. I no longer exist to the people.”
Her hand tightening on Kuchana’s arm, Ealae sobbed. “You cannot do this. If you go, I have no one. No one.”
Kuchana groaned as her sister flung herself into her arms. She must not show her feelings. No matter what, she was a warrior, and a warrior must face life with courage. “Hush, Ealae, hush. You will be all right.” Gripping her sister, she gave Ealae a long, hard embrace.
“I will lose you, too. Oh, think, Kuchana. Think of what you have chosen to do. The army will kill us if we are recaptured.”
“No.” Fiercely, Kuchana gripped her sister, giving her a small shake. “Listen to me, Ealae. Geronimo will watch our people dwindle away until we are only a memory on the wind. This is our only chance to survive.”
Her cheeks glistening with spent tears, Ealae stared at her sister. “But to go to our enemy for help? You will be a traitor.”
She must go—now. Kuchana reluctantly released Ealae. “I must do what I feel is right. My heart is broken over the loss of your daughter. I will not see you go to the Big Sleep because of Geronimo.”
Ealae sniffed and took a step back, her dark chocolate-colored eyes mirroring her misery and confusion. “Kuchana, you shame me. You shame us just like the other Apache warriors who have gone to the army to become scouts to track us down. My own sister…”
Kuchana swallowed against the lump that was forming in her chest. “Ealae, I love you. Always know that. May Usen protect you.”
Kuchana turned away. She spotted her black mustang, Wind, among the herd. Moving between the horses, she knelt down by the mare and released her hobbles.
Patting the hardy pony, Kuchana slipped the leather jaw cord into her mouth. Looking back toward the camp, she saw that everyone had returned to their duties. Even now, she was a ghost. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Kuchana swung up onto the horse’s back.
Kuchana walked the mare into the camp and dismounted. The only item she owned beside her weapons was a ragged wool blanket. Picking it up, she laid it near Ealae, who was quietly sobbing. Then she placed her quiver of arrows on her back and picked up her bow. It was done. She was now an outcast. Mounting, Kuchana walked the mare through the camp and down a narrow, rocky path that would take her out into the flat, arid Sonora Desert.
Holos burned hot and bright against her back. Though it was early morning, the heat was beginning to build. Her mind was clogged with grief, but Kuchana knew she had to think clearly. There were few watering holes, and in order to make the long trek across the Mexican desert, she would have to remember their location, or die of thirst. Her mind turned northward.
Geronimo had raided many ranches along the Arizona border, and a number of military forts had been built there. Praying to Painted Woman, she asked to be guided to a fort that would give her protection and allow her to become a scout.
There was much danger between Rio Aros and the nearest army outpost. The culo-gordos could capture her. If they did, they would murder her and take her scalp. The possibility of running into an army patrol could also claim her life. Many of the pindah would shoot her on sight. She would have to find the right man to help her. A man who would not raise his revolver in hatred. Painted Woman was the spirit of all women among the Apache. Kuchana’s faith in her power helped allay some of her fears. Within four days she would reach a U.S. Army fort. What waited for her at the end of her journey?
* * *
“Look,” Claudia Carter whispered behind her fan, “there’s that rogue officer, Sergeant Gib McCoy!”
“I declare,” Melissa Polk, wife of the commander of Fort Huachuca, “I can see why that colonel’s wife at Fort Apache ran off with him.”
Both women giggled beneath their gloved hands. They stood on the wooden walkway of the headquarters building. Though it was barely ten in the morning, they carried parasols to protect their skin from the blazing Arizona sun. Melissa’s green eyes narrowed as she watched Sergeant Gib McCoy walk across the flat and dusty parade ground in front of them.
Barely twenty-one, Claudia was the wife of Lieutenant Dodd Carter. She leaned over to question her friend. “Melissa, do you really think he lost his commission?”
“Of course he did!” Melissa’s blond curls moved with her bobbing head. She delicately touched the bow and ribbon at the side of her neck, making sure her straw bonnet was in place. “Why, I overheard my husband talking about Sergeant McCoy.”
“What did he say? What did he say?”
Melissa smiled, fanning herself rapidly, hating the heat. Having to wear a corset, all those petticoats, plus a long-sleeved cotton dress, was simply too much. “According to my husband, Sergeant McCoy was a lieutenant up at Fort Apache. He ran off with Juliet Harper, wife of the commandant.”
“Did he love her?” Claudia asked, batting her eyelashes.
“It was something,” Melissa agreed coyly. And judging from McCoy’s lean, powerful build, she could see why Juliet Harper had wanted to run off with him. So would she. Yes, McCoy was definitely a stallion. She kept her thoughts to herself, realizing Claudia, who had been gently reared in Boston, would faint if she voiced them out loud. She was like any other brass-button bride: naive. And having come to the West only three months before, she was still adjusting to post life.
“He’s positively handsome, don’t you think?”
“He’ll do in a pinch,” Melissa said with a shrug. Beneath the surface, she