“Four days.”
“Have you had any food?”
Kuchana shook her head. “No, I left what little I had.”
“How about sleep?” He knew most Apaches feared the night and would never ride, thinking that Owl Man would grab them.
“I slept each night.”
She was just this side of starvation, Gib realized. His protective side was working overtime. He tried to figure out why. At the reservation near Fort Apache, he had many dealings with Apache women. But this woman was different. He was curious about what kind of woman rode to war alongside the men.
He noticed a number of small scars on her fingers and a faint scar that ran the length of her neck. He wondered how she’d gotten it. He liked the idea of a woman being able to take care of herself. He always had. His French-and-Indian mother had owned her own millinery shop in New Orleans before marrying his father.
“Thank you for saving my life,” Kuchana said. “Yellow Hair would have killed me if you hadn’t been there.”
Gib said in English, “Yellow Hair is Lieutenant Carter. And he can’t hit the broad side of a barn, much less you.” He saw Carter and the two women hurrying toward them. “Whatever happens, just stay at my side and don’t say anything. Understand?”
She gave him a confused look. “You are more Apache than pindah.”
McCoy’s smile broadened. “Don’t let our lieutenant hear you say that. I’m already a pariah here at the post.”
Not knowing what “pariah” meant, Kuchana stood patiently. Carter strode up, his face flushed.
“Sergeant, strip her of her weapons. I want her taken in to see Colonel Polk for interrogation. Pronto.”
“Don’t you think,” Gib said, trying his best to sound reasonable, “that we ought to get her something to eat and some rest first? She’s half-starved.”
Melissa picked up her pale pink silk skirt and gingerly climbed the wooden steps, sweeping past them and into the building. She spotted Corporal Ryan McClusky sitting at his desk outside her husband’s office. Lifting her chin at a saucy angle, she sailed by him and went directly into Harvey’s office. Of course, she wasn’t supposed to, but when necessary, army etiquette was something to be bent to her will.
“Harvey, darling,” Melissa cooed, closing the door to the inner office. She smiled beguilingly over at her white-haired husband who sat behind the ponderous oak desk scattered with papers.
“Mellie. What a surprise.” Harvey beamed and put the papers aside. “What brings you here, pet?”
“Darling,” she began in a conspiratorial tone, rushing to his desk, “you won’t believe what just happened. There’s an Apache woman warrior from Geronimo’s party outside. She says she wants to be a scout.” Melissa wrinkled her nose. “She’s wearing men’s clothing. Why, she even has boots on. And stink. Lord save us all, but she smells to high heaven. I think it’s a trap. I think she’s lying.” Besides, Melissa didn’t like the way McCoy had treated the savage. She wanted McCoy to show interest in her, not in some heathen.
Scowling, Polk rose ponderously from behind his desk. “Mellie, what on earth did you just say? A woman warrior from Geronimo’s party?” His hopes rose. If he could capture Geronimo, he was sure that General Crook would give him an assignment back East, thereby salvaging what was left of his thirty-year military career.
“Oh, fluff,” Melissa muttered, fanning herself. The heat in the room was nearly intolerable. The wooden-frame building had one small window, and Harvey had it closed, probably to keep out the sand and the dust. “You didn’t hear what I just said. This…this woman, if you can call her that, is wearing men’s clothing. She’s carrying a knife, and a bow and arrow. Really, Harvey, she’s disgusting. I really don’t believe she’s a woman warrior. This may be a ruse. If it is, Sergeant McCoy has stupidly fallen for it. He’s outside with her right now.”
Moving as quickly as his bulk would allow, Harvey came around the desk. “Pet, there are women warriors among the Apaches. I’m sure I’ve mentioned that to you from time to time.” He headed toward the door.
“But,” Melissa wailed plaintively, “aren’t you going to make her stay down at the scout camp?”
Harvey turned, his hand on the brass doorknob. “My dear, you really ought not be here. This is army business. And I understand your disgust for this woman. They’re all savages in my opinion, too. Come, come.” He held out his hand toward her.
Pouting, Melissa moved slowly toward her husband. “What are you going to do, Harvey?”
“Well,” he said, raising his thick, white eyebrows, “if she was indeed with Geronimo, we’ll interrogate her on his whereabouts.”
“And then?”
Shrugging, he opened the door. “If she wants to be a scout and help hunt Geronimo down, I don’t care.”
“But, a woman in an all-male camp of scouts?”
“Tut, tut, pet. I know all this is a shock to your gentle sensibilities. These savages live differently than we do. If this redskin can lead us to Geronimo, I don’t care if she’s a woman dressed in men’s clothing or not.” He smiled and led her into the outer office. McClusky leaped to attention, straight and tall.
Melissa rested her gloved hand on her husband’s arm and he led her out onto the porch.
“Lieutenant Carter, what’s going on?” Polk demanded, sizing up the Apache woman as he spoke.
Sputtering, Carter told his commanding officer the series of events.
Kuchana stared up at the large, overweight man in the dark blue uniform trimmed with gold and rows of brass buttons. His hair was thick and white. A mustache partially hid his thin lips. His silver sideburns drooped, following the line of his jaw, making his face look fat and round. When the colonel came forward, she tensed.
Harvey peered into the woman’s face. Typical of all savages, she displayed no emotion except wariness. Looking her up and down, he muttered, “How can you be sure she’s from Geronimo’s party?” His question was directed to McCoy who had the most experience with the Apaches.
“The shaft on the arrows she carries, sir.” Gib brought one out for the officer to examine. Polk was a lazy bastard at best, he knew, shunning his duties as commanding officer except when necessary. Most of his work fell to the majors and captains below him. McCoy doubted if Polk knew one tribe’s shaft from another, but he said nothing.
“Hmph. Interesting.” Polk handed back the arrow to McCoy, his gaze settling again on Kuchana.
Bristling at his inspection, her lips tightened. She vividly recalled similar inspections by soldiers at the San Carlos Reservation.
Straightening, Polk turned and headed for his office. “Get her in here, Lieutenant Carter. I want to question her at length.”
“Sir,” McCoy said, “I think she needs to eat and rest first. She hasn’t had food for four days.”
Carter turned angrily on McCoy. “That’s enough, Sergeant. She looks perfectly fine to me. Now, get her in here.”
Polk smiled at his wife. “I’ll take care of this, Mellie. Why don’t you and Claudia visit Ellen? I understand she’s faint from this heat again. I’m sure she’d like to see you.”
Dismissed, Melissa stood there, glaring at Kuchana. She hated the woman. And McCoy’s protectiveness toward her nettled her even more. How dared he. “Come, Claudia,” she demanded, “I can’t stand the stench around here. My poor nose is about ready to fall off.”
McCoy gave the two white women a look that spoke volumes. In the army, the men were required