Sun Woman

“To see a woman hurt by a man must have bothered you greatly,” said Kuchana. “You’re not the kind of warrior to stand aside and allow it to happen.”

“You’re right, I couldn’t.”

“You helped this woman?”

“I finally agreed to escort her to the stage. We worked out the plan, and one night, a week later, we made our escape. Halfway to the stage, Harvey intercepted us with a troop of cavalry. Apparently he’d overheard Juliet talking with one of the other officers’ wives. That woman turned Juliet in to her husband. He knew all along of Juliet’s plan of escape.”

Her eyes rounded. Gib was grim. “You’re a man of bravery.”

“In pindah society, you’re not rewarded for trying to help in a situation like that. I got hauled up on charges and busted from officer to enlisted status.” Gib managed a thin smile. The wind played with strands of Kuchana’s ebony hair, lifting and settling them back on her shoulder. Her red cotton shirt brought out the smooth planes of her high cheekbones.

“They punished you? How could they?” Kuchana’s indignation was impassioned. “What you did was good and right.”

“Not in the army’s eyes. Things are different between pindahs and your people, Kuchana.”

“You are more like an Apache than a pindah.”

Laughing, Gib placed his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe I am.” Her eyes widened at his gesture and he cursed himself. What the hell had gotten into him? Withdrawing his hand, he tried to break the bond of warmth that existed between them. No woman had reached inside him as she had. It was disconcerting. “Up there,” he said gruffly, pointing to the top of a hill, “is where the deer and bighorn have a trail. There’s a watering hole down on the other side where we can put your tracking skills to use.”

Kuchana nodded. She saw that Gib was embarrassed by his gesture. Trying to ease his discomfort, she asked, “Why does Melissa dislike you?”

Kuchana hadn’t missed a thing. Gib wasn’t really surprised. “Some pindah women,” he said, “think they are better than other people, Kuchana.”

“She wears very beautiful dresses.” Kuchana sighed and then smiled.

A grin edged Gib’s mouth. “Yes, she does. But be careful of her—her friendship is not sincere.”

Shrugging, Kuchana began to look for animal trails at the crest of the hill. “She wasn’t unkind to me.” The area was dotted with small, scraggly piñon, which were good food for her people, when they could get to them. In the month of Many Leaves, the sticky green cones were filled with delicious nuts. “She liked the shirts the army gave me,” she added with a smile.

Halting his horse, Gib watched her study the ground. Her mouth became pursed, her eyes hooded. “Look, Melissa wasn’t being complimentary about your shirts,” he warned.

Looking in his direction, Kuchana said, “She was smiling.”

Uncomfortable, Gib chose not to pursue the topic. Kuchana was naive to the wiles of women like Melissa. “Well,” he muttered, “just try and stay as far away from her as you can.” He knew from experience that the backbiting that went on among white females did not exist within the Apache community. And if it did occur, the guilty woman was pressured to resume a more humble demeanor in order to get along with the other people of the tribe.

Kuchana had no idea how wicked Melissa could be. Gib realized that the colonel’s wife was going to continue to snub and insult her. He didn’t care if she went after him, but Kuchana was innocent. As Gib studied the fresh tracks on the ground, he realized that Juliet Harper had been innocent, too. Damn. Kuchana was too trusting. She had no reason not to be. Pindah women hadn’t made war on her, the men had.

“Come,” Kuchana said, moving Wind down the ridge line, “I see bighorn tracks.” She flashed him a triumphant look. “They are nearby. Four of them. I think young bucks.”

Rousing himself from his worry, McCoy nodded. “You lead the way, and I’ll bring the mules.”

* * *

Dodd Carter’s day got worse when he saw the female scout and Sergeant McCoy return late in the afternoon with the mules laden with bighorn kills. He stood on the porch of headquarters, hands on his hips, watching as they slowly rode by in the direction of the chow tents.

He fumed and raised his arm. “Halt, Sergeant.” Stepping off the porch, he hurried out and intercepted them. Dodd was sure that McCoy had shot all the bighorn with a rifle. This female savage was worthless. No woman could track, much less scout.

“How many?” Carter demanded.

“Four bighorn, sir.” Gib saw the displeasure in Carter’s red face. The officer glared up at Kuchana.

“Who killed them?”

Gib settled in a comfortable slouch on the saddle. “Kuchana not only tracked the herd, but killed two with arrows. I got the other two with my rifle.”

Scowling, Carter muttered, “Impossible,” and walked up to the mules.

Sure enough, there were arrows in two of the bighorn. Angrily, Carter strode back, noting that Kuchana seemed unconcerned about his fury. She was just like the rest of those savages: no emotion registered on her face. As he rounded the horses, he saw laughter in McCoy’s eyes, although the man’s face was like granite.

“Get this meat over to the officers’ mess, Sergeant,” he snapped, spinning on his heel and making his way back to headquarters.

Gib clucked to his horse, chuckling to himself. Word of Kuchana’s ability would spread quickly through the post, and that was good. He aimed his horse between the city of tents. The laundresses looked up, smiling and greeting him. Their eyes widened with envy when they saw the fresh meat on the mules. Only the officers got such food.

Kuchana followed Gib as he led them from the officers’ area toward the enlisted men’s chow tent. Stopping behind the largest tent, Gib ordered two of the cooks to untie the largest bighorn from the mules. Eagerly, the men took the carcass into the tent. Then Gib continued toward the officers’ mess.

Kuchana waited patiently as the other three bucks were delivered. They were heading back to the stabling area before she spoke.

“You said only officers got the meat. Why did you give a buck to the dark-skinned ones?”

“Just between you and me, Kuchana, I’ve always sneaked some of the fresh kills I’ve made to the Negro families. They don’t get any fresh meat otherwise.”

Her brows arched. “A giveaway.” That she understood. Giveaways were always a sign of generosity on the part of those who had much to those who had little. “I will give away every time I make kills.”

He threw her a warning glance. “Don’t get caught doing it, Kuchana. You’d lose your scout status and have to go back to the reservation. Understand?”

Frowning, Kuchana pulled her mare to a halt in front of the stable. It was a busy place in midafternoon. A large group of horses waited to be shod by Kelly McManus. The huge farrier worked beneath an open shed, his anvil ringing with the sound of the striking hammer clenched in his massive fist.

“Then why do you do it if you will get in trouble?” she asked, dismounting.

Gib got off his own horse and strode around to face Kuchana. She stood there, hands on her hips. “I do it,” he said, “because those people deserve better food than what they’re given. They aren’t animals. They’re human beings.”

Kuchana admired him for taking such a risk. “I will do the same.” When she saw Gib’s darkening expression, she added, “I will not get caught.”

That worried him. “The enlisted people will never tell on you, but if an officer or one of their wives catches you, you’ll be in more trouble than you ever thought possible.”

Her smile was wry. “No one is as clever as an Apache, Gib. No one.”

The challenging fire in her eyes made him ache. There was such courage in her tall, proud body. “I know that better than most. Let’s unsaddle our horses, rub them down, and get back to work. Colonel Polk wants you to study the maps we have in headquarters so we can track Geronimo down.”

Kuchana’s triumph over the bighorn kills ebbed. For a few hours, she’d forgotten about Geronimo and the plight of her people. She went about unsaddling Wind, feeling the pain of separation from those she loved.

“What’s wrong?” Gib prompted. He had seen darkness cloud her eyes at the mention of Geronimo’s name.

With a sigh, Kuchana rested her hands on Wind’s back and looked at Gib. “My heart is breaking,” she admitted softly.

“You’ve a right to feel that way,” Gib said. “Leaving your tribe to become a scout wasn’t easy for you.”

His understanding made tears rush to Kuchana’s eyes. She forced back the reaction, managing a shrug. “I—yes, I miss them.”