Chapter Two

"Dead. His friend, too." "And the dark woman with the big hair?" Galilee's hair had been very entertaining to the Indians. "Dead." "I am sorry," he said formally. "Can you tell me if there is water near here?" "Yes, at the old settlement. It's north and east of here." "Thank you. My best wishes to you and your family and your chief." "Easy death, Gunnie Rose." "Good hunting, Standing Still." They turned west and were on their way. Jeremiah and Jacob were standing tense and ready. It was a good thing I had told them not to shoot before I'd figured out the intentions of our visitors—and it was a better thing that they'd respected my words. I could feel them relax behind me as the Indians vanished. "What tribe were they?" Jacob asked. "Comanche," I said. "This area is common ground for the Comanche and the Kiowa." "How did you know them?" "I knew one of them. Standing Still helps out my stepfather from time to time." "Doing what?" Jeremiah said this very suspiciously. Dealing with an Indian made my whole family suspect. "My stepfather owns a hotel. Standing Still brings in a deer for the table there every now and then." "I wish he'd brought us one," Jacob muttered. Sure, because we had the time to skin and butcher and cook a deer, and carry the remains with us. And because we had the money to pay him, which he'd expect, and rightly. I didn't answer. It was a waste of my breath. I started walking again. The two men were talking to each other, and Jacob's wife, Martha, moved up to walk beside me. "What did that mean, 'easy death'?" She seemed almost shy with the question. "He meant . . . he was being polite. That's what gunnies wish each other. An easy death." Martha was silent for a minute. Just when I hoped it was going to remain quiet, she said, "You have a hard life, Gunnie Rose." "You do, too. We all do." That was as personal as I wanted to get with Martha. I didn't want to know any of them better. It was easy to ignore most of the children, because they were scared of me. But the oldest girl, Jael, who was about thirteen, dogged my footsteps. She'd seen me interrupt her aunt's **** and kill the men who'd done that and kidnapped them all, her interest wasn't too surprising. I would have wondered about me too. But Jael didn't speak, which was fine. I took a turn at watch this night, since there was no way around it. I didn't think I'd die now, but I wasn't so sure I wanted to live. I daydreamed about a dark room with no sound, no voices. And maybe in one corner, a bathtub and soap. The girl Jael broke into this pleasant picture and sat close to me, cross-legged, staring. I was too tired to mind. "You shoot a lot of people?" she asked. She had a hoarse little voice. "That's my job." "You did good, Gunnie Rose. Thanks." "Welcome." "Sorry about your friends." I nodded. Didn't want to talk about it. She leaned sideways and hugged me awkwardly. "My name's Jael," she said. "I wasn't sure you knew it. What's yours?" "Lizbeth," I said. "Gunnie." She squeezed a little and let go of me to return to her blanket, laid safely by her mom's. I saw Ruth's eyes glint in the firelight. She'd been keeping an eye on her chick. Good. I remembered the girl's name from the Bible. Hadn't Jael killed a man with a tent peg or something? Her parents must have thought she was a pretty fierce kid—or else they wanted her to be. The next day proved she was.