Sweet Sarah Ross. Julie Tetel

bloody feet,” he replied with labored breath, “are blazing…a trail.”

      “For the Sioux to follow, you mean?”

      “For prairie wolves, too. Can smell blood…and a festering wound…a mile away.”

      Prairie wolves sounded worrisome, but she decided to take her worries one at a time. “If the Sioux are following you, why did they fall upon our peaceful wagon train?”

      His reply came after a lengthy pause. “I’m guessing…they think…I found refuge…in your party.”

      “It’s because of you, then, that our wagon train was attacked?”

      “Pioneers travel…at their own risk.”

      The callousness of that remark caused her to raise her voice above a whisper. “So if my family lies dead yonder, I’m not to blame you?” she snapped back.

      “Some of your wagons…must have gotten away. The Sioux have not…been able to count me…among the dead.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “They’re not looking…for me…here. Not yet Which means…they might be trailing…wagons that got away.”

      It was a glimmer of hope for her family but not much more. “Why do they want you dead?”

      “I was on their land. Took me prisoner. Got away. Were going to kill me any way…but now their desire…has doubled. Honor at stake.”

      “How did you get away?”

      “Old tribal dispute. Sioux warriors took off…like somebody set…breechclouts afire. Left me with the squaws.”

      “That was lucky.”

      The frail sound that came from his throat was a brittle ghost of a laugh. “Sioux squaws no bargain. Take to torturing with pleasure. Warriors rode off…with all the ponies in camp. I cut loose…started to run.”

      “You ran? Just like that?”

      He drew a deep breath, seemed to strangle on a dry cough. “The squaws came close to catching me…with my hands tied and all. My legs are longer. Knew what would happen…if they caught me.”

      As intrigued as she was by the notion of Sioux squaw bloodlust, she didn’t think the sound of the war whoops she had heard had come from women, and she said as much.

      “When warriors returned…they took after me, too. By that time…I had gotten my hands free…and was far enough off…to keep ahead of them.”

      “You’ve been running all day?”

      He didn’t answer for a long time. Then, as if from far off, came the answer, “All day…and day before. All night, too. I’ve covered…maybe fifty miles…barefoot.”

      She reassessed the gravity of his physical condition and wondered if he’d survive the night.

      “I’m mortal thirsty. The river tempts me…but I’ll not risk an arrow through my heart…after all I’ve done…to stay alive.”

      “You didn’t drink when you, were running through the river?”

      “Didn’t want to waste time…. Stuck my tongue out and caught what drops I could…splashing along.”

      “But that’s nonsensical to run through water and come out of it dying of thirst!”

      “I chose the water route…to lose my scent. Not to drink.”

      “I suppose you’ve learned your lesson now,” she said primly, trying not to feel sorry for him, since he was the immediate cause of her misfortune.

      “You could…fetch me water. It might be…worth the risk…to be rid…of your fool conversation…for a few minutes…or forever.”

      She gasped at the insult and thought it mighty cheeky of a man-beast on his last legs who, now that she came to think of it, might just have to depend on her for survival—that is, if she was of a mind to help him survive, which, at the moment, she was not.

      “And if you’re thinking…of leaving me…to my own devices…I’ll ask you…two questions.”

      Since she was thinking just that, she swerved her head and found herself looking into a pair of blue eyes no longer glazed, but still rimed with red and shot with blood.

      “Can you…kill and skin…a rabbit?”

      “No, but—”

      “And do you know…how to start a fire…with two sticks?”

      “Well, I’ve never had occasion to try, but how hard could—”

      “Then the scissors…in the bag…you’re wearing…just might save…the both of us.”

      Surprised, she stared openmouthed at him until she recalled that when he had pressed her to him, he must have felt against his bare thigh the small metal shape in the reticule hanging from her waist. She flushed with embarrassment at the thought of that intimate contact, then turned back around. There was absolutely nothing to say to that, so she resolutely closed her mouth, until it occurred to her that his objective had been to shut her up. But when she opened her mouth again, no words came. So she sat there, speechless, her thoughts colliding so violently and her emotions roiling so precipitously that she was beginning to feel seasick.

      The sun shifted. The shadows lengthened in the minuscule glade. The man-beast didn’t move from his seated position at the base of the tree. He might have dozed off. He might have died. Her first thought was that it would serve him right. Her second thought was that she would be without someone who knew how to make a fire and find food. She scooted over to him on all fours to see whether or not he was still breathing.

      She peered into his face, which was streaked with dirt and sweat. His eyes were closed and lined with fatigue. His jaw was slack and stubbled with several days’ dark growth, as was his chin. His lips were so parched they were cracked and white in places. She couldn’t risk a glance down the length of his body to check out the feet wrapped in pieces of her shawl, but he was breathing. Definitely breathing.

      He was also alert. She had hardly completed her inspection of his face when his hand shot out and grasped her forearm so hard that she yelped involuntarily.

      “Don’t,” he said softly, without opening his eyes, “do that again.”

      She wriggled her arm, and he let it go. She withdrew to her tree. “Don’t make sure you’re breathing?” she whispered in return. “Or don’t cry out?”

      “Both.”

      “I’m going to get you some water,” she said. Sioux or no Sioux, she was pretty sure that his body needed water desperately, and she saw the wisdom of keeping alive the means of her possible salvation. She began to rise.

      “Not yet,” he said.

      Thinking she had not heard him aright, she glanced over her shoulder and craned her neck to see that his eyes were open. He looked up at the sky, around their hiding place, over at the river. “Still too early,” he pronounced.

      “But you’re dying of thirst,” she protested.

      “I wasn’t kidding…about Sioux arrows.” He lolled his head on his shoulder and looked at her. His expression bordered on the grimly humorous. “I might need you…as much as you…need me.”

      “It’s something that you admit it,” she replied, sitting back down.

      He grunted. “Just…my luck.”

      She was about to respond in kind when she recalled the fifty miles he had covered barefoot. With great restraint, she said, “I’m willing to allow that it is extreme dehydration that makes you disagreeable, so I’ll overlook that remark. About the Sioux, though, I judge it to be a few hours ago already that they came through