the waist up.
Plenty of people were around, including Juan Pablo’s wife, who had followed Matt out of the hogan. Feeling their eyes on him, he backed away from Elizabeth, then turned and pushed past the older women to go back inside.
His jaw was clenched in anger, most of it directed at himself. He had never in his life been one to run from trouble, and here he was retreating.
Not only that, as he turned away he had caught a glimpse of the hurt that flared in Elizabeth’s eyes. That ate at him as well, and he seethed inside with resentment for the unaccustomed awkwardness that had put the both of them in this position.
That was a long day and an even longer night. Matt was restless and had trouble sleeping. The bullet holes still ached at times and itched at others, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Elizabeth was doing tonight.
Juan Pablo was bound to be back tomorrow with news of Sam, Matt told himself.
But Juan Pablo didn’t return the next day, which increased Matt’s worries about his blood brother. More and more he wondered if Sam and Juan Pablo had been ambushed. The thought that Sam might be lying out there somewhere on the plains, wounded or even dead, gnawed at Matt’s guts.
His boredom at doing nothing but sitting around increased, too. His wounds had closed up and were healing. Some of his strength had come back, and while he knew he wasn’t in shape yet to do a lot of hard riding or fighting, he felt too good to waste his days in inactivity.
Through sign language, he managed to tell Juan Pablo’s wife that he wanted a shirt to replace his blood- soaked, bullet-torn one. She gave him a shirt made of soft, red-dyed wool that he slipped over his head.
“I’m going to take a walk,” he told her. When she stared at him uncomprehendingly, he pointed to himself and then made walking motions with his fingers. The woman shook her head, but Matt ignored her and stepped out of the hogan.
He hoped he wouldn’t run into Elizabeth this time. He needed to get a little exercise. That would just make him stronger, he thought.
As he strolled along the creek and passed some of the other hogans, he was aware that he was being given a lot of curious looks. Several children ignored the sheep they were supposed to be watching and started following him. They tagged along with him until their mothers angrily called them back. Some of the men watched him warily.
Even though Caballo Rojo had guaranteed his safety, having a white man around had to go against the grain for these people who had been rounded up, forced to walk hundreds of miles to Bosque Redondo, and kept there in captivity for years before they were allowed to return to their homeland.
Matt made sure he didn’t do anything that could be mistaken for belligerence. He gave everyone friendly nods and smiles.
As he approached Caballo Rojo’s hogan, he spotted the clan leader striding toward him. Caballo Rojo seemed to be bound on a specific errand, and Matt wondered if someone had gone to him and told him that the white man was wandering around the canyon.
Caballo Rojo stopped in front of him and rumbled, “Rest. Get stronger.”
“I’m already getting stronger, Chief,” Matt said. “I need to move around now. I need to do something.”
Caballo Rojo shook his head.
“Rest.”
“I will. I give you my word. I’m just taking a stroll.”
Caballo Rojo looked like he didn’t approve of the idea, but he didn’t try to force Matt back to Juan Pablo’s hogan. He stood there scowling as Matt walked over to the creek and continued following it.
He would walk a little farther and then come back, he figured. After being shut up in that hogan for so long, the warmth of the sun and the interplay of light and shadow through the branches of the cottonwoods along the stream were very welcome.
Matt hadn’t gone very far when a bend of the creek and the thickening of the trees partially obscured the hogans. He was about to turn around and go back when he heard voices up ahead.
The voices belonged to women, and instantly the possibility that they might be bathing occurred to him. Matt was too much of a gentleman to spy on any female in a situation like that, so he swung around to head away from the spot.
Then he heard a laugh that he recognized as Elizabeth Fleming’s, and that stopped him in his tracks.
“Don’t be a damn fool, Matt Bodine,” he told himself out loud. “You better just get away from here right now.”
He would have, too, but just then the voices got louder. With a crackling of brush, the women pushed into view behind him. His head was turned just enough for him to catch the motion from the corner of his eye. He heard a surprised gasp, and Elizabeth said, “Matt?”
He couldn’t stop himself from looking around. When he did, he saw the redheaded woman standing there with three young Navajo women.
Their hair was wet, and their colorful blouses and skirts clung to their damp bodies. They had been bathing, all right, and Matt was glad he hadn’t stumbled onto that scene. At least they were clothed now.
“Sorry,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be movin’ on now.”
He turned to leave, but Elizabeth hurried to catch up with him.
“You’re feeling better?” she asked.
Matt nodded.
