marry Delshay.”
“The Indians have a very strong sense of honor,” Matt said. “We may have a difficult time understanding their sense of honor, given that they have done some terrible things, such as raiding ranches and killing entire families. But forcible rape would not be an honorable thing. Marriage, on the other hand, is honorable, even if it is forced upon the woman.”
“So you are saying my wife might be forced into a marriage, but it is all right because that would be honorable,” Bixby said.
“No, I’m not saying it would be all right,” Matt said. “I’m just trying to give you a look at their sense of honor. However, I don’t think it is anything you need to worry about right now. As she was just captured, and they know you are still alive, a forced marriage would not be something they would do right away. Here is that word honor again, but the Indians respect an honorable enemy, and that the fact that you were captured, but had the skill and courage to escape, will extend over to the way they will treat Mrs. Bixby.”
“What do we do now?” Hendel asked.
“There is nothing more I can do tonight,” Matt said. “But tomorrow, I will gather what supplies I need. Then I’m going after her.”
“I will go with you,” Hendel said.
Matt held out his hand. “Please, no,” he said. “I know you mean well, and I don’t mean to denigrate whatever contribution you might make, but the more people there are out there, beating the brush to find her, the less likely I am to succeed. It would be a little like putting a bell on the collar of a cat, if you understand my meaning.”
“Yes, I understand. I would very much like to go with you, but if you feel the chances are better for finding her if you are alone, then I will gladly stay behind.”
“You are a good man, Mr. Hendel.”
“I’m going to have some dessert,” Bixby said. “What about you, Jensen, could I treat you to dinner? Dessert perhaps?”
“No, thank you,” Matt replied. “I’ll need to get some things together tonight, if I’m going out after your wife tomorrow.”
Shortly after Delshay left, Cynthia looked around and saw that there was a bed of sorts, made from animal hides. She moved over to lie on it, surprised by how soft and comfortable it was. Before she realized it, she had fallen asleep.
When she awakened sometime later, even before she opened her eyes, she was aware of someone near. When she looked up, she saw an Indian standing over here. She recognized him as one of the ones who had captured her, and also as one of the ones who had helped her to her horse.
“You have rested, Mountain Lion Woman?” the Indian asked. His English was exceptionally good.
“My real name is Cynthia Bixby.”
“That is your white man name,” the Indian said. “But now your real name is Mountain Lion Woman.”
“Mountain Lion Woman,” Cynthia repeated.
The Indian squatted down to place a wooden bowl and a wooden plate beside her. There was water in the bowl, and some sort of meat on the plate.
“Eat,” he said.
“Thank you,” Cynthia said. She reached for the piece of meat, picked it up, and raised it to her mouth, then hesitated just before taking a bite.
The Indian, realizing that Cynthia was afraid to eat, smiled at her hesitation, then reached for the piece of meat and took a bite.
“Eat,” the Indian said. “You will like it. It is very good. I cooked it myself.”
“What is your name?” Cynthia asked.
“I am called Chandeisi. It means Broken Nose.” Even as he explained the name, he ran his fingers across a nose that Cynthia could see was misshapen.
“You speak English very well.”
“I attended the white man’s school when I was a child,” Chandeisi explained.
“Then you have an education? How wonderful,” Cynthia said.
“I went to the white man’s school,” Chandeisi said. “I know the capitals of all the states. I know how to add and subtract, but what good is that for someone who has left the reservation to go on the warpath?”
“Why did you leave the reservation?”
“I left the reservation because the white men killed my wife and children, and killed Delshay’s wife and children,” Chandeisi said with a sense of bitterness in his voice. “I left the reservation with Delshay and the others.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Cynthia said.
“It is all right. You did not know.”
“What is this thing called?” Cynthia asked, taking in the structure with a broad wave of her arm. “This— house.”
“It is called a wickiup,” Chandeisi explained.
Cynthia looked toward the opening of the wickiup. “May I look outside?”
“Yes.”
