“What flirtations? She’s the one who caught up with me and started talking,” Jordy said, half embarrassed that Jack had noticed whatever it was that was going on between him and Sierra. “I haven’t known her much more than a week. Besides, Sierra’s a grown woman and of age, and I’ve been past that a spell, I don’t see that it’s your concern.”
Jordy and Jack did not quarrel much, but occasionally they had a good one, and Jordy for some unexplainable reason had bristled at the jest. He was ready to take the ornery old cuss on if pressed.
Jack chuckled. “Methinks Jordy Jackson doth protest too much.”
Chapter Thirty
“I see the smoke, Tige, but no sign of a war party coming our way.”
“No war party, Jack, but there’s two riders in the distance.”
“Damn, I don’t see them. I didn’t bring my specs, but I only use them for reading anyhow. It’s hell getting old, Tige. Some days, I feel like I’m just wearing out piece by piece.”
“Ah, come on, Boss. You can still work us all into the ground when you’ve a mind to. No man I’d rather ride the river with, that’s for sure.”
“I thank you for your kind words, but my parts are telling me something different. Anyhow, I can make out your riders now. It looks like Mitch has seen them and is coming in. He doesn’t speak much Comanche, but he can help some.”
Tige said, “I could get Roper up here. He can sign with the best.”
“Might do that, but let’s wait and see how it goes.”
As the riders approached, Tige said, “Boss, the big, bare-chested one looks like an older warrior, but I would swear the one with the war shirt and britches is female.”
“Strange, if you’re seeing right,” Jack said.
Several minutes later, the Comanches reached the wagon, each with a hand upraised in the peace sign. And, indeed, one was a young woman, a pretty one.
Jack was momentarily taken aback when the woman spoke, “Jack Wills?”
“Yes, ma’am. I am Jack Wills.”
“I am She Who Speaks, friend of Healer’s Daughter, the woman you know as Tess Wyman. This is Growling Bear, the senior warrior with our party and Quanah’s emissary.”
The young woman’s English was flawless, spoken without a hint of accent. Jack knew some of her story, though, from his conversations with Tess. She Who Speaks’s first language had been German. The child of Jewish emigrants, she had been taken captive when Comanches killed her parents and quickly added Comanche to her growing list of languages. Comanche elders had recognized the value of someone with her gift and pressed her into interpreting duties. As Quanah, himself only in his mid- to late twenties, rose to power as Kwahadi war chief, she had gained his confidence and become his personal interpreter and a counselor of sorts.
“We are here as friends,” Jack said. “I have a treaty with the Kwahadi, and we have been at peace for many years, even while others of our peoples war.”
She Who Speaks said, “I know this. And I know of your mission. I have spoken with Healer’s Daughter who suggested we might strike a bargain and become allies.”
“Now, that sounds interesting. Why don’t we set up camp next to yours? My cooks will prepare a supper and you can be our guests. After that we can talk.”
She Who Speaks turned to Growling Bear and spoke Comanche to the warrior, who had thus far been silent. He smiled and nodded approvingly and replied to her at some length.
The young woman turned back to Jack. “Growling Bear accepts your invitation and welcomes you to camp with us. And, yes, we shall talk later. He also says that we can roast the doe one of our warriors shot today near the stream that feeds the river.”
Jack said, “Lead the way.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The Kwahadi warriors at first appeared uneasy when the wagons from the Lucky Five rolled in, staring at the strangers and keeping some distance from the newcomers as if an invisible barrier separated the encampments. Soon, however, Eagle Eyes and Roper strolled over to the clusters of warriors and began conversing with Roper’s signing and Eagle Eyes’s limited Comanche vocabulary. It was not long before the Lucky Five party and Comanches were intermingling freely and finding ways to talk. Several Comanches knew a smattering of English that helped the dialogue.
Sierra had just finished helping Rudy set up the Dutch ovens filled with biscuit dollops on hot coals. There was no doubt that Rudy was in command of the meal, and he had instructed Nick Iverson to watch the bean pots and start the bacon frying soon. The deer carcass had been butchered and chunks of venison roasted on the iron spits that Rudy stocked. Several warriors were turning some of the spits, and Sierra was pleased that meal preparation had turned into a communal project.
“Just keep an eye on the biscuits,” Rudy admonished. “Them is dessert and main course. Fill a man with good biscuits and jam, and he overlooks burnt meat or dried-out beans. ‘Course I don’t know how Injuns are for biscuits, but I’m guessing they won’t turn them down.”
Sierra stood back to let the ovens work their magic for a spell when she saw the pretty Comanche woman approaching. She guessed that the young lady was about her age or no more than two or three years older. They had not yet met, but Jack had told Sierra a bit about She Who Speaks and her background. While she appeared Comanche, She Who Speaks did not carry a drop of Comanche blood.
Sierra stepped toward She Who Speaks and extended her hand. “I am Sierra. I have been anxious to meet you.”
The Comanche woman accepted her hand and offered a warm smile. “I have wanted to meet you, also, but the older gentleman seemed to be keeping you busy.”
“Yes. He is stern taskmaster, but he is more bark than bite. He is a good person and would
