“Oh!” Rebecca said, coming to. She looked up at him, suddenly realizing that she was lying, for the most part, on his lap.
“Oh!” she said. “Oh, what happened?”
“You fainted,” Tom said.
“I must get up.” She struggled to do so, but Tom restrained her. He restrained her gently, but he did restrain her.
“Get up slowly,” he said. “Other wise you could pass out again.”
She stopped struggling, then he got up, reached down, and helped her up.
A little unsteady on her feet, she fell into him again, and he held her tightly for a long moment.
“Are you all right?” Tom asked after a moment.
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” Rebecca said. “You saved my life, didn’t you?”
Tom smiled at her. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “But I might have kept you from getting a painful burn.”
Rebecca put her arms around his neck to steady herself. As she did so, their lips came in close proximity as they had before when he set her down from the horse. That time, the unexpected flushing of a quail stopped them. Nothing stopped them this time, and he pulled her to him, crushing his lips against hers.
Rebecca was pleasantly surprised by the kiss, and she reacted to it with a heat that thrilled her to her soul. The kiss went on, much longer than she would have thought, until, finally, it was Tom who broke off the kiss.
Rebecca felt as limp as a rag doll, and she looked at him with her senses reeling.
“I’m sorry,” Tom said, self-consciously. “I had no right to do that.”
“Oh, Tom,” Rebecca said. “You have every right. Don’t you know that?”
“We should get back to the camp.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Indian territory, December 5
The day after the fire, as they were having their breakfast they were surprised to look up and see an Indian, his face lined with age and wizened with experience. The Indian was standing less than ten feet away.
Clay smiled. “Ashki,” he said. “I see that you are still able to walk like a bird.”
“You did not hear?” Ashki asked.
“I did not.”
“You did not see me?”
“I did not.”
Ashki smiled. “I am old,” he said. “But still I can walk like a warrior.”
“Would you like breakfast?” Sally asked.
Ashki made a motion of drinking. “Coffee,” he said.
Sally poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him. “Won’t you try a biscuit?”
“Biscuit has no taste,” Ashki said.
“Sally, offer him a sinker,” Smoke said.
Sally gave the Indian a doughnut. He held it to his nose, sniffed, held it out and looked at it for a long moment before he took a tentative taste. At the first taste a huge smile spread across his face, and he nodded.
“It is good, this sinker,” he said as he took another bite. “Do you have tobacco?”
“Do you think I would come through Indian Territory without tobacco for my friend?” Clay asked. He walked over to the hoodlum wagon and searched around inside for a moment, then came back with a pouch and an envelope. “This ought to be enough tobacco to last you for a month or two,” he said. “And here is another gift for you.” Clay handed Ashki the envelope.
Ashki looked inside, then looked up with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Little white papers? Why do you give me little white papers?”
“Let me show you,” Clay said.
Clay took one of the little papers, lay it along his forefinger and index finger, curled it, then filled in some tobacco from a small bag. He rolled the paper closed, licked the side, then put it in his mouth and lit it.
“With these you can make a cigarette,” he said. “You won’t have to use your pipe.”
“A pipe you can share with others. How do you share the little papers with others? How do you care for it?”
Clay shook his head. “That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to share it with others, because everyone else can have one of their own,” he said. “And there is nothing to care for. It burns up as you smoke it. After you smoke it, it’s all gone. There is nothing left.”
“It is the way of the people to share the pipe with others,” Ashki said. He pulled his pipe from a small bag he had hanging from a rawhide cord tied around his waist. “From my father, I got this pipe,” he said. “He got it from his father, and from his father before him. To my son I will give this pipe, and to his son and to his son. Can you do this with a paper pipe?”
Smoke laughed. “He’s got you there, Clay.”
“I can’t deny that,” Clay said.
Ashki filled his pipe, lit it, then, as his head was wreathed in smoke, he looked out at the herd. He pointed to the cattle.
“Are they buffalo?”
“Buffalo? No, they aren’t buffalo,” Clay said. “Ashki, you have been around buffalo all your life. You know that isn’t buffalo.”
“It is being said that you are taking buffalo from our land,” Ashki said. “There are many who want to make trouble for you, but I told them that I do not think you are taking buffalo.”
“Why would they think we are taking buffalo?” Clay asked.
“Because the cows are black,” Smoke said.
“Yeah,” Clay said. “I guess you are right. I guess from a distance, someone might think that. But they would have to think that they were awfully small buffalo.”
“Dohate thinks you are stealing buffalo,” Ashki said. “I told him I do not think so, but he would not listen. He has gathered many. I think he will make war with you soon.”
“Make war with us?” Clay replied quickly. “Ashki, are you telling me we are going to be attacked by Indians?”
“I think this is so,” Ashki said.
“How many?”
Ashki opened and closed his hand three times.
“Fifteen?”
“Fifteen,” Ashki said.
“Where will they be?”
“At the place of the Yellow Hair Fight,” Ashki said.
“Do you know where that is?” Smoke asked.
“Yes, he’s talking about the Washita River. That’s, where Custer and Black Kettle had their fight. That’s about five miles south of here,” Clay said. “I guess Dohate thinks it would be strong medicine to hit us there.”
“Do you know this man, Dohate?” Falcon asked.
“Yeah, I know him. I’ve had to pay him a toll every time we’ve come through here. Generally three or four cows is enough. Sometimes a horse or two. Which reminds me, Ashki, do you have a horse?” Clay asked.
“No.”
“Dusty, give our friend a horse from Mo’s string.”
“Come along, Ashki,” Dusty said.
As Dusty led Ashki over to the remuda to give him a horse, the others discussed their options.
“How hard would it be to go around the Washita?” Tom asked.
“There are only so many places where you can ford a herd this size,” Clay said. “It would add at least two weeks, maybe longer, if we tried to go around.”
“They say forewarned is forearmed,” Matt said. “Why don’t we attack them before they attack us?”
“Why attack him at all?” Tom asked.
“You heard the Indian, Tom,” Dalton said. “We don’t have any choice.”
“Dalton is right,” Clay added. “It’s either attack or be attacked, and I’d much rather attack. That way we control when, and where the fight is.”
“But you said that you know him, that you have dealt with him before. As I understood Ashki, Dohate’s biggest bone of contention with us seems to be that he thinks we are taking buffalo from them. Why don’t we leave the herd here and buy him off with a few cows? That way he will know we are not herding buffalo.”