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Copyright ©1991 by Constance Bennett


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MORNING SKY
To my beloved uncle, Miles Hart, who
made the Thunderbird necklace
a reality...
and
to Robert Vaughan,
who put up with my endless
cavalry questions and never failed
to have the answers I needed.
Part I
The Legend
One
Apacheria, in the white man's year 1847
Hidden deep in the shadows of branches, He Stalks the Gray Wolf crouched by the 
river, studying the reflection of the full moon that shimmered on the water at 
the fork of Cottonwoods Joining. The river was quiet, its voice soft as it spoke 
to the moon. Gray Wolf strained to hear its words, for the river was wise, and 
tonight it was wisdom Gray Wolf sought.
On the opposite shore, beyond the trees, he could see the waning campfires of 
the Many Mountains band, and behind him he knew that identical fires burned 
inside and out of the Red Canyon wickiups. The two camps reflected each other as 
the water reflected the moon; so alike, and yet so very far apart.
Would it always be so? Gray Wolf wondered bleakly, remembering all the great and 
noble speeches he had heard at the peace council that day. Some had advocated 
peace; others had shouted that there could be no peace. Gray Wolf's people had 
been at war with the Many Mountains band for longer than any of the elders on 
either side could remember. If this meeting of the warring bands did not resolve 
the conflict, the petty, futile feud would continue.
But Gray Wolf did not believe the feud would last for many more generations. In 
his heart he knew that if all the bands of the White Mountain Apache did not 
unite as one, there would soon be no Apache left. His people had an enemy lying 
in wait that was far more powerful than any single tribe, even more fearsome 
than the hated Mexicans, who had made war on the Apache for a dozen generations. 
The White Eyes were coming, and they did not understand that this was Apache 
land, that the Apache were a proud people.
Gray Wolf considered himself a fearless warrior, and there were many in his band 
who agreed. But it would take more than bravery to hold back the White Eyes. 
There had to be a way to make his people see that, and so he had come to the 
river to ask the spirits to tell him how.
Behind him, Gray Wolf heard a rustle of leaves so soft it might only have been a 
trick of the wind. He tensed, waiting to see who approached, and then relaxed 
again when a faint tinkle of beads and a rustle of buckskin identified the 
intruder.
“You should not be here, Mother,” he said quietly without turning. “My father 
has had a difficult day, and he will want you beside him."
The wife of the Red Canyon chief knelt beside her son. “Your father is in 
council with the elders and will not miss me for some time, I think.” She 
reached out with a mother's hand to stroke Gray Wolf's hair. “You are troubled 
tonight."
Her show of affection was hardly proper, but Gray Wolf did not pull away. 
Instead, he smiled and lightly chided her. “If my friends see us, they will 
taunt me mercilessly and ask if I still suck at my mother's breast."
Round Maiden smiled. “Your friends would not dare taunt you, for they know how 
swift and sure your vengeance would be. They know that, like your father, you 
are a great warrior."
“Great warriors’ mothers do not stroke their sons’ hair and speak to them as 
though they were children."
Round Maiden withdrew her hand and sighed. “Very well, I shall not treat you as 
my son."
Gray Wolf turned to her, and his eyes smiled with love and respect. “Now you go 
too far."
She looked at her strong, handsome son, and pride swelled in her heart. “Tell me 
what troubles you, my son. Your father said that you spoke most eloquently at 
the council today. You should be proud."
His face grew hard and he turned once again toward the rustling river. “But my 
words fell on many deaf ears,” he said, unable to hide his frustration.
“Then tomorrow you will make them hear."
“And if they do not?” he asked angrily. “What will happen then? Will our petty 
quarrels with the Many Mountains people go on forever?"
“There is much hatred between our two peoples,” she answered philosophically.
“But for what reason?” Gray Wolf asked in disgust. “In the time of my father's 
grandfather, a Many Mountains brave stole the horse of a Red Canyon brave. He 
paid for his thievery with his life. The quarrel that began there should have 
ended there, but instead, many lives were lost. The years passed, but our people 
and theirs refused to forget, and now we steal each other's cattle to prove our 
worth as warriors, and we hurl insults at one another.” Gray Wolf spat into the 
tall grass at his feet. “Our foolishness sickens me."
“That is because you have a wisdom others do not possess, my son."
“But there is a real enemy awaiting us, Mother, and our people do not see the 
danger. The Inday of the White Mountain must begin to live as one or we shall 
perish. Why do they not understand that?"
Round Maiden reached out to touch her son again, but stopped herself. Gray Wolf 
was right; he was a man now—a fine young brave who no longer needed a mother's 
comfort. Still, she could not resist trying to soothe him with her words. “They 
do not understand, my son, because they have not seen what you have seen."
Gray Wolf's eyes turned cold at the memory of the Blue Coats, and to ward off 
the evil of the White Eyes, he instinctively fingered the thunderbird medallion 
that hung to the center of his chest. Two moons ago he had watched the soldiers 
march through Canyon Day, their numbers stretching as far as the eye could see. 
Hidden among the great rocks on the canyon's ridge, he had kept pace with them, 
studying their fine horses and excellent weapons. They rode foolishly in the 
open, making no attempt to hide themselves from enemy eyes; but then, with their 
numbers so great, they had little reason to fear anyone.
When they made camp, Gray Wolf had crept close, as invisible as the wind. He 
listened to their strange speech and wondered at their even stranger ways. 
Through the night he had studied them, and when they were asleep, he had moved 
silently into their camp. When he left, he took with him two of the Blue Coats’ 
rifles so that he could show his people proof of what he had seen.
The experience had made a deep impression on Gray Wolf. He had seen white men 
before, but never in such numbers. He had heard tales of the Blue Coats who had 
come to Apacheria to make war with the Mexicans, but until he saw them for 
himself, he did not realize how formidable an enemy they might be. If the Blue 
Coats decided to make war on the Apache, the people of the White Mountains would 
be doomed unless they stood together.
That was why Gray Wolf had urged his father to seek a peace council with the 
Many Mountains people. The two Apache bands were broken into many local groups, 
and these were divided into small family clans. To bring the scattered groups 
together at one time was no small feat, but both bands had made the long journey 
from their winter homelands to Cottonwoods Joining because their chiefs had 
demanded it. They had set up their temporary camps and agreed to a truce. Then 
the talks had begun.
At first Gray Wolf had been encouraged by the peace council, for there were men 
in both bands who understood the need for unity. There were others, though, who 
were blind to the danger and preferred to perpetuate a feud whose meaning had 
been lost long ago. Their stupidity angered Gray Wolf.
“Do not worry, my son,” Round Maiden said, wishing she could ease some of the 
burden he had taken onto himself. “It is a good sign that Blue Bear was able to 
persuade his people to come here. There will be peace. Wait and see. The elders 
and the braves will argue, but soon gifts will be exchanged and we will live 
with the Many Mountains people as brothers again."
Gray Wolf studied the moon's reflection on the water. “I hope you are right, 
Mother."
Round Maiden stood. “Pray to the Mountain Spirits for guidance, my son. Perhaps 
they will give you the words you need to sway the council tomorrow."
She moved away as silently as she had come, and all was quiet on the river 
again. Gray Wolf knew that he, too, should return to camp; but whatever had 
drawn him to the water held him there, as though the answers he sought would be 
delivered if only he waited with sufficient patience.
A single cloud drifted over the moon, darkening the water and the woods on 
either shore. Voices from across the river broke the tranquillity of the night, 
and Gray Wolf peered into the blackness, studying the vague shapes that 
cautiously emerged from a stand of cottonwoods. The cloud unveiled the moon, and 
suddenly the shapes were no longer vague; three maidens slipped toward the 
river's edge carrying theirtus baskets for water.
Two of them giggled nervously as they scanned the opposite shore for signs of 
their enemies. Their eyes passed over Gray Wolf several times, but he was deep 
in the shadows and they could not see him. He watched, wondering if the maidens, 
despite their nervousness, were secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of a Red 
Canyon brave. He had seen his sisters behave as these maidens were behaving, 
pretending shyness and fear while hoping for something unusual to alleviate the 
dreariness of their daily chores. It would be a wonderful story to tell when 
they returned to camp—how they had been spied upon by their evil enemy and how 
they had bravely performed their task despite tremendous fear. But the giggling 
maidens did not hold Gray Wolf's attention for long. They were foolish, and Gray 
Wolf had little patience with silly women.
The third maiden was far more interesting. She was taller than her timid 
companions, but not so tall as to be grotesque, and she moved with a regal 
grace. She did not giggle or feign shyness, but scanned the opposite shore 
without fear. With the eyes of a discerning hunter, her gaze moved unerringly to 
Gray Wolf's hiding place.
He was certain she could not see him, and yet it seemed that she sensed his 
presence. While the others filled theirtus, the graceful one stood poised on the 
riverbank, watching, curiously unafraid of the darkness and the dangers that 
might lurk within it. The moon made her black hair, bound in a beadednah-leen, 
shine like ravens’ wings, and Gray Wolf wished desperately that he were a little 
closer, that the moon were a little brighter. He wanted to know if the graceful 
one was as beautiful as she was brave.
The maidens’ voices drifted toward him. Their words were indistinct, but he 
separated the speakers easily, for the graceful one's voice was musical, like 
the gently flowing water when it called to the moon. Her tone was soft but stern 
as she spoke to her companions; Gray Wolf could almost imagine that she was 
chiding them for behaving so foolishly. She was a stone's throw from the camp of 
her enemy, but she was not afraid.
Did she trust the truce that had been agreed upon, or did she, like Gray Wolf, 
believe there were greater things to fear than her Apache cousins?
She knelt by the water to fill hertus, every movement poised and elegant, and 
suddenly Gray Wolf realized why the river had summoned him. The key to his 
search for peace was revealed to him.
Like a mountain cat he moved to the edge of his shadowed hiding place and stood. 
The moon touched him, and the graceful one raised her eyes. Upon seeing him, her 
companions shrieked in surprise and fled into the woods, but the graceful one 
rose slowly and betrayed no fear.
She Sings by the Willow studied the brave across the river. He meant no harm; of 
that she was certain, or he would not have revealed himself so boldly. She had 
known there were eyes upon her, but she had sensed no threat in them, and she 
sensed none now. The Red Canyon brave stood as though carved in stone, inviting 
Willow to satisfy her curiosity. Her sister, the moon, bathed him in light, and 
her father, the river, whispered to her.
Why are you not afraid, Willow?
Because I see nothing to fear,she answered in her mind.
Good. That is as it should be,the river replied.Go home now, my daughter, and 
wait.
For what?she asked, sensing something to fear for the first time.
For your destiny,the river answered as the moon hid behind a cloud. The Red 
Canyon brave vanished.
Hidden among the shadows once again, Gray Wolf smiled with satisfaction as the 
graceful one hurried into the sanctuary of the cottonwoods.
He, too, had heard the river speak of destiny, and tomorrow he would test the 
truth of those words.
“That is good, little sister,” Willow said as she inspected the reeds and bear 
grass her youngest sister, Little Corn Flower, had woven into the shape of a 
smallme'ts'at. The cradleboard was a nearly perfect imitation of the 
baby-carrier their mother had recently made for her newborn son, and Willow was 
impressed; not many young ones learned to weave so early. “Mother will be proud 
of you."
“Kayhatin! Kayhatin!"
Startled at hearing her name spoken, Willow stood and looked up to see her 
cousin hurrying toward her. It was a sign of great disrespect to call another by 
name, and the offense was forgivable only in times of emergency. From the 
wild-eyed look on the face of She Carries Water, Willow knew it was not a time 
to be insulted. “What is it, cousin?” she asked anxiously.
“A brave rides into camp, Kayhatin! A Red Canyon brave. With my own eyes I saw 
him cross the river!"
“He comes here?” Willow asked, alarmed. “All of our men are gone to council. 
What could he want?"
“I do not know.” She Carries Water looked frantically around Blue Bear's large 
encampment. “Where is your mother? Someone must greet our enemy."
Willow glanced at her family's wickiup where her mother had disappeared only a 
short time ago to nurse her son. “She is tending to my brother's needs and 
cannot be disturbed."
“Then you must welcome him."
Willow pursed her gently bowed lips, for she knew her cousin was right. As the 
daughter of a chief, she had been taught the ways of making visitors welcome. It 
was her duty. Other maidens, whose fathers had less influence than hers, were 
allowed the luxury of shyness. They were permitted—even expected—to hide their 
faces in the presence of strangers, but the daughter of a chief was required to 
act with bravery.
Deathly quiet reigned where only moments ago there had been laughter and the 
sounds of children at play in the many smaller camps that formed the larger one. 
Only the slow, steady clip-clop of a horse's gait marred the stillness as a 
single rider wound his way through the sprawling encampment.
“I will greet him,” Willow said finally, moving out of the shade of the 
cottonwood where she and her sister had been weaving. As she hurried toward her 
mother's wickiup, past the smaller dwellings of her aging grandmother and her 
married sister, she glanced back and found that her shy cousin had disappeared. 
Her sister was trotting along behind her as though trying to keep up, but as 
soon as they reached the wickiup, the little girl rushed inside, leaving Willow 
to face the Red Canyon brave alone.
She walked forward several paces, and a moment later the brave came into view. 
He was mounted on a magnificent black horse outfitted with a fine Mexican 
saddle. Both proved that he was a great warrior who had fought bravely and 
successfully against the Inday's enemies to the south.
Willow was impressed by the brave's show of wealth, but she was even more 
impressed by the man himself. Dressed only in a breechclout and supple buckskin 
moccasins that clung to his calves, he was as fine a young man as Willow had 
ever seen. His broad chest and powerfully muscled thighs showed him to be a 
great runner, and the corded sinews of his arms and shoulders testified to his 
extraordinary strength.
Gleaming black hair, bound only by a red headband, flowed onto his shoulders, 
framing a lean oval face with high cheekbones and a firm, square jaw. Around his 
neck was tied a choker with four strands of eagle bone and nuggets of silver and 
turquoise; from this hung a medallion carved with the symbol of the mighty 
Thunder Eagle, and from this hung a single eagle feather. It was a necklace that 
invoked great power, and only a mighty warrior who had earned the right could 
wear it; otherwise, the god Usen would be displeased and would strike him down.
Willow's maiden heart leaped in her breast at the sight of him, and she realized 
that this was the brave she had seen at the river. Throughout the long night her 
thoughts had turned to him and to the words the river had spoken to her. Could 
the two be intertwined? she had wondered. And now, with the sun, not the moon, 
high overhead, the brave appeared before her again. The river had told her to 
wait for her destiny, but Willow dared not believe that this strong, handsome 
warrior would be part of her future. If all went well at the peace council, his 
people and hers would be brothers again, but it would be many years before 
resentment between the bands died away enough for a brave from the Red Canyon 
band to risk tying his heart to a woman who had once been his enemy.
But knowing that did not stop Willow from feeling as shy as a maiden at her 
first social dance. For the first time in her life, she wished she were not the 
daughter of a chief. She had never seen such a wondrously handsome brave before, 
and she felt compelled to shyly hide her face as other women were allowed to do. 
But she had to do honor to her father, and so she stepped forward, her face 
tilted upward, her shoulders drawn back with pride.
“I bid you welcome, my friend. I am Kayhatin, daughter of the greatnant'an of 
the Many Mountains people."
Gray Wolf looked down at the girl from his lofty perch. As he had known he 
would, he had recognized her as the graceful one the moment his eyes fell upon 
her. And she was the daughter of Chief Blue Bear, as he had suspected last night 
as he lay awake thinking of the encounter at the river. He had not dared 
believe, though, that she would be so lovely to look upon.
Her soft, dark eyes were fringed by long lashes, and every line of her face was 
perfection. As before, her shimmering black hair was bound in a maiden's bow 
with ribbons that trailed down her back to her trim waist, and her loose-fitting 
buckskin dress, trimmed with fringe and bits of iridescent shells, could not 
conceal her generous woman's curves. It seemed impossible to Gray Wolf that such 
a maiden had not yet taken a husband, and yet he knew that if she had, her hair 
would be unbound. Her voice was as rich and gentle as he remembered, and her 
courage was just as unmistakable.
Gray Wolf threw one leg over his horse's neck and slid smoothly to the ground, 
landing directly in front of her. Though her eyes widened, she did not step 
back."Enju"— it is good—he said with an approving smile. “You welcome me as a 
friend, even though I am an enemy of your people and you know not why I come."
“If I welcome you as a friend, you are bound by honor to act as a friend,” 
Willow replied softly. The visitor was tall, and he towered over her in a most 
disconcerting fashion. His smile was warm, though, and Willow felt her heartbeat 
quicken in her breast.
“You are not afraid of me?"
Willow felt many strange and wondrous things, but fear was not among them. 
Though it was difficult, she gazed steadily at his face. “No."
Gray Wolf nodded. “Just as you were not afraid of me at the river last night."
She lowered her head. The brave's gentle, knowing smile was too wonderful to 
look at. It made her ache with feelings she had never experienced before. “I was 
not afraid. Then or now,” she replied softly.
"Enju.You do great honor to your father."
“I try in all things to do honor to my father and to my people."
Her head was still bowed, and Gray Wolf paused a moment to study her. Her beauty 
moved him so profoundly that for a moment he forgot the purpose of his visit. 
She was the most exquisite woman he had ever seen. “Do you believe that our two 
peoples should be at peace?” he asked finally.
The question surprised Willow and she glanced up. “It is not my place to decide 
what is best for my people."
“No,” Gray Wolf said gently. “But you, too, have thoughts, and I wish to know 
them."
Willow frowned. “Is that why you came here? To ask this question of all the 
women?"
“I came to ask only you,” he replied, capturing her gaze and holding it with an 
intensity that left them both feeling a little breathless.
The sensation was so overwhelming that Willow wanted to look away, but she could 
not. “I believe the Inday have too many outside enemies,” she answered, amazed 
that she had the power of speech. “We should not fight among ourselves as well."
Gray Wolf smiled again. Her words were the ones he hoped to hear, but he had 
never expected to be so moved by them—or by this lovely maiden."Enju." It is 
good. He turned and mounted his magnificent black stallion as gracefully as he 
had left it; then he paused to look down at Willow. “Your father has a wise and 
beautiful daughter."
For the first time since the brave had ridden into camp, Willow felt a smile 
forming on her lips. “I will tell him you have said so,” she replied, but the 
brave shook his head.
“You need not,” he responded seriously. “I will tell him myself.” Without 
another word, he turned the stallion and rode away as slowly and purposefully as 
he had come.
Rooted to the earth, Willow watched until he disappeared behind the wickiup of 
her uncle, and even after the brave had gone she stood there, pondering the 
meaning of the handsome warrior's strange visit. Her heart would not stop its 
errant drumming, and she realized with distinct pleasure that she did not want 
it to.
Two
Children and animals scattered with shrieks of surprise as Blue Bear thundered 
through his own camp, his horse's hooves throwing great clouds of dust into the 
air. Behind him, the other men were returning from the council fire on the spit 
of land that divided Cottonwoods Joining into two smaller rivers, but they could 
not guess what had agitated their chief. Many suspected that a new outbreak of 
war, rather than peace, was at hand, and they hurried into camp, ready to 
participate in the war dance if Blue Bear called for it.
But the chief was not thinking of war. His wife, Great Star, saw him coming and 
waited, as did two of his younger children. The child Blue Bear sought, however, 
was not among them.
“Where is Kayhatin?” he asked as he slid off his horse and tossed the reins to 
his son, He Runs Swiftly. Despite his curiosity about his father's agitation, 
the boy led the horse away to the field where his family's stock was held. Blue 
Bear threw back the blanketed flap of his wickiup and stepped inside with Great 
Star following. Except for their infant son, who was strapped safely in his 
cradleboard, the wickiup was unoccupied.
“What is wrong, my husband?” Great Star asked anxiously.
“I wish to see my daughter,” Blue Bear replied, taking a dipper of water from 
thetus. “Where is she?"
“Gathering wood for the fire."
Blue Bear sat in his place in the wickiup, which faced the morning sun, as 
befitted a chief, and looked sharply at his wife. “Find her and bring her to 
me."
Great Star was usually quick to do as her husband bade her, but she had never 
seen Blue Bear behave so strangely. “You have heard of the mysterious visit that 
was paid to our daughter by the Red Canyon brave,” she guessed, kneeling at her 
husband's right hand while he drank deeply from the gourd. “Kayhatin did nothing 
wrong, my husband. When Little Corn Flower told me that our enemy was riding 
into camp, I watched from the wickiup. You would have been proud of our 
daughter. She should not be punished for doing as she was taught."
“Punished?” Blue Bear handed her the water dipper. “Why would you say I wish to 
punish her, wife? I said only that I wish to see her."
“But you are not yourself, husband,” Great Star pointed out. “You seemed angry 
as you rode into camp, and I thought—"
Blue Bear put out a hand to silence her. “Bring Kayhatin here, and you will 
learn that I am not angry."
Great Star bowed her head. “It will be as you say.” She rose and moved quickly 
out of the dwelling. Her search for Willow was brief, for the girl was hurriedly 
returning to camp, her burden basket only half filled with firewood.
“What is wrong, Mother?” she asked, twisting her body so that the basket slipped 
off her back, around her shoulder, and into her hands in one easy movement: “I 
saw my brother tending to Father's horse. He said there is great trouble—that we 
may go to war."
Great Star took the burden basket from her and placed it near the cook fire. “I 
know not what the trouble is, daughter. Your father rode into camp as though the 
evil Coyote were on his heels, and he asked to see you."
Willow was surprised. “Me?"
“Yes. And we dare not keep him waiting.” She guided Willow toward the wickiup. 
“Come."
Because it was improper for a man to be alone with a grown unmarried daughter, 
Great Star accompanied her inside. Both women knelt near the door, and Willow 
grew alarmed when she saw Blue Bear's stern expression. “I am here, Father."
“A Red Canyon warrior visited you today,” he said without preamble.
How had he learned of it so quickly? Willow wondered. He had been in camp only a 
short while. “Yes, Father."
“What did he say to you?"
“He asked if I believe there should be peace between our tribes."
“And how did you respond?"
With her head bowed, Willow repeated the answer she had given the brave. When 
she glanced up, she found that Blue Bear's frown had turned to a smile.
"Enju.What else did the brave say to you?"
“Very little,” she answered, her eyes falling again to hide her guilt. For hours 
she had thought of nothing but her brief encounter with the brave, and she was 
still no closer to understanding it. The final words he had spoken were dear to 
her, and she was reluctant to share them with anyone, even her beloved father.
But Blue Bear understood his daughter's sudden shyness. “Did he speak of your 
beauty and wisdom?” he asked slyly.
“Yes,” Willow said, her face filled with wonder. “How did you know this, Father? 
There was no one close enough to hear the words we exchanged."
“The brave told me himself. And he said a great deal more as well. He came to me 
while I was alone in the sweat lodge, purifying myself."
Willow was impressed. It was not forbidden for another man to enter the sweat 
lodge of a chief, but only those who were willing to risk thenant'an's wrath did 
so. For a friend the risk was seldom great, but for an enemy ... The Red Canyon 
brave was indeed a fearless warrior.
“We offered prayers of peace to the great god Usen,” Blue Bear continued. “And 
then we spoke of my daughter."
“I am honored."
“You should be, daughter. Do you know the name of the brave who visited you?"
“No. He did not speak it."
“His name is He Stalks the Gray Wolf, a son of Tall One, thenant'an of the Red 
Canyon people,” he informed her gravely, and was pleased with her expression of 
surprise and reverence. “He is a great warrior, and someday he will be a great 
chief because the spirits have given him wonderful powers. Before his first hunt 
he went into the high mountains, as all Inday boys must, to fast and to pray. 
There the Thunder Eagle befriended him and followed him home. Now the shadow of 
the great bird sits always on his shoulder, keeping him safe in battle and 
giving him strength against his enemies."
Willow had heard the story before and knew that even among his enemies He Stalks 
the Gray Wolf was regarded with respect. She swelled with pride to think that so 
great a young man had sought her out and praised her to her father. Yet the 
purpose of his visit became even more incomprehensible. “Why did he come to me, 
Father? What could such a great warrior want of a maiden from his people's 
enemy?"
“He wishes peace, my daughter. It was Gray Wolf who persuaded his father to ask 
for a peace council. When I brought our people here, I was not certain that 
peace between our tribes was possible or even wise. Gray Wolf's words have 
convinced me I was wrong. Many others now think as I do."
“Will there be peace?” Willow asked hopefully.
“That may depend on you, daughter,” he replied cryptically.
“What have I to do with peace? Only women who are old and wise are permitted to 
speak their minds in the council of elders. No one would listen to me."
“No, but your example may be the light that leads us out of darkness,” Blue Bear 
told her. He gestured for her to come closer, and Willow went to him, kneeling 
at his left hand. Gently he touched her bowed head. “Gray Wolf has asked to 
court you, daughter, and if you find him pleasing, his father will present our 
people with a worthy marriage gift."
Willow could hardly breathe. He Stalks the Gray Wolf wanted her as his wife? It 
was impossible to imagine. “Will it please you if I marry him, Father?"
“You must follow your heart. I cannot order you to marry him. You are free to 
choose your own husband.” He paused thoughtfully, and Willow waited, knowing he 
had not finished. “It has been many seasons since you did the Maiden's Dance and 
became a woman, but though you have been courted by many braves, you have chosen 
none."
“I know I have disappointed you, but my heart did not ache for any of those 
braves, and I do not believe that theirs ached for me. They wished only to marry 
into the family of a great chief so that they could enjoy your wealth and your 
favor."
“I know this,” Blue Bear replied. “That is why I have never spoken of it before. 
Gray Wolf could choose any maiden from among his own people, but if he marries 
my daughter he will be required to live with us, separate from his own family. 
Many of our tribe respect him, but they will still see in him an enemy. He will 
have to work hard to earn the position of power he enjoys in his father's camp. 
Yet for peace he is willing to make this great sacrifice."
For peace, not for love,Willow thought sadly, but she dared not speak the words 
aloud. She had seen love before. It was in her mother's eyes every time she 
looked at Blue Bear, and in her father's as he looked upon his wife. Willow 
longed to see love in the eyes of the man who would be her husband. She had 
sworn never to marry until she did.
He Stalks the Gray Wolf would be as fine a husband as any woman could wish for, 
but because he was an enemy, life with him would not be easy. Those who did not 
support the union could never be called upon in time of need or trouble.
The thought of marrying a man whose eyes did not glow with love displeased her, 
but Willow could find no other fault. The image of Gray Wolf was strong in her 
mind. He wanted her for reasons that were noble, and the union could lead to 
great prosperity for both their tribes.
“I will meet with thenant'an's son,” she said at last. “There is a trail through 
the valley below the bend of Cottonwoods Joining. I have had much luck there 
finding firewood and herbs. My cousin and I will be there when the sun is high 
tomorrow."
Blue Bear smiled. “Perhaps He Stalks the Gray Wolf will hear of this,” he said, 
confident that the brave would indeed receive the message, for Blue Bear would 
deliver it himself.
Willow nodded and stood. As she turned, her eyes met her mother's, but Willow 
found the meaning there unreadable. She hurriedly left the wickiup, leaving her 
parents alone.
“Speak, wife,” Blue Bear commanded. He had lived many years with Great Star, and 
he knew when she was troubled.
“You ask our daughter to make a great sacrifice. Our people will not accept Gray 
Wolf as one of us, and his people will not accept Kayhatin. They will both be 
outcasts. Their life way will be hard. Is that what you wish for her?"
“I wish for peace and prosperity for all my people,” Blue Bear snapped, rising. 
“If the union of Kayhatin and Gray Wolf will achieve that, then yes! That is 
what I wish.” He stormed out, but Great Star remained in the wickiup, deep in 
thought. Blue Bear seemed certain, but his wife was not. As a chief, he was 
charged with seeing to the good of all; Great Star had a mother's heart. She was 
a practical woman, but she also knew what it meant to make a marriage of love.
That was whatshe wanted for her daughter, for she knew that prosperity mattered 
little to a woman if her heart withered and died.
The valley below Cottonwoods Joining was alive with color. Wildflowers of every 
hue swayed in the breeze. In the midst of a faint trail that led to a nearby 
copse, two rows of stones, wide enough for only one person to walk through, 
formed a narrow path. Willow knew, even before she saw them, that He Stalks the 
Gray Wolf was nearby. He had collected the stones, laid them along the path for 
Willow, and now he was watching her from some hidden place.
If she chose to walk between the rows, it would be a sign that she looked 
favorably upon his suit and would welcome his courtship. If she walked around 
the stones, Gray Wolf would know that she did not favor him, and he would 
quietly disappear, his honor intact. Willow would never see him again.
“Look! The courting stones!” She Carries Water stopped on the trail and stared 
at the neatly spaced stones. “Who are they for, cousin?"
Willow glanced over her shoulder at her uncle's daughter and experienced a stab 
of guilt. She had not told her cousin that a suitor might make his presence 
known today. “They are for me,” she replied quietly, slipping her burden basket 
off her back.
She Carries Water was astonished. “Why did you not tell me you were being 
courted?” she whispered, realizing that they were most certainly being watched.
“Because I am not being courted ... yet,” Willow said, keeping her voice low as 
well. “I feared you would not come with me if you knew what was to happen 
today."
“Why would I not come? You are my cousin, and I have always accompanied you to 
the first meeting.” She leaned close to Willow's ear. “Who is he? Is it Black 
Rope? He has spoken of offering for you."
Willow shook her head, exasperated by the idea. “It is not Black Rope, and he is 
foolish if he thinks I would marry him. He boasts too much and treats his 
sisters badly. If you wish to spare him humiliation, you will tell him I said 
so."
She Carries Water frowned. “Then who?"
Willow looked around quickly, then whispered, “It is the brave who rode into our 
camp yesterday. He is the son of the Red Canyonnant'an."
“Oh, my cousin, why do we stay here? Come!” She grabbed Willow's hand in alarm 
and tried to draw her to one side of the courting stones, but Willow pulled 
away.
“He is an enemy!” She Carries Water whispered.
“Cannot an enemy become a friend?” Willow asked evenly.
“A friend, perhaps, but not a husband!” her cousin replied, no longer concerned 
with keeping her voice low. She wished instead to let the brave watching them 
know her heart, for she expressed a sentiment that would be felt by many. “Come 
away from here, Kayhatin! Now!"
“No.” Resolutely, Willow placed her burden basket on the ground and approached 
the courting stones. Fear and anticipation warred within her, but she refused to 
let her mixed emotions show. “I have promised my father, and I will do honor to 
him."
“Then you will honor him alone.” She Carries Water turned brusquely away and 
hurried down the trail in the direction they had come.
Feeling forlorn and abandoned, Willow watched her cousin leave. It was not 
forbidden for courting couples to spend time alone; cousins came along only to 
ease any shyness or embarrassment. She Carries Water's words were distressing. 
They were a sign of what was to come should Willow walk between the courting 
stones.
“Your cousin is unhappy."
The quiet voice startled Willow, and she whirled to find Gray Wolf standing 
beside the path he had made for her. He was dressed in buckskins, his fabulous 
Thunderbird necklace the only adornment. He needed no other. He was so handsome 
he seemed to be from another world. His dark eyes were so compelling, so 
mesmerizing, that Willow nearly trembled under his gentle scrutiny. Her legs 
felt too weak to hold her. “My cousin is frightened of what she does not know,” 
she whispered, amazed that she had any voice with which to speak.
“Yet you stayed,” he pointed out with the same gentle, knowing smile Willow 
could not erase from her mind.
“Yes, I stayed.” She bowed her head, embarrassed by the thoughts and feelings he 
inspired in her.
“Would you like to talk awhile before you make a decision about the courting 
stones?” he offered. “You must have many questions to ask me."
Willow nodded.
“Then come. We will go to the river.” Gray Wolf stepped off the trail, and 
Willow followed him down the hill, through the carpet of wildflowers. The proud, 
tall warrior looked out of place among the delicate blossoms, but if he felt 
foolish he showed no sign of it. There was no arrogance in his stride or in the 
set of his broad shoulders, but every move he made bespoke confidence and power. 
He was a man at ease with himself and with the world he lived in. He was a man 
any woman would have been proud to follow.
The murmur of the water grew louder as they neared the river. Gray Wolf led her 
to a cluster of boulders, and they sat, keeping a respectable distance between 
them. With her legs curled beneath her, Willow watched the swiftly flowing 
water, keenly aware of Gray Wolf's eyes upon her, but unable to return the 
glance. He studied her intently, and Willow ached to know his thoughts. She 
dared not to ask, though, and for a long time they were silent.
Gray Wolf, too, was absorbed in thought. As he looked at Willow, he was 
remembering his mother's urgent counsel to abandon the path he had chosen. Her 
arguments against choosing a wife from an enemy band had been good ones, but 
even though a marriage to this young maiden would mean hardship, Gray Wolf still 
believed it was the only sure path to peace. His mind told him he was doing the 
right thing, and as his eyes searched Willow's profile, his heart, too, told him 
he had not made a mistake.
“I am sorry your cousin deserted you,” he said when the silence grew long.
Willow swallowed hard and kept her eyes fixed on the river. “If I agree to the 
courtship, many will turn their backs to me."
“And to me as well."
“Then perhaps you have not chosen wisely,” she said, her voice barely audible 
over the rush of the water.
Gray Wolf frowned, disturbed by her averted face. “Why will you not look at me?” 
he asked. “You were not so shy yesterday."
She did not move. “Yesterday I was the daughter of a chief greeting a stranger 
to our camp. Today I am only a maiden."
“We have no time for shyness. Our people need us, even though they do not see 
their need."
Willow's eyes darted to his, then away. “I have displeased you."
“No, pretty one. You please me well,” he replied, softening his voice.
Willow's heart fluttered at his words and the tenderness of his tone. “But you 
do not know me."
“I think I know your heart. It is strong and true."
Willow searched for a wellspring of courage and found enough to look at him. “Is 
that why you wish to court me?"
Gray Wolf nodded. “Yes."
“My father says you seek a joining so that our people will be joined, too.” She 
tilted her head in curiosity. “Do you truly believe our marriage could 
accomplish this?"
“I do."
“How?"
His gentle smile faded. “The peace council does not go well, pretty one. The 
feud between our people is old, and much pride is involved. Even those who 
believe we should live as one cannot agree on how to heal the breach between us. 
You know as well as I that honor will have to be satisfied on all sides before 
there can be peace."
Willow nodded, mesmerized by his voice. “Yes."
“Beside the council fire, my uncle shouts that if the Many Mountains braves 
present our people with twenty horses and that number of cattle, honor will be 
satisfied."
Though Willow did not know Gray Wolf's uncle, she knew enough of the nature of 
the Inday to imagine the scene he described. The image made her smile. “And when 
your uncle finishes his demands, my uncle rises and proclaims that the Many 
Mountains people will give twenty horses and cattle to satisfy honorif the Red 
Canyon people will give twice that number in return, plus twenty blankets and as 
many hides."
Gray Wolf laughed with delight. “You have been at the council fire, hiding among 
the rocks and listening to the speeches."
Willow blushed with pleasure at his teasing and lowered her head. “I would not 
do such a thing, but I do know how our people think."
“Then you know that if there is to be peace, one side must give more and accept 
less,” he said, growing serious again. “Will your people do that?"
Willow looked at him, her face somber. “No."
“Nor will mine."
“Then there can be no peace, and you and I will remain enemies.” She could not 
keep her eyes from betraying her emotions.
Gray Wolf saw what was in her heart, and it touched him deeply—more deeply than 
he had imagined possible. “Unless you and I marry,” he said quietly.
“I do not understand how our marriage could satisfy our people's honor."
This time it was Gray Wolf who found it necessary to look away. “We are the son 
and the daughter of two great chiefs, and no one would risk incurring the anger 
of his chief. If you and I agree to marry, my father will collect from our 
people a wondrous marriage gift for you—many fine horses and cattle, blankets, 
hides, furs ... beads and cloth and baskets."
Willow finally saw the logic of his thinking. “Then my father will distribute 
these gifts among my people according to custom, and to keep from being shamed 
by your people's generosity, mine will respond with gifts equally as wondrous. 
All things will be equal. Honor will be satisfied, and our people will be tied 
together as one. Your people will be my people, and mine, yours."
“Just as your enemies will be mine, and mine, yours,” Gray Wolf replied, 
remembering the long line of Blue Coats he had seen.
“You are wise,” Willow told him reverently.
“As are you,” he returned, amazed at how quick she had been to understand his 
thinking. Gray Wolf had never met a woman who seemed to embody so many desirable 
qualities—beauty and grace, intelligence and humor, courage and honor. She was 
in all ways remarkable. Yet he could see that, despite her understanding, she 
was troubled. “Tell me what you are thinking, pretty one."
“Living with my family will not be the same as living among your own people. You 
will have no friends."
Gray Wolf met her eyes and held them with his own. “I will have you,” he said 
softly. “I think no man could ask for more than that."
Willow's breath stilled, and tears pooled in her eyes. She had never seen such 
tenderness in a man's face. It was the look she had dreamed of, the look she had 
prayed she would someday see in the eyes of a man she loved. Suddenly, Willow 
knew what the river had meant two nights before when it told her to go home and 
await her destiny. Her life and everything she would ever be were bound to the 
man beside her.
“I will be a good husband to you, pretty one.” Gray Wolf's voice was sure and 
strong. “I have led many hunting parties, and my family has known no lack of 
meat for food or hides for warmth. I would respect your father as my own, and I 
would honor your mother as she deserves. I would be patient and pray to the 
Mountain Spirits for guidance in earning the trust of your family, your clan, 
and all your people."
“And would you love me?” The words were out before Willow could stop them.
The need and hope on her lovely face moved Gray Wolf in a way no woman had ever 
moved him before. Only honor prevented him from taking her into his arms. “That, 
I think, would be the simplest task of all."
His eyes were dark and warm. Willow's heart expanded, reaching toward Gray Wolf 
like a wildflower blossoming in the sun. Without another word, she stood and 
hurried uphill until she reached the courting stones in their bed of 
wildflowers. A rustle of grass told her that Gray Wolf was not far behind, that 
he was watching her every move. She went to the head of the path and did not 
hesitate before walking between the stones. At the end of the path, she found 
Gray Wolf waiting for her. Their eyes met and a look of tenderness, longing, and 
pride passed between them. Their courtship had begun.
“Tonight, in the place of the council fires, our people will gather for a social 
dance,” she told him. “There will be food and music, and all the maidens will 
dance with the braves their hearts favor. Will you come and see who chooses you 
for the dance?"
He nodded. “I will come."
Willow smiled."Enju."
Three
When Willow returned to camp, she found all the women deep in preparations for 
the feast. The night before, Blue Bear had told his people that they would 
gather for a social dance with the Red Canyon band, but he had not explained 
that a wedding feast might soon follow. He thought it best to await the outcome 
of his daughter's tryst with Gray Wolf before making such an announcement.
It was a wise decision, since the announcement of a simple social dance had 
caused considerable dissension. Some had grumbled because they feared it was too 
soon for the bands to mingle without some trouble arising. The same rumblings 
were heard throughout the Red Canyon camp, but Tall One and Blue Bear had 
reminded their braves that starting trouble at the dance would shame them 
all—everyone knew that the truce was to be honored at all costs. The men were to 
be treated as brothers or fathers; the women as sisters, mothers, wives, or 
sweethearts. The social dance would be the first test of whether the two bands 
could learn to live in peace.
But Willow's mind was not on peace as she helped her mother prepare the feast. 
She knew that Gray Wolf's proposal was for the good of their people, but the 
welfare of her family and friends was of little concern to her at that moment; 
the workings of her own heart were much closer to home. She could not wipe from 
her mind the tender look in Gray Wolf's eyes. Her thoughts echoed with the sound 
of his voice and the sweetness of his words. She smiled often, oblivious to the 
concern on her mother's face.
Willow had never believed that love would come to her so quickly. She had been 
courted several times, but none of those braves had made her feel so anxious, as 
though all the butterflies on the ridge of Sugar Loaf had flown into her stomach 
and were working their magic there. The feelings Gray Wolf generated were so 
overwhelming that Willow even wondered if perhaps the brave had cast a love 
spell on her. To win her husband, Willow's older sister had purchased such 
agodistso from an old woman, Para-ah-dee, who was said to know all manner of 
spells and potions to bind a man and woman together.
Had Gray Wolf worked a similar magic on her? she wondered. Some forms ofgodistso 
were bad and might cause madness, but Willow could not believe that Gray Wolf 
would work evil magic on her. In fact, it did not seem likely that he would ever 
call upon love magic at all. A man so strong and intelligent, so wonderful to 
look upon, whose voice was like the river and whose words were sweet enough to 
coax the birds from the trees, would not needgodistso to win a maiden—not even a 
maiden who was supposed to be his enemy.
But if this was magic, it was wondrous magic indeed. Yet despite the glorious 
feelings Gray Wolf had awakened in her, Willow was a practical maiden. Her 
arguments against marriage were still as valid as they had been before he told 
her how simple it would be to love her. She thought of the hardships that 
awaited her if she married Gray Wolf, and her spirits plummeted. Then she 
remembered his smile, and her spirits soared. It was a war between her mind and 
her heart, and Willow did not dare try to guess which would win.
Several times as she worked around the camp Willow caught sight of She Carries 
Water, but her cousin refused to look at her. It was obvious she had not told 
anyone about the courting stones, and Willow suspected that her cousin was 
hoping she would come to her senses before the rest of the camp learned of Gray 
Wolf's interest. She had always been close to her cousin, and it saddened Willow 
to think that she might lose that friendship.
As the sun began to set, Blue Bear and Tall One sent messengers into camp to 
tell their wives it was time for the women to bring food to the council. It took 
considerable effort to transport the huge quantities of roasted meat, but there 
was little else to take to the feast. It was the season of Little Eagles, and 
the mescal was just beginning to ripen; aside from meat, which was available 
throughout the year, the only food either band had to offer was that which had 
been dried and stored after last year's harvests. The season of Ghost 
Face—winter—had been hard, and supplies were running low, but the women did 
their best with what they had.
On the spit of land in the fork of the river, the men of the council were neatly 
divided in half-circles around the fire, with each group facing its homeland. 
The feast was brought across the river on horseback, and each woman served the 
men of her own family. Knowing there would be little left when they finished, 
the women had sampled the meal generously as it was being prepared, and they had 
encouraged their children to do likewise.
The braves and elders ate with relish, and when they were finished, the central 
fire was built into a roaring blaze. The men moved back, widening the circle 
around it in order to clear a space for dancing.
When the sun was completely gone, the drums began, and from seemingly nowhere, 
the Gan dancers appeared. Dressed only in loincloths and intricately decorated 
hoods and headdresses, the dancers represented the Inday Mountain Spirits. Their 
bodies were decorated with paint—white dots indicating purity of heart; white 
triangles representing the sacred mountains; and the sun, moon, and stars to 
frighten away angry powers.
They danced around the fire until finally they were joined by the Clown. His 
headdress and hood were more intricately decorated than the others, and his 
entire body was covered with dots of black and white. Evergreen boughs were tied 
to his wrists, and he danced among the other Gan, drawing close to the fire, 
then far away to the outskirts of the circle. He gathered into the boughs any 
harmful spirits that were lurking nearby and then cast the evergreens into the 
fire to burn away the evil.
Then, as quickly as they had come, the Gan disappeared. It was time for the 
social dance to begin. Without prompting, the maidens and unmarried braves from 
each band took their places. The braves moved to an area beyond the fire and sat 
while the maidens moved into a dance ring.
As Willow moved into the circle of the fire, she noticed that the bands were 
still neatly divided, as though an invisible line cut the circle in half, with 
the Red Canyon people on one side and her own on the other. No one save the Gan 
dancers had dared to cross the line. The maidens began moving among the braves, 
choosing their partners for the dance by tapping the chosen brave on the 
shoulder, but still no one crossed the line.
When at first Willow made no move to choose a partner, many eyes went to her, 
but it was only Gray Wolf's gaze that Willow truly sensed. She had been aware of 
him from the moment she arrived, and the excitement within her had continued to 
mount. He had watched her covertly, without seeming to watch her at all, but 
Willow had known his whereabouts at every moment. At times she even seemed to 
sense his thoughts, for there was something sweet and warm touching her, urging 
her to have courage. Throughout the meal and the dance of the Mountain Spirits, 
she had envisioned the moment when she would resolutely cross the invisible line 
between his people and hers, tap Gray Wolf on the shoulder, and join him in the 
dance.
Now, though, when it was finally time to call upon that courage and declare her 
intentions, Willow found herself hesitating. There was no commitment in choosing 
a brave to dance, and one maiden might have many partners during the course of 
the night. But Willow knew that when she chose Gray Wolf, she would be risking 
the censure of both bands. And if she danced with him a second time and a third 
and a fourth, she would be telling the Many Mountains band and the Red Canyon 
people that she had chosen the man she wished to court her.
It was a moment of tremendous decision, and despite her awareness of Gray Wolf's 
intent gaze, Willow hesitated a moment too long. Just as she found the courage 
to take a step toward Gray Wolf, a Red Canyon maiden touched his shoulder and 
returned to her place in the dance circle. Though his eyes were still on Willow, 
he had no choice but to rise and follow the girl who had chosen him.
Disappointment knifed through Willow, but that was not the only keen emotion in 
her heart. As Gray Wolf took his place facing his partner with only a few paces 
between them, Willow felt a kind of twisting jealousy she had never known 
before. The maiden was beautiful, and in the dancing firelight it was clear to 
see that she was in love with Gray Wolf.
Willow knew she had only herself to blame, and her moment's indecision angered 
her. Now she had no partner, and there were only a few Many Mountains braves who 
had not already been chosen. She could not stand in the circle unattended, and 
to leave would cause much commotion, so she moved toward the remaining braves. 
The first her eyes fell upon was Black Rope, but, remembering She Carries 
Water's warning that he had been boasting of his plans to offer for her, Willow 
quickly looked away from him. She had no intention of encouraging a brave for 
whom she had no affection. Instead, she looked beyond him, searching for one of 
her cousins who would not misunderstand her invitation to dance.
She spotted Quick Killer, a distant cousin who liked to joke with her, but to 
reach him she had to pass Black Rope. The insolent young brave's eyes were fixed 
steadily on Willow, and he smiled arrogantly as she approached. His smile turned 
to a scowl of anger when it became clear that she was about to move past him, 
and before Willow knew what was happening, Black Rope was on his feet. He took a 
step back, blocking her path, and Willow realized that to those at a distance, 
it appeared that she had chosen him.
He glared at her, daring her to humiliate him by choosing another, and though 
Willow disliked the brave, she did not have the heart to shame him. She returned 
to the dance circle and took a place opposite Black Rope. The drums changed 
rhythm, and the dance began.
Though Willow normally danced without shyness, her anger with herself and with 
Black Rope would not allow her to look at her partner. She kept her eyes fixed 
on the ground as she performed the intricate steps, moving forward as Black Rope 
moved back, then the reverse; to one side, then forward and back, then to the 
side again. All the dancers performed the same steps, moving toward the fire, 
then away from it, like the spokes of a great wheel slowly turning, until 
finally each couple arrived back at the point from which they had started, and 
the music stopped.
Except for those courting, whose intentions were already known to all, the 
braves returned to their places to await being chosen again. Willow kept her 
head down so that she could see only the upturned toes of Black Rope's moccasins 
as she waited for him to depart. But he did not move. Her eyes went to his, and 
again she found the look of defiance.
“Go back to your place,” she whispered desperately.
Black Rope's shoulders straightened proudly. “I am where I belong,” he replied 
quietly.
“No.” Willow shook her head. “The dance is my choice, and I do not choose you."
A knowing smile hovered around his lips. “You will not shame me."
His insolence was too much for Willow to bear. If she did not move quickly, 
another Red Canyon maiden—or perhaps even the same lovely one—would select Gray 
Wolf. And worse, if she danced again with Black Rope, Gray Wolf might take it as 
a sign that she had dealt falsely with him. She had to rid herself of Black Rope 
immediately, and he was giving her no choice but to humiliate him in front of 
his own people and his enemies. A brave could suffer no greater shame, but 
Willow would not allow herself to be controlled in such a manner.
“You do this to yourself, Black Rope,” she hissed, deliberately using his name 
to show her contempt. She barely saw his look of shock as she turned away and 
moved to another location on the wheel.
Frozen in disbelief, Black Rope heard the murmurs that rippled through the crowd 
of spectators, and the laughter that began among the Red Canyon braves and 
quickly spread to his own friends cut him to the bone. Shock turned to 
humiliation, and humiliation to rage before he finally whirled away. He hurried 
out of the circle and through the crowd with the sound of mockery chasing him 
into the night.
Willow shuddered as the laughter died away. This was not what she had wanted, 
and even though she did not like Black Rope, she ached for him. It would be a 
long time before he could hold his head up proudly among his friends, and that 
was a fate she would wish on no Inday. He would, most likely, leave camp for a 
few days or even weeks, as many young men did after finding themselves in an 
embarrassing situation, and when he returned, everyone would pretend to have 
forgotten.
The slow, steady drumbeat began again, directing each maiden to choose a new 
partner, and Willow tried to dismiss Black Rope from her mind. She looked for 
Gray Wolf and found him in the same spot as before. His eyes held sympathy for 
her, as though he knew how hard it had been for her to shame Black Rope. 
Willow's heart reached for him again, and without hesitation she moved around 
the fire.
After her rejection of Black Rope, all eyes were on Willow to see whom she would 
choose. There were murmurs of speculation and ripples of laughter, but when she 
boldly crossed the invisible line that divided the bands, the night became as 
silent as death. Even the steady drumbeat faltered for one beat, then two: but 
Willow kept moving, keenly aware that all the other maidens had frozen, waiting 
to see what she would do.
Seeking and finding reassurance in Gray Wolf's dark eyes, Willow went to him. 
Her hand trembled slightly as she touched his shoulder, but it was not fear that 
made her quiver; it was the tenderness and the gentle smile of approval on his 
wondrously handsome face. She withdrew her hand and returned to her place at the 
wheel without a backward glance.
And then it was Gray Wolf's turn to cross the line that divided the two bands. 
The stunned spectators watched as he came to his feet in one graceful move and 
followed Willow. With his back to the fire, he took his place in front of her. 
She raised her face to his, and they looked at each other without embarrassment, 
oblivious of everyone and everything.
The drumbeat quickened slightly, as though to remind the other maidens that they 
had yet to choose partners, and the camp came to life again. The couples moved 
to their places, the drums made music, and the wheel began to move. In perfect 
rhythm, Willow and Gray Wolf danced together, forward and back, almost as though 
they were bound together. The distance between them never varied, but as Willow 
lost herself in Gray Wolf's eyes, it seemed there was no space separating them 
at all. The drumbeats were the beats of their hearts, and the warmth that 
enfolded her was the warmth of Gray Wolf's arms.
Gray Wolf felt the magic, too. Before tonight, the social dance had been nothing 
more than an obligation, and sometimes even an embarrassment. Many maidens had 
given him signs that they favored him, and some, like Her Hair Streams Down, who 
had chosen him for the first dance, were particularly persistent. Gray Wolf had 
never favored any of them, though. He had seen twenty-four harvests, which made 
him of an age when most braves were marrying or already married, and yet no 
maiden had ever touched his heart.
One or two—strong women and good workers—had made him consider the possibility 
of marriage, but he had resisted, mostly because of his family. Gray Wolf's 
older brother and younger brother had both married and moved to the homes of 
their wives, leaving the responsibility of providing for the rest of the large 
family to Tall One and Gray Wolf. Marrying and moving away would have made life 
harder for the family, and so Gray Wolf had remained single. Two seasons ago, 
though, his oldest sister, who was eight harvests younger than Gray Wolf, had 
finally taken a husband, leaving Gray Wolf free to marry.
Her Hair Streams Down knew of this and had done everything in her power to 
ensnare the son of thenant'an. She had even purchased agodistso, but Gray Wolf's 
spirit guide, the Thunder Eagle, had warned him so that he could ward off the 
persistent maiden's magic. Her Hair Streams Down was a maiden of great beauty, 
but her heart was cold.
There was no coldness in She Sings by the Willow, though. She was as warm as the 
firelight that danced on her face. Her eyes held no secrets, but instead invited 
Gray Wolf to enter their depths and see into her heart. It was a pure heart, as 
gentle as the elegant tree from which she had obtained her name, and as strong 
as that tree, as well. In his own heart, Gray Wolf knew that he could search a 
lifetime and never find a woman as perfect as the one who danced the wheel with 
him, her eyes locked with his, her heart open wide. Before the dance was 
finished, the desire for peace was no longer the desire that burned strongest in 
his breast.
Blue Bear watched his daughter and knew from the enraptured look on her face 
that she was in love with Gray Wolf. When the dance ended, the couple stood in 
place until the next dance began, and then the next, their eyes never leaving 
each other.
Blue Bear was well pleased. In a few days his daughter would signal her suitor 
that she was ready to share the blankets with him. A marriage gift would be 
presented, and once she had given herself to Gray Wolf and he had taken her as 
his wife, a second giving of gifts would take place. The two bands would be 
bound together, honor would be satisfied, and there would be peace—for as long 
as the Blue Coats would allow it. Blue Bear could not have asked for more.
Great Star was not so happy, though. Unlike Blue Bear, who saw only Willow and 
Gray Wolf, she was studying the faces of her family and friends around the fire. 
There was no rapture in their eyes as they watched the Red Canyon brave lay 
claim to a Many Mountains maiden. There were frowns and murmurs of disapproval 
on both sides of the fire. Peace would not be as simple as Blue Bear and Tall 
One wanted to believe, and Great Star's heart wept, for she feared that her 
gentle, innocent daughter was about to be caught in the middle.
Four
For the third day in a row Willow rode away from the camp when the sun was high 
overhead. As on the two previous days, she had decided upon no particular 
destination, but she did not doubt that Gray Wolf would find her. He always 
seemed to know where she was. Even more miraculously, he seemed to know what she 
was thinking and feeling. Today when he met her, he would comment on the 
heaviness in her heart.
For the first time in her life Willow felt like an outsider among her own 
people. She had known that being courted by Gray Wolf would make her life 
difficult, but she had not dreamed it could be this bad. Friends of her 
childhood avoided her. Cousins and aunts spoke to her only when she addressed 
them directly. A look of infinite sadness never left her mother's eyes.
Black Rope's father, an influential subchief who was as hot-tempered as his son, 
was openly trying to create dissension. He spoke out forcefully at the peace 
council during the day; at night he quietly made his way from camp to camp 
trying to convince the Many Mountains people that Blue Bear's quest for peace 
was madness. He reminded them that it was time for the harvesting of mescal. 
They should be traveling to the places where the plant grew in abundance. They 
should be cutting and curing the food that was the staple of their diet rather 
than wasting time talking about peace and waiting for a flighty maiden to make 
up her mind about marrying an enemy of her people.
His argument was having the desired effect, and Willow feared that any day now 
the people might rise against her father and choose a new chief.
Blue Bear did not seem concerned, though. He believed his people were wise 
enough to understand that Black Rope's father was creating trouble only because 
his son had been shamed into leaving the camp. No one had seen the brave since 
the night of the dance, and his humiliation was felt by many in his family. At 
first Willow had been glad that he was gone because she had feared he might 
force a confrontation with Gray Wolf. But his leaving had caused a different set 
of problems, and Willow sometimes wondered if things would have been better if 
he had stayed. With him gone, the people felt pity for him. If he had stayed, 
his arrogance would have been a constant reminder that he had brought his 
disgrace upon himself.
With so much dissension around her—becauseof her—confusion had become Willow's 
constant companion ... except when she was with Gray Wolf. Only then did her 
feelings of bewilderment and loneliness vanish, replaced by a sense of belonging 
more powerful than any she had ever known. She had finally fallen in love, but 
it was costing her everything she held dear.
Would it always be so, she wondered, or was Gray Wolf right? He seemed certain 
that someday her people would accept him. He was wise and in all ways wonderful. 
In her brighter moments—when she was with him—Willow could easily envision her 
people coming to respect Gray Wolf as much as she did. But when she was alone 
again, her bright hopes burst and reality crept in. Even if Gray Wolf was 
tolerated by her people, would he ever truly belong?
And what would her life be like when she visited Gray Wolf's people? She had yet 
to meet his mother and sisters. Would they welcome her, or did Gray Wolf's 
mother feel the same despair that Great Star could not hide?
Mired in confusion, plagued by questions she could not answer, Willow rode on, 
caring little where her pony took her. This valley below the Mogollon Rim was 
not her home, but she knew the country well. In the seasons of the harvests, her 
clan often came here to collect piñon nuts and juniper berries. She was 
surprised, though, to look up and realize that she was approaching Sugar Loaf. 
That was appropriate, for it was said to be a place of strong love magic. 
Perhaps she would find wisdom here as well.
The sound of a single horse drew her attention, and she reined in her pony. From 
the direction of the sunrise, Gray Wolf appeared at the mouth of a small canyon. 
He rode toward her and, as always, her heart swelled with love.
“You have found me,” she said in greeting as he drew his horse alongside hers.
Gray Wolf smiled at her. “Did you intend that I should not?"
Willow laughed lightly. “I think you could find me anywhere, whether I wished it 
or not."
“That is because there is nothing in my head but you. If I were stalking deer, 
my family would go hungry."
The compliment pleased Willow, but she could not resist teasing him. “That is 
not a wise thing to say to a maiden who might someday depend upon you for food."
“Ah, but after we are married, there will no longer be a reason for my wits to 
be scattered,” he replied, leaning toward her with an intimacy that stilled 
Willow's breathing. “I will be content, and your love will make me twice as 
strong. My arrows will fly straight and true."
His words and his deep voice created an ache deep in Willow's loins, and she 
looked away from him. “You grow too bold,” she scolded without conviction.
“Only because you make me bold,” he answered. When she did not respond, he 
surveyed the countryside. “Come, let us ride. Were you bound for Sugar Loaf?"
Willow nodded, unwilling to tell him that she had been riding without a 
destination, oblivious to everything but her confusion about him.
“Have you been to the home of the Butterfly People before?"
As she nudged her pony forward, Willow glanced ahead to the cone-shaped hill 
known as Sugar Loaf. “Never in this season of Little Eagles—only later, when the 
land is Thick with Fruit."
Gray Wolf smiled. “Then you should be prepared to see something wondrous. Come.” 
He urged his horse into a gallop, and Willow followed suit. They crossed the 
dusty yellow floor of the valley until they reached the rocky base of the hill. 
Gray Wolf slid down from his huge black horse and resisted the urge to grasp 
Willow by the waist to help her dismount. It would not have been proper to touch 
a woman who was not his wife in such an intimate fashion, but he burned with 
thoughts of caressing Willow's womanly curves. Every moment he was with her, it 
required more strength to keep a respectful distance between them. Gray Wolf 
knew he was a strong swimmer and a tireless runner, but he was not certain how 
long he could maintain this kind of strength.
He hobbled his horse and then Willow's after she had dismounted. “Should I run 
as fast as I am able to the top?” he asked with a feigned innocence that Willow 
found almost laughable.
“Why would you? Do you have need of the magicalbitgo'dzo plant?"
Gray Wolf hid a smile and shrugged. “If I perform the ritual, the Butterfly 
People will look kindly upon me and help me win a wife."
Willow looked toward the summit of the hill, feigning indifference. “If you 
think you cannot win one without magic, go ahead. Run without stopping to the 
top and see if the plant is there."
Gray Wolf leaped onto a rugged boulder and held out his hand. “Run with me, 
pretty one."
Though she knew he was teasing, for a moment Willow considered doing as he 
asked. If they both performed the ritual and were blessed to discover the 
imaginarybitgo'dzo plant, her confusion about marrying Gray Wolf would surely 
end. The Butterfly People would take control of her heart and give it to Gray 
Wolf. She would have no choice but to marry him or die of the madness that came 
from longing; it would not matter to her that she might lose the love and 
support of her family in the process.
But Willow did not want love that came from magical sources and clouded the 
mind. She wanted Gray Wolf to love her for herself, not because a love Gan 
willed it. “I will walk up the hill,” she announced at last, ignoring his 
outstretched hand.
“Then I will walk with you."
Moving slowly up the rugged terrain, they climbed toward the summit. As they 
neared the top, a shadow passed over Willow, and she frowned. There were no 
clouds in the sky today. Puzzled and a little alarmed, she stopped and looked up 
toward the crest of the hill. The cloud that darkened the sun was still there, 
but it was not high in the sky; it hovered, shifting and shimmering, on the 
plateau above her. It changed shapes, then disappeared into the rocks.
Fear darted through Willow. “We should not be here, Gray Wolf! Let us go before 
we anger the Gans.” She turned away, but a gentle hand on her arm stopped her.
“There is nothing to fear, pretty one. Trust me.” His hand slipped into hers, 
and the warmth of it spread through Willow, replacing fear with desire. Trusting 
him completely, she allowed him to guide her up the hill.
They reached the plateau, and Willow gasped with surprise and delight as she 
discovered what had created the eerie shadow. Around them, on the ground and on 
every rock and plant, were butterflies—thousands of them—of every size and 
description. The rocky plateau was a rainbow of color. Mesmerized by their 
beauty, Willow stepped forward. Gray Wolf let her hand slip from his and watched 
as she moved among the delicate insects. She walked slowly, careful not to 
disturb them, but when she finally turned toward Gray Wolf, the butterflies took 
flight, surrounding her in color.
“They are beautiful!” she cried, laughing with joy as butterflies danced in 
front of her and even settled on her hair and fringed buckskin dress.
“You are beautiful,” Gray Wolf replied, awed by the magnificent smile that lit 
her face. He stepped toward her, and the butterflies enveloped them both. They 
laughed together as the colorful creatures frolicked, darting this way and that, 
settling on their clothes, then fluttering away.
And then, as suddenly as they had surrounded the couple, the butterflies rose in 
a mass that sheltered Willow and Gray Wolf from the sun for a moment before they 
disappeared over the boulders above.
Disappointed by the loss of so much beauty, Willow scampered up the rocks to 
another plateau, but there was no sign of the butterflies. “Where have they 
gone?” she asked as Gray Wolf joined her.
He pointed to a great fissure in the rocks. “Into the cave."
Willow knelt, her eyes fixed on the place he indicated. “Then I will wait for 
them to come out."
Gray Wolf smiled as he knelt behind her. “You may have a long wait, pretty one. 
They might not return until tomorrow."
Willow sighed mournfully, but did not dispute him. “You have seen this wondrous 
sight before?"
“Yes, but never so many. They must have known you were coming,” he said gently, 
giving in to the great temptation to place his arms around Willow's waist.
She stiffened at the intimacy, but only for a moment before leaning back against 
the hard wall of his chest. She had never felt so safe or so cherished. Her head 
rested against his cheek, and she could feel the warmth of his breath caressing 
her hair.
“We have been blessed, pretty one,” he said huskily, but he was not thinking of 
the dancing butterflies ... nor was she.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I love you,” he confessed for the first time, and felt Willow stiffen once 
again. He frowned but made no move to release her. “Do you doubt me?"
His words were the ones Willow had longed to hear, but she could not lie to him. 
“Yes."
“Why?"
“Because we have talked often of the reasons you seek peace. It is important to 
you, and a man will sometimes do many things—even lie—to achieve an important 
goal."
Gray Wolf's arms tightened around her, pulling her closer as though he wanted to 
draw her into his own body. “I will never lie to you, pretty one. How can I make 
you believe that?"
“I do not know."
He released her suddenly and stood, leaving Willow bereft. “I think you look for 
excuses to deny what is in your heart,” he said, unable to mask his frustration.
She twisted her body toward him. Though she found anger on his face, she was not 
at all afraid. “I seek to do what is right."
“It is right that you should be my wife!"
“So that our people will be at peace?” she challenged.
Gray Wolf grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. “So that I may touch 
you as I long to do. So that you are free to touch me. I want to give you 
children, Kayhatin. I want to grow old sharing the blankets with you.” He pulled 
her to him intimately, her body pressed along his, his face close to hers, his 
voice lowered to a silken caress. “Say that you do not want what I want, and I 
will leave you."
Willow had never been so close to a man before, and the heat that coursed 
through her left her weak and trembling. She wanted Gray Wolf, no matter what 
the cost, and at long last she realized that the endless agonizing she had done 
these last days had all been for naught. She was fated to be Gray Wolf's woman. 
She could allow nothing else to matter to her.
“I want ... what you want,” she whispered.
Gray Wolf's eyes darkened with hunger. “Then come to me tonight so that we may 
marry."
Willow nodded. “I will."
The need to possess her was almost more than Gray Wolf could bear, but he did no 
more than cup her face in his hand and urge her to rest her head upon his 
shoulder. “We will not regret this, pretty one. I promise you."
“I pray you are right, beloved,” she replied, her voice made hoarse by the love 
and need that coursed through her.
When Willow returned to camp, she went quietly about the task of preparing 
herself to be Gray Wolf's bride. While the other women in her family were 
outside preparing the evening meal, Willow took advantage of a few moments alone 
in the wickiup. She spread her best dress and overshirt on the blankets where 
she normally slept; on these she placed her best moccasins and her favorite 
adornments—three strands of turquoise beads that fit tightly around her neck, 
bracelets that matched, and dangling earrings made of turquoise and eagle down. 
She rolled the dress carefully, and while the sun was still hot, she slipped 
quietly out of the wickiup and disappeared into the thicket behind the camp. If 
she did not return by nightfall, her family would know that she had finally made 
her decision.
Hoping she would not be seen, she made her way to the cold spring where many 
fathers took their children to swim each morning. Exercise was not Willow's 
intent, however. A high wedge of rocks surrounded the pool on three sides, and 
once she was certain there was no one about, she slipped out of her dress and 
into the water until it covered her hips. The cold made her shiver, but she 
ignored it. She untied hernah-leen and shook out her waist-length hair as she 
tossed the maiden's bow back to shore. Taking a deep breath, she plunged deep 
into the center of the pool.
Using soapweed that had been pounded into pulp, Willow lathered her hair and 
rinsed it by dunking her head until she was satisfied that all of the aloe had 
been removed. She washed her body in a similarly vigorous fashion, climbed out 
of the pool, and slipped into the sleeveless underdress. Using a bundle of stiff 
grass tied with a strand of sinew, she worked the tangles from her hair, then 
spread the tresses over her uplifted arm to dry in the sun.
It took a long time, but it was worth the effort. By the time she used the grass 
bundle again, her reflection in the pool told her that her hair was as shiny as 
the blue-black wings of the raven. The hip-length shirt that slipped over her 
head matched her brightly decorated underdress, its long fringes of buckskin 
strung with bits of iridescent abalone shell that ran across the front and down 
the sleeves.
For the last time Willow pulled her hair back and twisted it into a bow-shaped 
knot. Over this she tied her beadednah-leen, keenly aware that after tonight she 
would never wear the bow again. She felt no sadness over the loss of the 
maidenly custom; her mind was too full of growing speculation about what her 
wedding night would be like. She had tended her father's animals enough to know 
a little about mating, and though her older sister had not spoken of her wedding 
night directly, Willow had seen the secret smiles of happiness the newly married 
couple had exchanged once they began to share the blankets. Willow experienced a 
fear of the unknown, but it was tempered with the certainty that no matter what 
was to come, Gray Wolf would never hurt her.
As the sun began to set, she bundled her old clothes, hid them in a thicket 
behind her camp, and slipped into the woods to await her wedding night.
Five
After sunset, with only waning cook fires to guide her steps, Willow went in 
search of her husband-to-be. Knowing that the wickiups of Tall One's family 
would be located at the head of the encampment, she worked her way quietly 
northward until she came upon the four dwellings. The largest belonged to 
thenant'an, and the two that flanked the chief's belonged to Gray Wolf's 
grandfather and married sister. The fourth wickiup, smaller than the others, sat 
a short distance away. Behind it was tethered Gray Wolf's beautiful stallion, 
just as he had told her it would be, so that she could locate him.
From the shelter of some rocks, she watched the camp until she was certain all 
was as it should be. For a time she feared that the thunderous beating of her 
heart would awaken those who were already asleep, but no matter how firmly she 
commanded it, her heart would not be still. The night was cold, but that did not 
account for the trembling of her limbs. She gathered courage from the memory of 
Gray Wolf's arms around her, let the remembered warmth still her trembling, and 
finally left her hiding place to walk boldly into the camp of her enemies.
Without looking right or left, she approached the wickiup. As was polite, she 
paused a moment outside. Had this been a visit to the abode of a friend, she 
would have spoken some casual phrase as a warning, but her voice failed her. 
Instead, she deliberately wrung her hands together, making the bracelets on her 
wrist tinkle gently to alert Gray Wolf that she had arrived. Then, without 
waiting for a response, she eased back the rawhide flap of the dome-shaped 
dwelling and stepped into the opening.
Beyond a small, bright fire that bathed the room in flickering golden light sat 
Gray Wolf, bare-chested, his legs crossed. His dark eyes were lit from within by 
a fire more intense than that in the center of the wickiup.
Somehow Willow found her voice. “I have come, as I promised."
“I have been waiting,” he answered softly.
Dropping the flap behind her, Willow moved into the dwelling and knelt across 
the fire from him.
Gray Wolf sensed the wild beating of her heart. He longed to reach for her and 
pull her close so that she would know her heart was not alone, but he chose to 
touch her with calming words instead. “I was not certain you would ever come to 
me like this, pretty one. I know how hard the disapproval of your people has 
made this for you."
The tenderness in his face made Willow certain she had chosen wisely. “You have 
known disapproval, too,” she reminded him. “Some call you a coward. They say you 
seek peace only because you are afraid of the White Eyes."
“I am afraid for the fate of our people. If that makes me a coward, so be it."
She smiled at him. “You are no coward. My heart would not reach out to you if 
you were."
“My heart reaches for you, too, pretty one—more strongly than I had ever dreamed 
possible,” he confessed. “But are you sure that marriage to me is the course you 
wish to follow?"
He was offering her one last chance to change her mind. Instead of taking it, 
Willow gathered her courage and moved to him. As she knelt by his side, the long 
ribbons of hernah-leen fell over her shoulders. “I am sure."
He turned to her. “But you are also frightened."
Her gaze fell to the fire as she nodded mutely.
“Of coming to me as a woman comes to a man?"
“Yes."
Longing to touch her, Gray Wolf reached for one of the ribbons and wrapped it 
around his hand. “I do not fear taking you, pretty one. I ache for it ... But if 
you would prefer, we can go to my family's wickiup and pass the night there with 
my mother, father, and sisters lying between us. The result would be the 
same—your intention to take me as husband would be declared. The choice is yours 
to make."
The kindness of his offer touched Willow and convinced her, more than ever, that 
she had chosen a husband who would always cherish her. But even though she was 
frightened of the unknown, she knew that sleeping with Gray Wolf's family would 
not ease her fear, nor would it ease the powerful longings of her body. Only 
lying in Gray Wolf's arms would do that.
His hand, wrapped in the ribbon, was close to her face, and as Willow raised her 
eyes to his, she cupped one hand around his larger, stronger one and raised it 
to her cheek. “I will pass the night here. With you, alone."
Gray Wolf's throat tightened with so much emotion that no words could escape. He 
opened his hand, and Willow nestled her face in his palm. The heat of that 
simple, tender contact swept through them both.
“Come,” he whispered hoarsely. He stood, bringing Willow with him, and led her 
to the pile of blankets that would be their marriage bed. When Willow knelt, 
Gray Wolf moved behind her and dropped to his knees. He touched the hem of her 
shirt, gathering the material into his hands, and Willow raised her arms. He 
slipped the shirt, then the underdress, over her head.
Embarrassment coursed through Willow, and she folded her arms across her breasts 
as Gray Wolf untied thenah-leen. Her hair fell into a long rope down her back, 
and Gray Wolf ran his fingers through the raven mass until it formed a soft, 
shimmering mantle that covered her back and shoulders.
“So beautiful,” he whispered huskily. “I have longed to see this sight since the 
moment we met.” He showed her the beadednah-leen. “Will you give this to me, 
beloved? When we are old and our children grown, it will remind me of this 
night."
Tears formed in Willow's eyes. “It is yours."
"Enju."He slipped away from her, but Willow did not turn to follow his 
movements. Instead, she bowed her head and waited, not knowing what to expect 
next.
From across the room Gray Wolf studied his bride. She was magnificent, and she 
was his. He longed to go to her and take her swiftly. He desperately needed to 
ease the fire in his loins. But as he unfastened his breechclout, freeing his 
manhood, he knew that he would have to go slowly. There was pleasure to be 
experienced between a man and a woman—great pleasure for both—but only if he 
took care to see that his frightened bride was ready for him. Willow's heart was 
already his, but her body was still her own. Soon, though, she would reach for 
him with her body and cry for him to take it as well.
Gray Wolf had enjoyed this experience with only one other woman, a widow who had 
subtly let him know that she found him desirable. He was not proud of the hours 
he had spent with her, but he had been young then, barely past the age of 
maturity. His blood had been hot, and the widow had been eager to initiate him 
into the mysteries of man and woman. He had not known how to refuse her, nor had 
he truly wanted to. She had taught him much about what pleased a woman and what 
did not—how to go slowly and where to touch, when to give and when to take.
He had thought his secret relationship with the older, experienced woman was 
something special, but when he learned that he was not the only young brave the 
widow had instructed, he never went near her again.
Those memories had faded with the passing of many harvests, but what he had 
learned was easily recalled. He went to Willow, gently eased her onto the 
blankets, and told her with his hands, heart, and body how much he loved her.
When morning came, Willow understood the meaning of her sister's secret smiles. 
She crept away from Gray Wolf's small wickiup to return to her own camp before 
sunrise, but the wonders of the night went with her. Her heart sang like the 
birds as she remembered every touch and sigh she had shared with her husband, 
and she marveled at wonders she had never dreamed existed.
Willow had much to do that day, but she was in no hurry to return to camp. 
Before nightfall, Gray Wolf's father would bring marriage gifts. If Blue Bear 
found the gifts satisfactory, as she was sure he would, the union of the two 
tribes would be sealed. Return gifts would have to be presented over the next 
few days, but Willow wanted her wickiup built by dusk so that her husband could 
spend the night in the camp of his new family.
Ordinarily Willow would have counted on her family to help build the wickiup, 
but this was not an ordinary marriage. As she drew closer to her camp, she began 
to wonder if they would support her decision or leave her to fend for herself.
The answer came more quickly than she had anticipated, when she found her mother 
waiting for her on the trail just outside the camp.
The two women came face to face, and Great Star studied her daughter for a long 
moment before reaching out to stroke her unbound hair. “It is done,” she said 
simply, her eyes filled with sadness. “You are his wife now."
Embarrassment blazed through Willow, but she could not keep a faint smile from 
forming on her lips. “Yes, Mother, it is done. He will be a good husband to me 
and a good son to you. Tall One will bring gifts before the day is through."
Great Star nodded noncommittally. “Your father will be pleased."
Her sadness tore at Willow's heart. She wanted everyone—particularly her 
mother—to be happy for her. “Can you not be pleased, too?"
“You have chosen a difficult path, my daughter. It has always been my hope that 
your life way would be simple."
“Gray Wolf makes me very happy. We will face our problems together and overcome 
them, but I wish you would share in my joy. If you cannot accept my husband, how 
can we ever expect the rest of our people to do so?"
Great Star knew Willow was right—and she also knew that her daughter was in 
love. No amount of sadness or disapproval was going to change that. All she 
could do was accept the marriage and try to ease the burden her daughter had 
taken upon herself. “I share in your happiness,” she said, opening her arms to 
Willow.
Willow stepped into the loving circle. “All will be well, Mother. I promise. You 
will see."
Some of Willow's serenity passed into her mother, and for a time Great Star 
could almost believe that her daughter was right. “Come, we must build a home 
for you. Our people must begin learning to accept your husband today."
Willow's eyes filled with tears. “They will come to love him as I do, Mother. I 
know it."
She stroked her daughter's hair. “If he makes you happy, how can it be 
otherwise? Now, come, there is much work to do."
By the time the sun was low in the sky, the wickiup was complete. Stout poles 
had been drawn together to form the dome, and bear grass, brush, and yucca 
leaves had been woven into a covering. Hides were stretched over this, and a 
blanket was attached to form the entrance. A fire pit was dug beneath the 
opening in the center of the dome, and Willow happily moved all of her 
belongings into her new home. In a few days, when the two bands broke camp, the 
wickiup would be dismantled, but that did not bother Willow. With the help of 
her mother, sisters, and aunts, she had built the first structure that she could 
truly call her own.
The importance of what was taking place in Blue Bear's camp was not lost on the 
rest of the Many Mountains people. There was no peace council that day. No 
formal declaration was made regarding what was taking place, but word spread 
like wildfire that She Sings by the Willow had married an enemy of her people. 
Those who favored the union began deciding what they would contribute to the 
marriage gift. Those who disapproved were suddenly faced with an unpleasant 
decision: What were they to do when Blue Bear came to them and asked for gifts? 
Blue Bear was wealthy and powerful. His skill as a hunter and his generosity 
after a successful kill had made life easier for all members of his band. To 
refuse him might mean hardship in the future. Only the wealthy and the foolish 
dared risk the wrath of their chief.
Throughout the day, Black Rope's father spoke to anyone who would listen, 
arguing against contributing to the marriage gift. Black Rope himself returned 
to camp and immediately joined his voice with his father's in urging the people 
to elect a new chief. But many who had once supported their cause now turned a 
deaf ear. Talk of insurrection was one thing; acting against a man as powerful 
as Blue Bear was another, particularly when that man had just doubled his power 
by marrying his daughter to the son of another chief as powerful as he. Though 
many were not happy about the union of the two bands, few were willing to openly 
oppose the marriage. If Tall One's marriage gift was a generous one, the Many 
Mountains people would respond with an equally generous gift.
The question of the size of the Red Canyon gift was answered an hour before 
sunset. A cry went up that Tall One was crossing the river with a dozen braves 
and twice that many women behind him. Each brave led three fine horses, and no 
woman's arms were empty. The people gathered in silence to watch them parade 
through the camp, and no one could doubt the generosity of the gift they 
brought.
Blue Bear was in his wickiup when he heard the shouted warning of Tall One's 
approach. He stepped outside and found Willow hurrying toward the wickiup. “Go 
inside, daughter,” he instructed tersely.
Though she was consumed with curiosity, Willow nodded and complied. She had 
never understood this portion of the marriage ritual. It made little sense. This 
was her marriage, after all, yet neither she nor Gray Wolf would be allowed to 
participate or contribute. None of the gifts received would be given to her; 
they would be distributed among the other members of the band. Gray Wolf would 
not be in attendance, and neither would she. It was almost as though the reason 
for the giving—the union of two people in love—was irrelevant to the 
proceedings.
Yet Willow felt very much involved. The most she could do, though, was to kneel 
by the door of the wickiup and peer out through a slit in the blanket. She was 
aware that a crowd was gathering around the perimeter of her father's 
encampment, but she kept her eyes fixed on the approaching procession.
The number of horses being brought, many with fine saddles, staggered her. 
Though her line of sight was limited, she counted thirty at least. To her 
knowledge, no Apache bride had ever brought a higher price, but the horses were 
only the beginning. She saw blankets, hides, and baskets filled with food. There 
were precious rifles, taken in battle from the Mexicans, and several freshly 
killed deer. It was a truly impressive gift. Seeing it, how could anyone doubt 
the wisdom of her marriage to Gray Wolf? she wondered with pride.
She watched intently as Tall One dismounted and approached Blue Bear. “My 
friend,” he began, speaking loud enough for all those assembled to hear him 
clearly. “You have a daughter who has found favor in the heart of my son, and so 
I bring you presents.” He raised his hand, and the women came forward to place 
their baskets around the door of Blue Bear's wickiup. Tall One did not speak 
again until they were finished; then he pointed in the direction of the setting 
sun. “Beyond that hill, past the edge of your people's camp, I have sent 
cattle—as many as you see horses here."
A murmur went through the crowd, but Willow could not tell if it was approval or 
surprise—or perhaps both. Seemingly oblivious to the noise, Tall One continued, 
“If you find this gift worthy of a daughter of a great chief, our people will be 
yours, as yours will be mine. We will stand together and help one another as all 
families must."
“You honor us with a great gift, my friend,” Blue Bear replied. “You have a fine 
son whom I would be proud to welcome into my family. I will talk with my people 
on his behalf. If they approve, I will send word to you tonight so that your son 
may join his bride in their new home.” He gestured toward the wickiup Willow and 
Great Star had built.
"Enju,"Tall One pronounced heartily, knowing that Blue Bear's speech was only a 
formality. Though some in his camp opposed the marriage, Tall One had had little 
trouble collecting the bride price. He did not believe that Blue Bear would have 
a problem with the reciprocal gifts.
Tall One turned toward his horse, but a murmur through the crowd stopped him and 
he looked up to see his son riding toward Blue Bear's wickiup. The stunned crowd 
parted to make way for him, and by the time Gray Wolf reached his father, not a 
sound could be heard save the steady tread of his horse.
Willow could hardly believe what she was seeing. Why was her new husband defying 
custom in this manner? Had he changed his mind? Had she somehow displeased him 
during the night they had spent together? But if he no longer wished her for his 
wife, why had he allowed his father to bring the marriage gift?
Hardly daring to breathe, she waited as Gray Wolf dismounted and approached her 
father.
“I have come to see your daughter,” he told Blue Bear without ceremony. “I have 
a gift I would add to the bride price, but it is for her alone."
Blue Bear studied his future son-in-law, uncertain what to do. He had never 
known a brave to make such a bold request, but nothing in the custom of his 
people forbade it. Most maidens were too shy to participate in the negotiations 
that would determine their future. “If my daughter wishes to see you, that is 
her choice,” he said finally.
Inside the wickiup, Willow was trembling and her hands were moist. Why was Gray 
Wolf doing this? What gift was he bringing her? Something in exchange for 
thenah-leen she had given him? There was nothing attached to his saddle, and he 
was dressed as she had seen him the first day he rode into camp, in his 
breech-clout, moccasins, and headband, and wearing, as always, the magnificent 
Thunderbird necklace. What gift was so important that he felt it must be given 
to her in the presence of all of her people and a large number of his?
The question went through her mind swiftly, but the possibility of refusing his 
request never crossed her mind. Her trust in Gray Wolf was so strong that she 
knew instinctively he was doing this for a reason; whatever his purpose, it was 
for her good. There was only the slightest pause before she drew back the 
blanket and stepped out of the wickiup to her father's side.
The look of love in Gray Wolf's eyes and the memories of the previous night gave 
Willow all the courage she needed to ask, “Why does my husband wish to see me?"
Gray Wolf smiled. She had chosen her words wisely, letting her people know that 
no matter what they decided, she considered herself married already. “I came to 
give you this, beloved,” he said quietly, not caring whether the others heard 
him, because his actions meant more than words. Unhurriedly he reached beneath 
his dark mane of hair to untie the rawhide thongs that held his necklace.
Willow froze in amazement as Gray Wolf moved behind her and fastened the 
necklace around her throat. She noticed with surprise that two feathers now hung 
from the medallion.
“Since the day I became a man, the Thunder Eagle has been my guiding spirit. It 
has protected me from harm and given me strength against my enemies.” When the 
necklace was in place, he turned Willow to face him. “I give it to you so that 
you will always know the protection of my spirit. One feather has become two, 
and as long as you wear this, my beloved, we can never be separated ... even by 
death."
Tears stung Willow's eyes, and she was not alone. Great Star, too, had tears on 
her face, and there were others—old women for whom the power of love was only a 
dim memory, young women who dreamed of a husband to cherish them, married women 
who had settled for less than their hearts desired. All were touched by Gray 
Wolf's bold gesture.
Blue Bear was mightily impressed. The look that passed between Willow and the 
Red Canyon brave was clearly a look of deep love and devotion. He was happy that 
his daughter had finally found a man worthy of her, who would use every means at 
his disposal to see that she was protected and provided for. But while he had no 
doubt that Gray Wolf was sincere, Blue Bear couldn't help wondering if there was 
a subtler purpose behind his gesture. Was Gray Wolf so keen-sighted that he had 
realized the effect his bold presentation would have on Willow's people? He had 
won the favor of every woman in the camp. From this day forward, maidens would 
judge their suitors by the romantic standard this brave had just set.
Planned or not, it was a clever ploy. Women did not often oppose their men in 
public, but in private a wife had considerable influence on her husband's 
decisions. “You have given my daughter a gift beyond price,” Blue Bear told him 
proudly.
Gray Wolf looked at his father-in-law. “Your daughter herself is a gift beyond 
price. She is all that a woman should be and all that I will ever desire in this 
life."
Without waiting for a response, Gray Wolf returned to his horse and mounted. 
Swollen with pride for his son, Tall One mounted his own horse and motioned for 
his warriors to lead the horses to the place where the cattle had been taken. No 
one spoke as the Red Canyon chief led his people out of the Many Mountains camp.
Her eyes never leaving her retreating lover, Willow gingerly touched the eagle 
feathers that dangled from the Thunderbird medallion. “Father, what will I do if 
our people refuse to accept the marriage gift?” she whispered forlornly.
Blue Bear looked down at his daughter and started to speak, but when a shadow 
passed over her face, he directed his eyes to the sky. Others saw the shadow and 
looked up as well, and an astonished cry went through the crowd. Overhead an 
eagle soared, circling the camp on barely discernible currents of wind. Though 
the sun was low, casting only long shadows, the great bird made shadows where 
none should have fallen. Only the Thunder Eagle—Gray Wolf's guiding spirit—could 
create such wonderful magic. The bird soared, and its shadow followed it, over 
the Many Mountains camp, then beyond, toward the Red Canyon camp, where it 
disappeared. When it had gone, no one doubted that the spirit had given his 
blessing to the marriage of He Stalks the Gray Wolf and She Sings by the Willow. 
And no one would dare oppose the will of the powerful Thunder Eagle, for to do 
so would mean disaster.
Blue Bear looked down at his astonished daughter and gave her a wry smile. “Do 
not fear, daughter. They will accept the gifts and your husband, I think."
Part II
The Shadow
Six
Arizona Territory, 1863
“Top dollar, gentlemen! That's what the New Arizona Mining Company is paying to 
enterprising men like yourselves who sign on for our White Mountain expedition. 
You'll receive an honest wage of thirty dollars a month, plus a generous bounty 
for every Apache scalp you bring back—one hundred dollars for each brave, fifty 
dollars for a squaw, and twenty-five per child!"
Jedidiah Longstreet heard the announcement, and his blood ran cold. The glass of 
whiskey in his hand was forgotten as he looked across the room toward the planks 
and barrels that made up the bar in the Hell's Bent Saloon. The imbecile who'd 
made the revolting offer was at the head of the bar waving a sign-up ledger, and 
it was everything Jedidiah could do to keep from flying across the room and 
pounding the jackass to a bloody pulp.
Bounties on Apache scalps? It wasn't a new idea—the Mexicans had been doing it 
for years—but it was a gut-wrenching barbarity ... and it was entirely legal. 
After all, the Apache weren't human, were they?
Jedidiah knew with sickening certainty that every one of the two dozen men in 
the Hell's Bent Saloon would answer that question with a resounding “'Course 
they ain't!” And the dandy who was proposing wholesale slaughter of Apache men, 
women, and children knew it, too. Jedidiah had never met the man, but he knew 
the type—an ignorant city-bred buffoon who thought he could waltz into the newly 
formed Arizona Territory and waltz out with a fortune in his pockets. A spate of 
gold and silver strikes had brought scavengers like this one by the hundreds. 
And what was worse, the strikes had attracted thousands more who wouldn't bat an 
eye at accepting an offer like the one just made.
“Well, what do you say, gentlemen? Do I have any takers?” the dandy asked, 
wiggling his ledger.
“Jest what, exactly, is this ex-pedition of yours fer?” asked a grizzled old 
miner at the end of the bar.
Grover Bannon, chairman of the New Arizona Mining Company, craned his neck to 
look at the miner. “I thought I made that clear. We're mounting the expedition 
for the express purpose of killing Apaches. My company has obtained exclusive 
mining rights to the entire White Mountain area. We are ready to begin our 
initial survey of the area, and we want to be sure we'll have no trouble from 
those heathen Indians. Instead of opening a mine and waiting for them to 
descend, we're going to drive them out now."
Bannon's absolute confidence branded him as a rank greenhorn and elicited 
laughter from some of the more seasoned Indian fighters in the saloon. They knew 
from bitter experience that wiping out Apaches wasn't as simple as Bannon 
obviously believed. “You make it sound easy,” one of them shouted scornfully.
Bannon smiled tightly, trying to look like a good sport. He'd nurtured this 
project for too long—and collected too much money from eastern investors—to be 
daunted by the skepticism of this motley crowd. “If it was easy, we wouldn't be 
paying such an exorbitant bounty, gentlemen."
“You ever come face to face with an Apache, mister?” the old miner asked.
“No, I can't say as I have, yet,” Bannon admitted reluctantly.
The miner stood on wobbly legs and hobbled through the crowd toward Bannon. 
“Well, mister, we got a sayin’ around here: ‘It takes an Injun to kill an 
Injun.’”
“Nah, Pete, you got it wrong,” Duke Haas, the bartender, said with a laugh. 
“Killin’ an Apache ain't no problem—it'sfindin' ’em. That's what you need 
another Injun fer."
Everyone had a good laugh at that, and Bannon raised his voice over the din. 
“Actually, that problem has been solved, gentlemen. As you probably know, the 
territorial governor has authorized citizens groups to employ friendly Indians 
in the hunt for Apaches. I have already done just that."
Everyone stopped laughing and began taking Bannon a little more seriously. If he 
had the foresight to hire Indian guides it was just possible that he wasn't as 
much of a greenhorn as he'd first appeared. “You got some Papago willing to 
track for you?” Haas asked, referring to the Indian tribe that had long been one 
of the Apaches most deadly enemies.
“I have a group of Papagos, yes, but we have also procured an even more 
formidable ally,” he replied. “I have just received word from my partner in 
Tucson that our search will be joined by a dozen renegade Chiricahuas led by an 
Apache known as Gato."
The announcement sobered the crowd. Gato had a reputation as black as midnight; 
even his own people had rejected him. If Bannon could control the renegade, the 
expedition's chances of success would be greatly increased. Some of the men 
expressed the opinion that Gato couldn't be trusted, but that didn't stop 
several men from crowding around the mining president to sign on.
Sickened by the entire proceeding, Jedidiah Longstreet finished his final swig 
of whiskey, stood, and started toward the door. He'd made it only halfway when 
the bartender noticed him.
“Hey, Longstreet! This greenhorn's lookin’ to get rid of some of those ‘Paches 
out your way! Maybe you'd like to give him a little advice.” The laughter rose 
to new heights, and Haas winked at Bannon, who was clearly mystified about why 
that was so funny. Jedidiah ignored the bartender and kept moving, but the 
mining company president's curiosity had been aroused. He glanced at the 
nondescript man headed toward the door and noticed with satisfaction that a 
scalp hung from the belt of his buckskin jacket. Thinking he had found an 
important ally, he hurried to cut him off. “Pardon me, Mr. Longstreet, but did I 
understand correctly? Do you live in the White Mountains?"
A pair of piercing blue eyes pinned Bannon with a look of pure hatred. “Get out 
of my way, you jackass."
Bannon took a step back in surprise. He hadn't sensed anything threatening in 
the man until now. Longstreet was only average height, but his brawny shoulders 
bespoke considerable strength. “Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to detain you—just 
thought that if you lived under a constant threat from those Apache heathens 
you'd be as anxious as I to eradicate them."
Jedidiah lost control of the thin thread that was holding his temper, and before 
Bannon knew what had happened he found himself pinned to the wall by the door, 
his feet dangling an inch or two off the floor. “Mister, I've lived in Apacheria 
for more than ten years now, and the onlyheathens I've ever seen are jackals 
like you. This country belongs to the Apache, and you don't have any right to 
drive them out.” He dropped Bannon and was surprised that the dandy had enough 
gumption not to run away.
Bannon straightened his coat and tried to regain some of his dignity. “If 
it'stheir country, what gives you the right to live here?” he asked haughtily.
Jedidiah's gaze never wavered. “I asked their permission,” he said with quiet 
intensity.
“And married one of their squaws!” someone in the back of the room shouted. 
“Ain't that right, Jed?"
For just a second the anger in Longstreet's eyes turned to anguish, but it 
disappeared so quickly that Bannon wondered if he'd imagined it. The burly 
Indian-lover stepped toward the door and left the saloon without another word.
Shaken by the encounter, Bannon returned to the bar. Someone bought him a shot 
of whiskey and asked for more information about his expedition. Bannon answered 
the questions by rote, but his mind was still on Longstreet. To the best of his 
recollection, he'd never met anyone so quick to defend a red man—particularly an 
Apache.
“Is that man really married to an Apache squaw?” he finally asked the bartender.
Haas nodded. “Was."
“Was?"
“She died ‘bout two years ago.” The bartender grinned. “A couple of prospectors 
went to the cabin while Longstreet was out hunting. Killed his wife ‘n’ kid and 
took their scalps for souvenirs. It took Jed and his wife's Apache relatives 
less than a week to track them down."
“He killed two white men?” Bannon asked in astonishment. “Why wasn't he 
punished?"
“Mostly it was a question of survival. If we'da hanged Longstreet, the ‘Paches 
would have burned this town to the ground."
Bannon supposed it made a strange sort of sense, but when he remembered the 
scalp he'd seen on Longstreet's belt, he shuddered with distaste. “He carries 
around his own wife's scalp? That's revolting."
Everyone within earshot of the comment laughed, and Bannon wondered what faux 
pas he'd committed this time. Duke Haas was only too happy to enlighten him.
“No, mister, you got it backwards. Those scalps on his belt belonged to the 
prospectors who killed his family.” Haas reached across the bar and clapped 
Bannon on the shoulder. “If you're goin’ after White Mountain Apache, you got 
more to worry about than Injuns. You better watch your back, ‘cause you can bet 
your last dollar that Jedidiah Longstreet will be watchin’ it, too."
“These are very good,” Gray Wolf said as he studied the cane shaft arrows his 
son had brought for his inspection. It was excellent workmanship for a boy who 
had seen only fifteen harvests. “When the other braves learn what fine work you 
do, they will ask you to make weapons for them."
Seated outside the wickiup, his cross-legged position mirroring his father's, He 
Brings Peace straightened his shoulders proudly. He was not yet a brave, since 
he had participated in only three hunting parties, but knowing that his father 
considered him worthy of the title made him very happy. “My grandfather taught 
me well. He knows many secrets for making an arrow fly true."
Gray Wolf studied his son with pride—he was truly an amazing young man. At an 
age when other youths were eagerly boasting of their accomplishments, He Brings 
Peace was always quick to give credit to others. It was a trait that had earned 
him the favor of the Thunder Eagle; like his father, He Brings Peace had gone 
into the mountains before his first hunt and returned with the shadow of the 
eagle on his shoulder. The boy's thirst for knowledge was extraordinary, and his 
skill as a hunter had already earned him considerable respect among men twice 
his age. He was almost as tall as his father, and as soon as he had taken part 
in one more hunt or war party he would be considered a full-fledged brave. Gray 
Wolf could not have asked for more from his only son.
“Father, look! I have arrows, too!"
Gray Wolf turned barely in time to catch the tiny body that hurtled toward him 
in a blur of motion. Miraculously he managed to avoid being impaled by the 
crooked branch “arrows” his daughter, Morning Star, held in her fist. Behind 
her, Willow was entering the camp with their other daughter, One Who Sings, 
walking sedately at her side. Both were carrying burden baskets filled with 
juniper berries. With a laugh, Gray Wolf settled Morning Star onto his lap.
“See, good arrows.” She held them out proudly for inspection.
“Very good indeed,” Gray Wolf said, trying to appear solemn. He looked at He 
Brings Peace. “Do you not agree, my son?"
Morning Star held the “arrows” out to her brother, waiting expectantly, and the 
young man leaned forward, his expression serious as he studied the motley 
collection of tangled branches. Quail feathers, most of them hanging 
precariously, had been bound to the ends of the limbs with strands of yucca, and 
the little girl had made a valiant attempt at sharpening the other ends of the 
sticks into points. For the most part, though, the effort had yielded only 
frayed bark. They were, without question, the most pitiful arrows He Brings 
Peace had ever seen, but not for all of Usen's power would he have crushed his 
sister by saying so.
“Indeed, Father, they are excellent. Perhaps I should take lessons from this 
young one."
Morning Star beamed at the praise, and Gray Wolf stroked her dark hair. “Is this 
what you have been doing this fine morning while your mother and sister gathered 
berries?"
“Yes, Father."
Gray Wolf looked at Willow, who had placed her basket next to the door of the 
wickiup. “Your daughter will make a fine warrior someday,” he told her with a 
teasing smile.
Willow moved to him and knelt. “She is too much like her father and brother,” 
she said wryly. “I tried to coax her into picking berries, but she was 
determined to play, not work."
“She is only five,” he reminded her.
Willow looked at her husband and their younger daughter. Like her mother, the 
child was never happier than when she was in Gray Wolf's arms, for it was a 
place of great security and love. “She has been indulged too much,” she said 
without any conviction or remorse. One Who Sings had come to stand beside her, 
and Willow reached up to touch her daughter's face. “But at least I have one 
child who is eager to learn what it means to be a woman."
One Who Sings bowed her head shyly. “Should I begin preparing the berries, 
Mother?"
Willow shook her head. “Divide them first, and take half to your grandmother. 
She is not well, so you may stay and help her prepare them,” she replied. She 
plucked Morning Star off Gray Wolf's lap. “And take this little warrior and her 
arrows with you. Perhaps together you and my mother can teach her the proper use 
of a woman's weapon—themetaté."
One Who Sings took charge of her sister and hurried off to do as she-was told 
while Willow turned her attention to He Brings Peace. “Are these yours?” she 
asked, gesturing toward the quiver of arrows.
“Yes, Mother.” He picked up the quiver and held it out to her. “Would you like 
to see? Father says they are good"—he grinned—"but he said that of my sister's 
arrows, too."
Laughing, Willow started to reach for the arrows, then abruptly withdrew her 
hands. “If your father says they are good, then I will trust his word."
Gray Wolf looked at his wife, puzzled by her behavior. Clearly she had wanted to 
inspect her son's craftsmanship, but had changed her mind. A woman was forbidden 
to touch a man's implements of war only when she was carrying a child, for it 
was believed that a pregnant woman made arrows too heavy to fly straight.
Was it possible? he wondered, hardly daring to hope. He Brings Peace had been 
born amid much rejoicing the first spring after their marriage. Gray Wolf had 
added another feather to the Thunderbird necklace, and four harvests 
later—exactly as custom and practicality dictated—a feather had been added to 
protect One Who Sings. But four harvests after that, Willow had given birth to a 
stillborn son, and for two long years she had tried desperately to conceive 
again. Just when she had given up hope, Morning Star had come to them, but the 
birth had been a difficult one, and Willow had resigned herself to the sad 
possibility that she would bear Gray Wolf no more children.
Had their dream of having another child finally come to pass? After so many 
barren harvests, would they finally add a sixth feather to the necklace? Gray 
Wolf had seen no change in his wife's body, and Willow had given him no 
indication that she might be pregnant again. But if his suspicion was unfounded, 
why had she refused to touch her son's arrows?
He Brings Peace, too, was puzzled by his mother's reluctance, but he did not try 
to force the arrows on her. Instead, he withdrew one from the quiver and showed 
her the lightning symbol he had carved into the shaft.
“Would you like to see how well they fly?” he asked.
“I would,” Willow replied.
The young man stood. “Then I will demonstrate by bringing rabbits for our 
supper.” He slipped into the wickiup and returned a moment later with the bow 
Gray Wolf had helped him craft out of a mulberry limb. He trotted off toward the 
hills behind the encampment.
Willow smiled at her husband. “How many do you think he will bring?"
“He is such a fine hunter, I would not be surprised if he returned with enough 
to feed the whole camp."
“Your pride is showing,” she warned him lightly.
“My pride is deserved. We have raised a fine son."
“And fine daughters,” she replied as she stood and moved into the wickiup. Gray 
Wolf collected the buckskin and rawhide he had been using to repair his favorite 
moccasins and followed his wife inside. He put his belongings away while Willow 
collected themetaté —a smooth, hollowed-out food-grinding stone—and the other 
utensils she needed for preparing the juniper berries.
“Why did you refuse to touch our son's arrows?” he asked finally, when the 
question would no longer remain inside him.
Willow paused, but refused to look at her husband. “It did not seem right."
“Because you are carrying our child?” he asked quietly.
Willow could hear the hope in his voice, and it hurt her to have to answer, “I 
do not know for sure. Our son was so proud of his arrows that I thought it best 
not to take the chance, lest he have to destroy his creations later."
Gray Wolf moved across the room and knelt by his wife. “But there is a chance?"
A smile that started deep inside her crept its way to Willow's lips. “Yes. A 
very good chance."
With a joyous laugh, Gray Wolf gathered Willow into his arms. She leaned against 
him and rested her head on his shoulder. “This makes you happy?” she asked.
“Why would it not?” He stroked her back and pressed his cheek to her hair. “We 
have said many prayers for this."
“But it is not a good time, beloved.” Her voice was laced with sadness she did 
not want to feel. “Ghost Face season will soon be upon us. You and our son will 
not be able to hunt with the other men. Without meat, winter will be hard."
Gray Wolf could not contradict her, for she was right. A wife's pregnancy made 
her husband and unmarried sons too heavy to travel quickly and caused their 
arrows and rifles to shoot poorly. Over the years, Gray Wolf had led many 
hunting parties with great success, but there would be no hunting parties this 
winter if Willow was pregnant.
Gray Wolf did not fear starvation, though. The fruit harvests had been good, and 
there were great quantities stored in secret places throughout the mountains. 
But, more important, he had been generous to all members of Willow's band in the 
years since he had become one of them. After hunting parties, his gifts of fresh 
venison and bear meat had kept families alive when starvation would otherwise 
have claimed them. With parties of Red Canyon and Many Mountains braves, he had 
led many successful raids against their enemies, and he had always made certain 
that everyone in both bands benefited. He was already a respected subchief of 
Willow's clan, and no one doubted that he would someday follow in his 
father-in-law's footsteps as chief of the entire Many Mountains band.
He had given much to his wife's people and asked for nothing in return. As a 
consequence, he had no doubt that the people would return his generosity and see 
his family through the difficult season of Ghost Face. It was the Apache way.
And Willow knew that; Gray Wolf was certain of it. So why was she concerned? “I 
think you do not speak all of the truth, beloved,” he said gently, and was not 
surprised when Willow slipped out of his arms. When she looked up at him, her 
smile was no longer there.
“You have had dreams,” she reminded him reluctantly, tracing the strong line of 
his brow and cheek with gentle fingertips. “You do not talk of them, but I know 
they are not good."
Gray Wolf found it difficult to look into her eyes. “The dreams have not yet 
been explained to me. I do not know what they mean."
“Now it is you who speak falsely,” she said quietly.
He shook his head. “No, beloved, I do not. The dreams are but shadows. I do not 
know what they mean."
“Do they foretell danger?"
“They are dark dreams. That is all I can say."
Willow studied him closely. “They are dreams of the White Eyes, yes?” she asked, 
knowing that he had received such dreams before. In the years since the White 
Eyes made peace with the Mexicans, the White Mountain Apache had been fortunate, 
for they had had less contact with the White Eyes than many other tribes. 
Stories passed from tribe to tribe and camp to camp about the brutal murder of 
women and children, of how trusting Apache leaders had been lured into “peace” 
talks under a flag of truce, only to be slaughtered mercilessly. The White Eyes 
had forced entire tribes off their hunting grounds, robbing them of the ability 
to feed their women and children.
Like a disease, they spread their destruction in every direction, and when the 
Apache retaliated with a life for a life, as was only just, the White Eyes 
called the Apache savages and declared that not one deserved to live. Yet it was 
the White Eyes who had taught the Apache, by hideous example, the fine art of 
scalping. Who could not believe that such butchers deserved to be butchered 
themselves?
Several times Blue Bear had sent braves to aid other Apache tribes in their 
fight against the White Eyes, and several times the Many Mountains band had 
sought revenge against white men who had murdered members of their clan, but 
most of the time, there had been peace in the White Mountains.
Willow believed that if that peace was about to come to an end, her husband 
would know it, for since their marriage, Gray Wolf had been visited by many 
dreams that foretold the future. Willow's people considered it the blessing of 
the Thunder Eagle, and that blessing was responsible for their immediate 
acceptance of Gray Wolf.
But the dreams had never disturbed Gray Wolf in the way they seemed to now, for 
he was reluctant to answer her question. “They are dreams I cannot explain,” he 
said finally, “and it troubles me that the eagle has not come to tell me what 
they mean. I have sung songs and said prayers to him, but he remains silent."
Willow touched the Thunderbird medallion that hung between her breasts. “The 
eagle will return. I know it. He has blessed us with his power many times."
“But what if the White Eyes have driven him away?” Gray Wolf asked, allowing 
Willow a glimpse of his deepest fear.
“You must not say that! The spirit of the eagle is stronger than the White Eyes’ 
medicine. The eagle has shielded us from our enemies in the past, and he will 
continue to do so!"
Gray Wolf knew that he had upset his wife greatly, and he regretted it. It was 
his responsibility to protect Willow, not frighten her with the darkness that 
troubled his heart. “You are right, of course,” he said soothingly, drawing her 
back into his arms. “Tonight I will hold a ceremony to ask the spirit again to 
explain my dreams, and he will answer."
Willow nodded and let Gray Wolf's strength surround her, but when he finally 
left her so that he could make plans for the ceremony, she found that she could 
not forget the fear she had seen in her brave husband's eyes. That alone was 
enough to terrify her.
Seven
Someone was watching him. Jedidiah had lived in Apache country too long not to 
know it. His instinct for such things was as finely honed as the blade of his 
bowie knife. There were only two questions in Jedidiah's mind: Was there one 
Apache or a dozen? And were they friend or foe? At one time he had traveled 
among nearly all the Apache tribes with impunity, studying their customs and 
learning their strange, fascinating ways. Those days were gone, though. Too many 
white men had flooded New Mexico and Arizona, bringing with them a good reason 
for the Apache to strike first and ask questions later—or not at all. Jedidiah 
still had good friends throughout the territories, but he no longer felt as safe 
as he had in the old days.
Back then he'd supported himself by trading cloth, grain, and glass beads for 
furs, buckskins, and an occasional gold nugget or two. It hadn't been a 
particularly lucrative pastime, but it had suited a young loner who had itchy 
feet and a longing to see more of the world than could be found in the stuffy 
drawing rooms of Philadelphia.
Though his education had prepared him for a career as a civil engineer, he had 
signed on for a mining survey of the unexplored territory that had been ceded to 
the United States after the war with Mexico. His parents, Casewell and Georgina 
Longstreet, had thoroughly disapproved of his adventure, but he departed for the 
vast unknown despite their objections. He never regretted his decision.
The land he'd discovered was one of harsh extremes, and he had quickly learned 
to respect the fierce, proud people who lived as one with the magnificent 
mountains and deserts. When the survey team left Apacheria to return east to 
report their findings of rich gold, silver, and copper deposits, Jedidiah 
Longstreet had stayed.
Miners had started arriving, and towns had sprung up here and there. When the 
Apache objected to having their land usurped, troops had arrived to “subdue” the 
savages. Over the years they had developed a broad and uncompromising 
extermination policy. Soldiers and citizens were authorized to kill Apache men, 
women, and children on sight. As a result, virtually every tribe in New Mexico 
and Arizona was on the warpath—a state of affairs that had made Jedidiah's quiet 
life more than a little difficult.
He was now only about twenty miles east of his ranch on the White River, and 
normally he'd have felt confident that the Apache observing him from the hills 
on his right was friendly—this was White Mountain country, after all. But so 
many tribes had been driven from their usual hunting grounds that Jedidiah knew 
better than to be confident about anything. The Tontos to the west were having a 
rough time of it with the army, thanks to a gold strike near Prescott, and it 
was entirely possible that one or two bands had slipped over this way for a 
little peace and quiet.
To a casual observer, Jedidiah, with his pack mule in tow behind his horse, 
appeared to be an easy target. Fortunately, Apaches weren't casual observers. 
Whoever was watching him would immediately have taken note of the six-shooters 
strapped to his waist and the rifle resting across his lap. His erect posture 
suggested a combination of confidence and wariness. An Apache never attacked 
unless he was certain of victory, so Jedidiah did his best to look like the 
formidable foe he really was. As long as he didn't let down his guard for even a 
moment, he had a pretty good chance of surviving the day.
He continued steadily toward the mountains. The terrain grew rougher and the 
hills started closing in. It was great ambush country, but Jedidiah didn't 
consider turning back. The conversation he'd heard in the Hell's Bent Saloon 
nearly a week ago was weighing heavily on him. His friends had to be warned that 
trouble was headed their way. It wouldn't take Bannon long to collect the men he 
needed, and once they started pushing into the White Mountains, blood was going 
to flow more freely than water. Jed was determined to do whatever he could to 
stop it.
At midafternoon he came to a creek bed that had enough water to service his 
animals, and he dismounted to let them drink their fill. Cradling his rifle in 
his arms, he took his canteen and some jerked beef from his saddlebags and 
warily sauntered to a spot shaded by a towering outcropping of rock. There was 
plenty of cover nearby, should he need it, and with the rock at his back he felt 
relatively safe.
He studied the rough terrain, wondering which crevice his Apache shadow was 
hiding in. By that time he was convinced there was only one Indian dogging him, 
but it was impossible to guess where he was, so Jedidiah kept a sharp lookout in 
every direction. In the end, all his analysis was for naught. He had thought the 
Apache was in the hills to the east. He was wrong.
“You guess ver’ bad, Pindah Dak'é."
The quiet voice, which seemed only inches from Jedidiah's ear, made him jump, 
but when he recognized the halting English and excellent guttural Apache he 
relaxed. He glanced up and saw nothing above him, but the Apache was there, all 
right, and close.
Jedidiah chuckled. “And your English is atrocious, my young friend."
The rocks above Jed came to life, and a sturdily built boy of fifteen dropped to 
the ground beside him. “What mean"—the boy struggled to form the 
word—"'trocious?"
“Bad."
The boy considered the pronouncement and shrugged. “Long time you no come 
teach."
“Well, I'm here now. Perhaps I'll give you another lesson tonight if you will 
take me to your father."
He Brings Peace understood what his friend Longstreet meant, even though he knew 
only about half of the words. The man his people called Pindah Dak'é—His Eyes 
Blue—had long been a friend to the Inday of the White Mountains. His marriage to 
one of Gray Wolf's cousins in the Red Canyon band had made him family, and He 
Brings Peace always looked forward to his visits.
"Enju.I take."
“Where are you camped?” Jedidiah asked as he collected his horse and mule.
He Brings Peace thought about how to answer the question, but he did not know 
how to say “slender peak standing up” in the white man's language."Nàdohots'os. 
Not far. Come."
He set out at a steady trot, and Jedidiah threw himself up on his horse to 
follow. To an Apache, even one on foot, “not far” could mean a distance of 
twenty miles, but Jedidiah knew thatnàdohots'os was considerably closer than 
that. At the brisk pace He Brings Peace was setting, it would take them less 
than an hour to reach his camp.
Time was of the essence to Jedidiah, but even so, he regretted that traveling 
with his young friend in this fashion did not allow him the opportunity to 
converse with the boy. He Brings Peace was truly a remarkable young man. He was 
exceptionally intelligent and had an insatiable curiosity about everything. The 
Apache considered most boys his age too young to handle the power of many of 
their rituals, yet He Brings Peace was already accomplished in the use of 
lightning power and was learning the ritual for “enemies against” power.
His thirst for knowledge did not end with his own people, though. Once he 
realized that Jedidiah came from a society with beliefs alien to his own, he had 
begun pestering Pindah Dak'é to teach him about the world of the White Eyes.
At first Jedidiah had confined his lessons to descriptions of the white man's 
cities and colorful stories from the works of Shakespeare, Hawthorne, and Dumas. 
Jedidiah spoke Apache reasonably well, but even so, putting the stories on a 
level He Brings Peace could comprehend had been a delightful challenge. The 
story of Romeo and Juliet had held a particular fascination for the boy because 
it paralleled the legend that his people told about Willow and Gray Wolf.
Of course, one story had a happy ending while the other did not, but the 
similarities had made He Brings Peace wonder if perhaps the White Eyes and the 
Inday had more in common than either group believed.
Such a conclusion was an extraordinary one for an Apache—or a white man, for 
that matter—and once the boy expressed it, Jedidiah had fully expected Gray Wolf 
to forbid his son to listen to any more stories from the white man's world. But 
he had not. Nor had he objected when He Brings Peace declared his desire to 
learn English.
When Jedidiah questioned Gray Wolf about his willingness to allow his son to 
learn, the wise Apache subchief had sadly cast his eyes toward a place Jedidiah 
could not see and replied, “Like the sand driven by the wind, the White Eyes 
come in a great dark wall that cannot be stopped. The spirit of the eagle has 
shown me that someday they will rule the Inday. The knowledge you give my son 
will help our people to survive a time of great sadness and want."
As much as he wanted to tell Gray Wolf he was wrong, Jedidiah had not been able 
to lie to his friend. The arrogant white man was fulfilling what he considered 
his manifest destiny, and even the fierce, proud Apache wouldn't be able to stop 
them from taking a country that wasn't really theirs. Thousands would die, but 
ultimately the white man would win by the sheer force of greater numbers.
Jedidiah had offered to teach English to Gray Wolf, but he had declined, his 
eyes sad as he said, “I will not need the White Eyes’ words."
So Jedidiah had continued to teach He Brings Peace, telling him stories of the 
white man's capacity for good, but never neglecting to illustrate the evil as 
well. English was hard for the boy because the Apache used their voices in such 
a strange, guttural way. He was quick to comprehend the meaning of words, but 
speaking them caused him considerable difficulty.
At first the boy had feared that Jedidiah would laugh at his attempts, as he had 
often laughed at his teacher's inability to master certain Apache sounds. But 
Jed had never once laughed at him, and a bond of trust had grown between them to 
such a degree that He Brings Peace even felt comfortable joking with the older 
man. Tonight many in camp would laugh at how the boy had surprised his vigilant 
friend on the trail today.
No one showed any surprise when Jedidiah finally reached the small temporary 
encampment that housed Blue Bear and his extended family. He Brings Peace had 
sprinted ahead to alert his father to their visitor, but Jedidiah considered it 
unlikely that their approach had gone unnoticed. His impending arrival had no 
doubt been announced in camp not long after He Brings Peace joined him.
Women barely looked up from their cook fires as he wound his way toward Gray 
Wolf's wickiup, but the children were more demonstrative. They gathered around 
his horse, clamoring for the treat he always brought them. He dug into his 
saddlebags for the sack of horehound candy he'd purchased in Bledsoe for this 
very occasion, and just as he started scattering the drops, an exuberant little 
voice touched his ears—and his heart.
With the determination of a child twice her size, Morning Star fought her way 
through the crowd, yelling, “For me! For me!” But a share of the candy was not 
her goal. She held her arms up to him, and Jedidiah laughed as he bent low and 
scooped the child into his arms. She hugged him with innocent joy, and the 
rugged frontiersman felt the salty sting of tears behind his eyelids.
He Brings Peace was special to Jedidiah, but Morning Star held a place in his 
heart that was hers and hers alone. Her childish laugh and huge dark eyes 
reminded him so much of his own daughter that it was sometimes difficult for him 
to look at the little girl. Yet, strangely, he welcomed the pain, for it kept 
the image of his beloved wife and child alive in his heart. It had been two 
years since their brutal murder, but to Jedidiah, it might have been only 
yesterday. And he never intended to forget.
“Hello, little princess."
Morning Star drew back and looked at him with an impish grin. “Princess 
pret-ty?” she asked. Her English vocabulary was limited to only a few words, and 
those were her favorites.
“My princessvery pretty.” Jedidiah dug into his pocket for the little package of 
butterscotch candy he had brought just for her. “For you,” he said, reverting to 
her language.
Being very careful, Morning Star unfolded the brown paper. The small disks 
looked almost the same as the horehound candy he had given the other children, 
but when Jedidiah popped a piece of it into her mouth, her eyes widened in 
surprise. This was a new treat—not bittersweet at all, but wonderfully 
delicious.
"Enju?"he asked, though her enthralled expression gave him all the answer he 
needed.
Morning Star nodded vigorously, and Jedidiah laughed. He looked away from the 
child and discovered that Gray Wolf had done him the honor of stepping out of 
his wickiup to greet him. He was waiting patiently beyond the circle of 
children, and reluctantly Jedidiah slipped out of his saddle and returned 
Morning Star to the ground. A word from Gray Wolf sent the children scattering 
to the four winds, leaving the two old friends to face each other alone.
“My eyes are glad to see you, cousin,” Jedidiah said in Apache.
“You have stayed away too long,” Gray Wolf replied with a smile.
Since the Apache weren't given to polite chitchat, Jedidiah came right to the 
purpose of his visit. “I have words to speak to thenant'an, and I wish you to 
hear them as well."
Gray Wolf knew from his expression that what he had come to say was serious. 
With a nod, he turned and led Jedidiah to his father-in-law's wickiup, which was 
some distance from his own. When he was close enough for anyone inside to hear 
him speak, he turned his back on the dwelling and announced, “A friend comes, my 
father. He has words for both of us."
Jedidiah tried not to smile. This was one Apache custom he had never really 
understood. Obviously Gray Wolf knew that thenant'an's wife was in the wickiup, 
and turning his back so that she could leave before he entered was a form of 
respect. If Gray Wolf was a good son-in-law, it was highly unlikely that he had 
ever looked Great Star in the face or exchanged words with her.
Sure enough, only seconds after Gray Wolf announced himself, Great Star came out 
of the wickiup with her face averted so that she would not see her daughter's 
husband. She hurried off, and as soon as she was out of sight, Jedidiah told 
Gray Wolf it was safe to go in.
They slipped into the wickiup, and Gray Wolf moved across the room without 
invitation to sit near Blue Bear. Jedidiah remained by the entrance until the 
aging chief invited him to sit across from him. There was no fire in the pit, 
but charred embers from the previous night's fire still remained.
“My eyes are glad to see you,” Blue Bear said when Jedidiah was seated.
“My eyes are glad to see you, too, old friend, but my heart is heavy. The reason 
I come is not good.” The expression on Blue Bear's face did not change, but 
Jedidiah knew he had the chief's undivided attention. “A white man named Bannon 
is bringing many men to your mountains to seek the yellow iron. I heard him say 
so myself."
“We have none of the yellow iron,” Blue Bear said. “There is white iron to be 
found in only a few places, but no yellow."
“I know that what you say is true,” Jedidiah replied.
“Did you tell the white man this?"
“He would not have listened, for he knows I am your friend."
Blue Bear nodded and gestured toward Gray Wolf. “For many years my son has said 
this day would come. I did not doubt that he was right, but I am sad the day is 
here. We will gather our people together and prepare for battle."
Jedidiah shook his head and leaned forward intently. “You must not do that, old 
friend. When the white men come, they will bring with them Indians who are your 
enemies. The whites are ready to pay a high price for Apache scalps."
The news didn't seem to shock either man. “The Papago come to fight us?” Gray 
Wolf asked.
“Yes. And also a band of Chiricahua renegades led by Gato."
Blue Bear spat at the dormant fire pit. “Gato is no good. He is only a young 
man, but he uses evil magic. Even his own people have cast him out."
“I know."
Blue Bear spat again. “What you say makes no difference. We will drive them all 
out of our mountains—even Gato."
“No. Hear me well,” Jedidiah said. “When the men come, they will find no yellow 
iron—and you must let them find no Inday, either. Take your people into the 
mountains where not even Gato can find them. They will look for the yellow iron, 
and when they see that there is none to be found, they will leave."
Blue Bear's face turned into a mask of stone. “You ask me to hide like a woman? 
No!"
“Yes,” Jedidiah insisted. “If you stay and fight them, many will die—both Inday 
and white. I know your warriors are strong—strong enough to defeat Gato, 
even—but Bannon and men like him cannot be stopped. If you drive Bannon away, he 
will come back again with an army of Blue Coats greater in number than all the 
White Mountain tribes. They will build a fort and there will be fighting for 
many years to come."
“He speaks wisely, Father,” Gray Wolf said. Despite the disturbing news, Gray 
Wolf was almost relieved. Last night he had held the eagle dance, as he had 
promised Willow he would, and though the spirit itself had not appeared, the 
eagle had answered some of his questions by sending Jedidiah Longstreet. “Dreams 
have visited me at night, but I did not understand their meaning until now. I 
have seen our people looking down on White Eyes from a high place. We must do as 
our friend says."
Blue Bear trusted Gray Wolf implicitly, and he knew that Pindah Dak'é had only 
good intentions, but the idea of running from a fight did not set well with the 
old warrior. He had seen more than sixty harvests, but he was still a vigorous 
man. His people respected him, and he had no desire to have them think him a 
coward. “I must pray on this."
“You are a great chief who wants only what is good for his people,” Jedidiah 
said.
“If we do as you ask, it will mean spending the season of Ghost Face in the 
mountains. That is not good,” he replied.
“Women and children murdered in their sleep is not good, either."
Blue Bear grunted but said nothing, and Jedidiah realized he'd said all there 
was to say. “Tomorrow,” Jedidiah continued, “I will go over the mountain to find 
my cousin, Tall One. I will tell him all that I have said to you. If you choose 
the way of peace, I will do all I can to help you through the winter. When the 
snows come, I will bring cattle and sheep."
“You are a good friend,” Gray Wolf told him.
Jedidiah regarded the warrior fondly. “My skin is white, but my heart is Inday. 
You, better than anyone, know this."
Gray Wolf nodded. His friend was thinking of the wife and child he had lost. He 
had great respect for the way Longstreet bore his sadness, for Gray Wolf could 
imagine nothing worse than losing his own beloved wife. When word of the 
massacre had come, he had lost no time in mounting a war party. Longstreet was 
already on the prospectors’ trail, but Gray Wolf and half a dozen braves had 
joined him in his quest for vengeance. Their success had permanently sealed an 
already strong friendship.
“Come.” Gray Wolf stood. “You will eat with my family and sleep in our wickiup 
tonight."
Jedidiah nodded to Blue Bear and followed Gray Wolf out. “Will he do as I say?” 
he asked as they started across the camp.
“I do not know,” Gray Wolf replied hesitantly, though in truth he did know. The 
news Jedidiah brought had made a number of things clear to him—none of them 
good. He stopped and looked to the sky, but it was only a vast blue emptiness.
It had been too long since he had seen the Thunder Eagle. Death was in the air.
The firelight flickered over young faces and old as Gian-nah-tah wove his spell 
on the rapt audience. He was a masterful storyteller, and as his name, Always 
Ready, implied, he was never without a tale to tell. Gian-nah-tah was a powerful 
shaman, and it was from him that the children in Blue Bear's clan had learned 
the stories of Coyote the Trickster and Born of Water. Some of the most 
important Apache legends could be told only in the dead of winter, though, so 
Gian-nah-tah was confining his storytelling to a lesser tale—a relatively new 
one that had been born on the day He Stalks the Gray Wolf married She Sings by 
the Willow.
Those who sat by the fire had heard the story before, but they listened 
attentively anyway—all of them except He Brings Peace. His sisters were seated 
beside the shaman, devouring every word of the cherished romantic story of how 
his mother had married his father despite the opposition of her people, and how 
the Thunder Eagle had blessed their union. But tonight the first child born of 
that union was more concerned with the story he was hoping Pindah Dak'é would 
tell him. The frontiersman had been occupied in conversation with Gray Wolf all 
evening, though, and He Brings Peace was beginning to fear that his friend had 
forgotten his promise.
He needn't have worried. After what seemed like an eternity, Jedidiah finally 
stood and stretched, then went off toward the remuda to check on his animals. He 
Brings Peace waited a moment, then quietly slipped into the darkness. As he left 
the circle, he glanced back once and smiled at the look of delight on Morning 
Star's face. She was too young to fully understand the story, but like the 
others, she was spellbound by Gian-nah-tah's oratory. No one by the fire would 
miss him, least of all his youngest sister.
Using the shadows of night to cloak his movements, He Brings Peace crept toward 
the remuda, intent on surprising his teacher as he had on the trail, but this 
time Jedidiah was ready for him. The frontiersman was already seated on a rock, 
as though waiting. The young brave moved up behind him, not making a sound, but 
his stealth was for naught.
“You are wasting time, my young friend,” Jedidiah said quietly when the boy was 
a dozen yards away.
He Brings Peace abandoned his silent approach. “How did you know I was here? I 
made no sound,” he said as he dropped to the ground at Jedidiah's feet.
“You betrayed your intent at the campfire.” he replied, smiling fondly at the 
young man. “You watched me so closely that I knew you would come."
The boy nodded philosophically. “Then I have learned an important lesson."
“Life is full of lessons, my young friend. I have never known you to let one go 
to waste.” Jedidiah slapped his thighs. “Now, what would you like to learn 
tonight? More English or a story of my people?"
“Both."
Jedidiah laughed. “Very well. I will tell you the story of a man who died 
seeking revenge on a fish."
The boy's smooth brow furrowed suspiciously. “A fish?"
He nodded. “A great fish named Moby-Dick."
He Brings Peace did a passable job of imitating the unfamiliar name, and the 
lesson began.
The next morning Blue Bear sent runners to all the nearby camps with word that 
he wanted to speak to the men. Within a few hours forty braves were gathered in 
a clearing near thenant'an's wickiup. Gravely he told them about the Bannon 
party, and the response was dramatic. Braves young and old cried for a war 
party, but Blue Bear silenced them with a wave of his hand.
“No! We will not make war on them—not now, and perhaps not at all. We will send 
our women, children, and old ones to the high mountains while our braves scatter 
in small groups to watch and study the men who seek to destroy us. We will be 
like the wind, unseen but always there. They will look for us, and we will laugh 
at them while they find nothing."
Blue Bear's plan did not please many of the braves. His oldest son-in-law, Angry 
Coyote, was particularly vehement, but Blue Bear talked until he had quieted all 
the protests.
At the outer edge of the circle Jedidiah listened to the chief's plan and the 
arguments against it. The plan was an excellent compromise between action and 
inaction, but Jedidiah didn't like the idea of sending the women and children 
off alone for an unknown amount of time. Certainly they could all fend for 
themselves in fine fashion, but they would be virtually defenseless should some 
of Bannon's party slip past the scouts. Blue Bear seemed confident this could 
not happen, though, and Jedidiah was content that the old man would hold to his 
decision not to wage open warfare unless there was no alternative.
Thenant'an chose his strongest runners to spread the word to other Many 
Mountains clans camped greater distances away. He offered to send someone to 
accompany Jedidiah on his long trek across the mountains to the Red Canyon camp, 
but Jed declined the offer. He knew where his wife's people would be camped at 
this time of year, and he felt no need of a guide.
When the council members finally began to disperse, Jedidiah found himself 
flanked by Gray Wolf and his son as Blue Bear approached them. “You have done a 
good thing,” thenant'an told him, his eyes still dancing with the fervor he had 
used to persuade his men.
“As have you,” Jedidiah replied. He saw no need to express his doubts. “Will you 
lead the scouting party yourself?"
Blue Bear nodded. “I will lead one, and my son-in-law will lead the other.” He 
gestured toward Gray Wolf, but his eyes were on He Brings Peace. “And you will 
join us, my grandson. This will be a good time for you to earn your new name."
The young man's eyes lit up at the prospect of finally becoming a full-fledged 
brave, but before he could answer, Gray Wolf intervened. “I am sorry, Father, 
but my son and I cannot go with you."
Blue Bear frowned. He had never believed it possible that Gray Wolf would oppose 
him, and his son-in-law's disloyalty cut the old chief deeply. “If you doubt the 
wisdom of my plan, why did you not speak up in council as the others did?"
“I do not doubt your wisdom,” he answered with a hint of a smile. “My son and I 
cannot go with you because my wife believes she is carrying a child."
There was nothing restrained about Blue Bear's smile—or Jedidiah's. 
“Congratulations, my friend,” he said, slapping Gray Wolf on the back.
“Yes, it is good,” the chief said happily. “It is time my daughter gave you 
another child. And perhaps it is good that the time is now. If you go with the 
women into the high mountains, I know they will be well cared for."
“We will all do as we must until the danger passes,” Gray Wolf replied. He 
looked at He Brings Peace, who was standing beside him with his shoulders erect 
and his head held high. “You are disappointed, my son."
The boy could not deny it. His mother's pregnancy meant that it would be many 
moons before he became a brave and earned a name that befitted an Apache 
warrior. But in his heart he knew that he was ready, and time would not change 
that. “My time will come,” he replied, earning a look of pride from his father 
that eased his disappointment.
Reluctantly Jedidiah took his leave of Gray Wolf and his family. He left behind 
a sack of cornmeal as payment for Willow's generous hospitality and hugged 
little Morning Star tightly. He promised He Brings Peace that he would visit 
them in the high mountains once he had delivered the news of Bannon's party to 
the Red Canyon people; in return, the boy promised to practice the new words he 
had learned the night before.
As he rode away from the camp, Jedidiah turned to look back—something no true 
Apache would have done. The desire to take one last look at his friends was too 
overpowering to ignore. Gray Wolf and Willow stood side by side near the 
wickiup, their hands touching discreetly as they watched him depart.
With great reluctance the frontiersman turned and rode on. Had he known it was 
the last time he would see his friends alive, he might have taken a longer look.
Eight
“I don't understand it,” Grover Bannon growled, hurling the dregs of his coffee 
into the fire. The liquid sizzled and popped, but did nothing to alleviate the 
mining entrepreneur's agitation. He and his men had been roaming the foothills 
of the White Mountains for nearly a month, and so far the only things they'd 
found to shoot at were a few wild turkeys. “Those blasted Indians swore we'd 
find Apaches in this part of the country picking nuts and berries! So where the 
hell are they?” he demanded, rounding on Alberto Montega, the Mexican who'd 
hired on as the party's interpreter. Montega spoke no Apache, but Gato and some 
of the Papagos understood Spanish quite well. In fact, it was from the Mexicans 
that Gato had received his name, the Cat; Montega had no idea what his Apache 
name was.
Bannon's anger didn't faze the Mexican. “The Papago claim we have no luck 
because we brought Gato with us. They say it is bad medicine. In case you have 
not noticed, the Papago hate the Chiricahua Apache as much as they hate the 
White Mountain tribes."
“That's hogwash,” Bannon retorted. “They're just making excuses for their 
ineptitude. What does Gato have to say?"
“I don't know. I have not seen him and his braves for several days. Could be 
they got tired of smelling Papago and headed south."
Bannon threw his hands into the air. “Wonderful! This is without a doubt the 
most exasperating situation I have ever encountered."
“Did you really think it would be easy?” Montega asked. Bannon gave him an 
irritated look. “I knew that driving them out was going to be hard, but with all 
these Indian trackers along I never dreamed that finding the damned savages 
would be nigh unto impossible."
“I expect they were warned."
“You mean that mountain man, Longstreet? He warned them?"
“Probably. It is surprising, though."
“What is?"
Montega shrugged. “If the Apache knew we were coming, it is surprising that they 
have not attacked. Gato says he has seen signs that they are watching us, but 
they do nothing."
Bannon thought that over. “Well, if they're going to give us a free rein, I 
might as well call some of my mining engineers in to conduct surveys. We've 
certainly got enough men here to guard them."
Montega shook his head and glanced at the thirty men who had signed on for 
Bannon's “expedition.” Some of them were already asleep; others were talking 
quietly, drinking, or playing cards by the firelight. In the month they'd been 
on the trail, they'd heard enough of Bannon's temper tantrums not to be 
interested in anything the eastern dandy had to say.
Keeping his voice low, Montega replied, “These men, they did not come with you 
to be guards for your miners. You promised them many pesos for Apache scalps. If 
you do not deliver soon, they will desert you."
Bannon sighed heavily. Montega was right. “Then we'll just have to find the 
Apache camps, won't we?"
“I do not think that will happen, Bannon,” the Mexican replied with a shake of 
his head. “We are chasing a wild goose."
“Damn it, I'm not giving up!"
“You may have no choice. Your plan to kill Apache was good only when surprise 
was on your side. But they are ready for you. If we fight now, you will lose 
many men."
“That'syour opinion,” Bannon snapped. “I say we've still got a chance to—” A 
noise in the brush behind him had Bannon whirling as he fumbled for his Colt. 
“Who's there?"
Everyone in camp became instantly alert, but Montega grabbed Bannon's gun hand 
and forced the revolver down. “The way you stand in front of the fire and wave 
your arms, if it was Apache, you would already be dead,” he said with disgust as 
he peered into the darkness. “Whoever is there wants us to know where he is.” 
Because he was fairly certain he knew who had made the noise, Montega raised his 
voice and gave the all clear."Ya está bien, amigo mío, puedos entrar."
"Enju."A moment later a lanky Chiricahua and two of his braves were made visible 
by the flickering firelight. They came into camp and seated themselves around 
Montega, their rifles resting across their knees.
Bannon looked at Gato and repressed a shudder. The renegade's flat, lifeless 
eyes always bore a look of cold contempt that turned Bannon's blood to ice 
water. He was grateful that the Chiricahua was on his side, but he knew better 
than to trust the Indian too much. “Ask him where he's been,” he demanded. “Did 
he find any Apaches?"
Montega engaged in a brief dialogue with Gato, then turned to Bannon. “He has 
been searching for White Mountain camps in the eastern foothills, but he found 
nothing. The women and children are all in the high mountains, as we suspected."
“Then we'll just have to go up there."
Montega shook his head. “Your men will not like that. The snows will come soon."
“Well, damn it, we've got to do something. If we don't engage the Apaches soon, 
we're going to have to return to Bledsoe for supplies."
Montega translated the conversation for Gato, and Bannon waited impatiently 
while the Indian replied. “Well, what?” he demanded as soon as it appeared that 
Gato had finished.
Montega was frowning, as though he didn't care much for what Gato had to say, 
but he translated anyway. “He said you would be foolish to take these men into 
the mountains. There are Apache braves all around us, and they will follow. If 
we come too close to the camps of their families, they will attack."
“Hell's bells, man, that's what we want! Sounds like a damned good way of 
flushing them out."
“No. If we fight in the mountains, we will not come out alive. If you cannot be 
persuaded to give up, it is better that we fight down here."
Bannon ran both hands through his hair in frustration. “But the Apaches won't 
fight us! The braves are just watching!"
Reluctantly Montega said, “Then we must give them a reason to fight, but on our 
terms."
“And how do you suggest we do that?"
“Gato has a plan,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “While we fortify our position 
down here and prepare for an attack, he will take his men into the mountains. He 
believes they can slip past those who watch us and make their way to the camps. 
They will kill all the women and old ones and make prisoners of the children. 
When the braves learn what has happened, they will come for us."
“Excellent!"
Montega frowned. “It is a dangerous plan, señor. The Apache will not attack 
blindly. They will choose their time carefully. Their braves are scattered now 
as they watch us, but they will come together in a great number before they 
attack. If necessary, they may even enlist the aid of the Tonto and Cibecue. 
They will outnumber us, and we will be slaughtered."
“I don't believe that for an instant,” Bannon scoffed. “If we kill their women 
and carry off their children, they'll attack out of blind rage, and we'll be 
ready for them. We've got over sixty men here, including Gato's band. We're 
obviously more than a match for them, or they would have attacked us before 
now."
Montega shook his head. “You think like a white man, not an Apache."
Bannon jabbed a finger in Gato's direction. “He's an Apache and it's his plan. 
By God, I think it's a good one. Tell him I said so."
The interpreter did as he was told, and Gato relayed Bannon's words to the 
braves who flanked him. As far as Bannon could tell, Gato's expression did not 
change throughout his conversations with his braves and with Montega.
“If you will give him more ammunition for his rifles, he will leave tonight 
while the White Mountain braves sleep,” the Mexican said. “His braves will 
separate and travel alone for two days until they are sure no one follows them; 
then they will come together and attack as many camps as they can."
“That sounds reasonable.” Bannon moved to the supply wagon and unloaded a small 
crate filled with rifle shells. “How will we know when they've attacked?” he 
asked, placing the crate in front of Gato.
Montega spoke with Gato again, then turned to his employer. “He will send a 
runner to us so that we may be ready, but it will take a little time for the 
Apache to learn what has happened to their families. Gato believes that he will 
have more than enough time to join us with their captives before they attack."
Bannon looked at Gato with a forced, snappy smile plastered on his face."Enju, 
amigo," he said, employing the only two foreign words he knew.
Gato glanced at his braves, and the three Indians burst into 
laughter."Tagoon-ya-dah," the leader said to Bannon as he and his men rose.
Bannon kept his smile in place as he looked at Montega. “What did he say?"
“I think it was a term of respect,” he guessed, unwilling to admit that he 
wasn't sure what the word meant. He was fairly certain, though, that it wasn't 
something Bannon would have appreciated. Neither man would have been pleased to 
know that Gato had called Bannon a fool.
The earth was hard in the high mountains, but a few soft spots showed good sign 
in places where the sun poked through the trees for long periods. With his face 
furrowed in concentration, He Brings Peace studied the tracks he had found in 
one of those places. A group of boys his age and younger were gathered around 
him, their hunting expedition forgotten for the moment.
“When were they made?” one of the young ones asked.
“A day ago, near sunset,” He Brings Peace answered. “See how the ground has 
frozen and then thawed again? And look here"—he moved to another of the 
intermittent tracks—"this moccasin was sewn strangely. No White Mountain Inday 
makes his moccasins in this manner."
“If it was not one of us, then who has been here?” asked He Crawls Away, the son 
of Angry Coyote. Though he was nearly a year older than He Brings Peace, He 
Crawls Away had long ago accepted his cousin as the undisputed leader of their 
band of would-be braves.
He Brings Peace stood, his face serious. “Our grandfather says that the 
Chiricahua sew moccasins like this."
The boys looked at one another, making a valiant effort not to show their fear. 
They had been in the mountains from one full moon to the next, and they all knew 
that Gato and his band of Chiricahua renegades were the reason why. “How many 
are there?” He Crawls Away asked.
“Five passed this way, I think, but if it is Gato, there are many more.” He 
Brings Peace turned and hurried toward the shelter of a stand of pines. “Come, 
we must return to camp and warn my father. Move silent and swift like the wind,” 
he cautioned, and seconds later the six young Apache vanished into the woods.
“Lightning alongside dances, they say,” Willow chanted.
Gray Wolf looked across the fire at his wife and smiled. Gathered around her in 
the wickiup were all the materials needed for the making of a baby-carrier, and 
as she completed each section she said the ritual prayer to bless that piece. 
The one just completed was for the loops along the side of the frame that would 
be used to strap the baby into the carrier. Willow's concentration was so fierce 
that she appeared to be completely oblivious to her husband, but she was not.
“You are wishing that this baby-carrier was for our own child, yes?” she asked 
without looking up.
Gray Wolf laughed. “You know me too well."
“Wishing will do you no good, beloved,” she said wistfully as she began 
attaching the rawhide laces to the loops. “It will be a long time before our 
child has need of its first cradleboard. Nah-tanh has paid me well to make this 
carrier for her and to say the prayers over it. Her baby will come tonight, I 
think."
“I know. As her time grows near, her husband becomes useless,” Gray Wolf said 
without censure.
“It is their first child,” Willow replied as though that explained everything.
Gray Wolf moved across the wickiup and sat beside her. “With me, one child or 
five will not make a difference, beloved,” he said tenderly. “When your time 
comes, I will be useless, too."
Willow looked at her husband and saw that he was thinking of the child they had 
lost and of Morning Star's difficult birth. She reached out to touch his face 
lovingly. “I will give you a strong, healthy son, beloved. There is no reason 
for worry."
“Are you so sure it will be a son?"
Willow placed one hand on her stomach. She hardly showed any sign of her 
pregnancy, and yet already she felt as one with the child inside her. “Yes. I am 
sure. Does that please you?"
“Any child born of our love will please me very well. Here. It is my gift for 
Nah-tanh's baby.” He handed her a rawhide thong onto which he had laced a bear 
claw.
Willow smiled at her husband's generosity. “There is much power in this bear 
charm. Nah-tanh will be honored. When the cradleboard is finished, I will attach 
it to the hood to keep away sickness.” She placed the charm with the other 
materials and went back to work on the baby-carrier.
The voice of One Who Sings outside the wickiup alerted them to the return of 
both their daughters, and Gray Wolf moved back to his place on the other side of 
the fire.
“I hear our children,” Willow said loudly so that One Who Sings would know that 
it was all right to enter. Little Morning Star appeared a moment later and ran 
to her father without stopping, but their older daughter entered more sedately. 
“How is your grandmother?” Willow asked as One Who Sings took her place by the 
fire. Great Star had not been well for some time, and the harsh, cold climate of 
the mountains made Willow fear for her mother's life.
“She is better today, I think,” the girl answered. “Her breath does not come so 
hard, but she has asked for the medicine man to perform the curing ceremony."
Willow looked at her husband, deeply concerned. Giannah-tah was with Blue Bear's 
scouting party in the foothills. A runner had been sent to find him four days 
ago, but neither had returned. “What can we do, husband?"
Gray Wolf shared Willow's anxiety, but he did not want to believe yet that some 
tragedy had befallen the runner. “If Nah-kah-yen does not return with the 
medicine man by tomorrow's sunset, I will go down the mountain to find him 
myself,” he replied after a moment. “There is no other choice."
The thought of Gray Wolf placing himself in danger alarmed Willow, but she said 
nothing. Her mother needed the curing ceremony, and she knew that her husband 
was more than capable of keeping himself from harm. To ward off her fear, she 
touched the Thunderbird medallion on her necklace and said a prayer as she 
stroked the eagle feathers.
Gray Wolf saw the gesture and understood its meaning. Since the day he had given 
Willow the necklace she had never taken it off except to sleep or bathe. With 
the birth of each of their children, he added a feather so that now there were 
five. The necklace was as much a part of Willow as Gray Wolf himself. It was 
growing old, for Gray Wolf had made it many years before he gave it to his wife; 
yet it still looked as new as it had the day he carved the Thunderbird into the 
medallion and laced the turquoise nuggets on the rawhide thongs. Even the 
delicate eagle feathers, which should have needed replacement many times, showed 
no sign of wear.
Truly, the necklace was blessed. Willow touched it often, as she did now, for 
she believed in its power to shield her family from harm. She had performed the 
ritual many times, and it held no less meaning for her now than it had the first 
time she said the prayer that brought safety to her family.
But this time as she gently touched the feathers, one, then another and another 
fell into her hand like green leaves falling from a tree that had died before 
its time.
“Gray Wolf!” Tears of panic and fear formed as she frantically sought her 
husband's eyes. “What does it mean?"
Gray Wolf rose and went to her, fighting back a panic as intense as his wife's. 
“They are old and should be replaced; that is all,” he said firmly.
“They are like new,” she insisted as tears cut slender lines down her cheeks. 
Almost afraid to believe what she was seeing, she touched the largest feather. 
“This was the first,” she whispered. “And this one you added to protect me.” Her 
voice broke as she touched the third feather. “And this you added on the morning 
our first daughter was born."
Fiercely she clutched the two remaining feathers on the necklace—those that 
protected Morning Star and He Brings Peace. Her head fell back and a keening 
“Ay-eee,” like the sound made by a dying animal, pierced the wickiup.
“It means nothing,” Gray Wolf said vehemently, as though the force of his words 
would make it true. He pulled Willow into his arms and held her more tightly 
than he had ever dared before. Frightened by her mother's tears, Morning Star 
sought refuge in her sister's arms, and the girls clung to each other, trying to 
shut out their mother's wails of mourning.
Outside, others heard the keening and came out of their wickiups to search for 
the source.
They were the first to die.
Nine
When He Brings Peace heard the first shots, he and the other boys froze, their 
hearts tripping in alarm as they looked at one another.
“Gato has found our camp!” He Crawls Away shouted as he started running again.
“No! We must go carefully!” He Brings Peace called after him, but it was too 
late. The other boys joined his cousin in a headlong flight toward the camp.
Another volley of gunfire split the cold air, and He Brings Peace fought the 
foolish temptation to join the others. His father had taught him better. A brave 
did not run headlong into battle; he approached stealthily until he could assess 
the situation. Only in this way could he be truly effective in the fight. For 
all they knew, the other boys might be running directly into the gun sights of 
the attackers.
Though he was frightened, both for himself and for the fate of his family, He 
Brings Peace forced himself to be calm and to remember his father's teachings. 
Making no sound, he slipped through the trees. The frantic screams of his people 
reached his ears, as did the report of answering gunfire. The sounds echoed 
through the hills, making it difficult to judge from which direction the shots 
had originated, but as he ran, he finally identified the location of the 
attackers. Without pausing, he changed direction and climbed a hill west of the 
camp.
His own wickiup sat at the base of that rugged hill, and when He Brings Peace 
finally reached the crest, he looked down on a scene that tore his heart from 
his breast. The bodies of his cousin and friends were lying at the edge of the 
camp where they had been cut down the moment they entered the clearing. Around 
them, all was chaos.
There were only ten wickiups in the small encampment; five were already on fire. 
Smoke billowed into the air. Women shrieked as they dragged their frightened 
children from the burning huts, but their screams were cut short by a hail of 
bullets and arrows that came from the cover of brush and scrub pines to the east 
and south.
Some of the old men had found fortified placements and were returning fire, as 
were some of the women. Though his eyes watered from the smoke, He Brings Peace 
searched for his parents and finally saw them a short distance away from their 
wickiup. From behind a pitifully small boulder, Gray Wolf was attempting to hold 
off the attackers with his bow and arrows while Willow fired at them with her 
husband's rifle.
Knowing he was too far away for his own arrows to be effective, He Brings Peace 
realized that his only hope of helping his family was to circle the camp and 
surprise the attackers from behind. Opposite him was a steep cliff riddled with 
many small caves, some of which were connected by a series of shelves and 
ridges. He had played in the caves as a youth, and more recently he had helped 
his mother store food there.
Running as fast as he could, heedless of any lookout Gato might have posted, the 
young brave circled the camp. He blocked out the shots and screams and tried not 
to imagine what was happening to his family. Like a mountain cat, he climbed a 
steep slope that would take him to the top of the cliff, then began working his 
way around to the face and down.
Below him, he saw a Chiricahua brave leave his cover in an attempt to flank Gray 
Wolf. Without pausing to think, He Brings Peace readied his bow and fired. The 
brave fell, and He Brings Peace dropped to his hands and knees to crawl along 
the sloping shelf. Another brave showed himself, unaware of a need to guard his 
back, and he fell, too, with the boy's arrow piercing his leg. The Chiricahua 
scrambled for cover and searched the cliffs behind him, but He Brings Peace had 
ducked out of sight.
“In the cliffs! A warrior!” the brave shouted to Gato.
“Be silent, fool,” Gato snarled. “Do you want to give them hope? They are almost 
done for in the camp—only the man and woman oppose us.” He turned and gestured 
to his other warriors. “Flank them and finish them. I will take care of the one 
on the cliff."
Exercising more caution, the renegades hastened to fulfill his orders. Another 
arrow streaked harmlessly into the brush near Gato. He studied the angle, then 
directed his gaze to the midsection of the cliff. He readied a poison-tipped 
arrow and waited.
Crouched low with his back against the rocks, He Brings Peace nocked another 
arrow against his bowstring. He rose quickly, fired into the brush below, then 
dropped and crawled along the shelf until the rocky path ended and there was 
nowhere to go but straight down.
The sounds of battle were growing less intense. The stand of pines Gato was 
using for cover made it difficult for He Brings Peace to see what was happening 
in camp, but he knew it could not be good; there were too many Chiricahua, and 
his people had been unprepared. His father was a great warrior, but not even he 
could prevail over so many enemies under these conditions. The smell of death 
was as strong as the smoke that hung in the air.
If his family was to die, He Brings Peace wanted to die as well, but he would 
die like a warrior, not like a child. Abandoning caution, he moved to the edge 
of the shelf to search for a target. None presented itself. He looked below, 
seeking a way down the cliff so that he could meet the Chiricahua face to face. 
Not even the smallest handhold was visible to him.
Desperate, he turned to retrace his trail and glanced down to the brush again. 
This time he saw the renegade who had been lying in wait for him, but it was too 
late. Before he completely understood what had happened, Gato's arrow pierced 
his shoulder. With a cry of shock and pain, he crumpled onto the rocky shelf 
with his face turned to the sky.
The world went dark, but only for a moment. Then it was light again ... and 
deathly silent. He Brings Peace opened his eyes. Above him an eagle soared. It 
swooped toward him, and when it rose it took the boy's soul with it.
From a high place where the smoke and the trees did not seem to exist, He Brings 
Peace looked down on his own crumpled body. His eyes were now the eagle's eyes 
as the great bird glided over the camp. He Brings Peace did not wish to see the 
destruction, but the eagle's eyes were open and the boy had no other choice.
The Chiricahua had overrun the camp. He Brings Peace could not hear their whoops 
of victory, but he felt them. They pierced his heart with rage. A child was 
dragged screaming from a wickiup and was carried away. An old woman and man, 
their eyes devoid of life, were scalped and left to rot.
As the eagle soared, that scene was played out for He Brings Peace again and 
again as the people he knew best were brutally mutilated. But the people he 
loved the most ... where were they? The need to know finally overcame his 
horror, and he asked the great bird to show him. An instant later the eagle was 
hovering over the bodies of his parents.
Gray Wolf had been the first to die. He Brings Peace could hear his mother's cry 
as she had gathered her husband into her arms. But her time to grieve had been 
short. Three arrows pierced her back. Her body was crumpled onto the man she had 
spent her life loving.
For He Brings Peace, the pain of seeing his slain parents was more than he could 
bear, but it was nothing compared to the horror of watching a cold-eyed 
Chiricahua strip them of their last shred of dignity. With a cry of victory, the 
renegade cut the Thunderbird necklace from Willow's throat, and with his 
scraping knife, took her scalp.
The eagle screamed.
The shrill cry startled the renegade. His eyes sought the sky, but when he saw 
nothing, he returned to his work. He shoved Willow's body aside like a corn-silk 
doll and scalped her husband.
The eagle screamed again.
When his work was done, the renegade picked up Gray Wolf's rifle and pointed to 
the wickiup. “Search and fire it!” he shouted to one of his braves. Two men 
scurried inside and a moment later came out dragging One Who Sings and Morning 
Star. Both girls screamed and fought their captors, but Morning Star was too 
small to be a burden to the brave who held her.
With the Thunderbird necklace still dangling from his hand, Gato pointed at Gray 
Wolf's older daughter. “She will make trouble. Kill her.” He gestured to Morning 
Star. “She will come with us.” He turned his back as his order was carried out.
The eagle screamed again.
Gato looked up, searching for the bird that had made the cry, but still he saw 
nothing. There was magic at work, of that he was certain, but he could not say 
whether it was for good or ill. Even a practitioner of the dark arts of 
witchcraft, like Gato, sometimes found it difficult to understand the signs that 
were presented to him. But as the little girl was carried off, the eagle 
screamed once more, and Gato looked down at the necklace in his hand. The blood 
of his victims ran in dark streaks across the Thunderbird medallion. That blood 
would make him stronger.
With a chilling smile, he fastened the necklace around his throat.
The eagle's scream echoed through the mountains.
“The cry, where does it come from?” one of his braves asked as Gato stalked 
across the camp.
The renegade touched the medallion. “From a spirit I now control,” he answered. 
He raised his voice to the other braves. “Get the horses from the remuda! We 
must go quickly from this place of death."
“Gato!” Another brave approached him. “What of the one in the cliffs? If he 
escapes to warn the other camps, they will come after us."
“He was only a boy, and the arrow that struck him bore my strongest poison. 
There is no reason to waste time searching for a dead child. Come. We must 
return south quickly."
The brave smiled. “What of Bannon?"
Gato laughed. “He is a great fool."
“We will not warn him of the camps we have taken?"
“No. We will let him suffer the vengeance of the White Mountain Inday while we 
take our horses and slaves to Mexico. The scalps will bring a good price there, 
too. Come.” Laughing, the renegade broke into a trot. Seconds later the camp was 
deserted.
Overhead, the eagle soared toward the cliffs. The shattered world of He Brings 
Peace grew dark again, and when next he opened his eyes, he was on the cliff. 
The cold of the rocks seeped through his bones, and he tried to rise. Pain 
seared his shoulder and he pulled at the arrow, only to discover that the point 
had passed all the way through. He broke off the feathered shaft, stanched the 
blood, and tried to rise again. All he could do was crawl.
Like an animal guided by instinct he worked his way toward the camp. A part of 
his mind—the strongest part—no longer wished for death. Only life mattered now, 
for with life came his only chance for revenge.
“Gato,” he whispered again and again as he crawled on, his strength fading as 
his resolve grew, until darkness claimed him once more.
The dreams would not let him rest. Images of strange people he did not know 
visited him and took him on journeys too frightening for his mind to comprehend. 
A fire burned in his blood, fueled by hatred, as he walked in the netherworld 
between life and death.
With the shadow of the eagle guiding him, he soared over a great camp where many 
Blue Coats lived and worked. He flew through mountains and canyons, watching 
battles beneath him.
For a time a soft hand like that of gentle, loving woman touched him and eased 
his torment. Her face swam before him; her gentle eyes beckoned him. She called 
to him in the darkness, leading him toward the light; but always the fire 
returned and the journey began again. He saw his people, broken and starving, 
and then he saw himself guiding them to food and shelter. He heard voices in 
many languages and heard himself speaking them, too. His sister, Morning Star, 
called to him from a great distance, but he could not reach her.
Hardship and sorrow mingled with fleeting glimpses of happiness, but always at 
the edge of every image was the face of Gato as he tore the Thunder Eagle 
necklace from Willow's lifeless body.
Day after day the eagle took him on new journeys, until finally he awoke with 
the certain knowledge that the course of his life had been set.
Jedidiah tossed the cold compress into the basin and allowed his tired shoulders 
to slump with relief. After nearly a week the boy's fever had finally broken. 
His brow was cool and his fitful tossing and turning had become a restful 
slumber. He Brings Peace was going to live. Jedidiah considered it something of 
a miracle. The poison that had infected the wound in his shoulder should have 
killed him within a few hours, or a day at the most. Yet He Brings Peace had 
survived the difficult journey to Jedidiah's cabin and had hung on to life 
ferociously. Jedidiah had been caring for him day and night, but he knew that 
his survival had less to do with his own ministrations than with the boy's 
incredible resolve to live.
A hazy veil of smoke had still hung over Gray Wolf's encampment the afternoon 
Jedidiah arrived on the scene of the massacre. His journey across the mountains 
to warn the Red Canyon band about Bannon's expedition had been a success, and he 
had spent several weeks with his wife's family. Luck, or perhaps even fate, had 
prompted him to leave them earlier than he had planned. On his trip back across 
the mountain, he had passed through many small Apache encampments, and from 
these clans he had learned the location of Gray Wolf's winter camp.
But he had arrived too late to do more than mourn for his dear friends. The 
sight of their mutilated bodies had brought back the hideous memories of his 
wife's death. It was all he could do to force himself to search for survivors, 
even though he had no hope of finding any.
And then he had seen his young pupil crumpled near the bodies of his parents. 
From the signs around the boy it was clear that he had crawled from the cliffs. 
Jedidiah had removed the arrow protruding from his back and cleaned the wound, 
which was already beginning to fester.
Sick at heart, he had searched for some sign of his precious little Morning 
Star, but when he found no young children among the bodies he realized that the 
attackers had taken them captive. He studied the tracks they had left, and 
finally concluded that this was not the first camp they had struck; too many 
riderless horses had been led out of the area. The imprints of Chiricahua 
moccasins told him the identity of the attackers.
His first impulse had been to follow them and find a way to free Morning Star, 
but to do so would have condemned He Brings Peace to certain death. The boy's 
only hope for survival was for Jedidiah to get him back to his cabin where he 
had salves and a disinfectant that might keep the infection from spreading. If 
he traveled day and night, he could make the trip in three days. Jedidiah 
doubted that the boy could survive, but he had to try. Once He Brings Peace was 
out of danger, or dead, Jedidiah would begin his search for Gato.
With his desperately ill young friend strapped to a travois, the frontiersman 
had made his way out of the mountains. For a time, he had followed Gato's trail 
south and had surmised that the renegades were headed for Mexico where their 
slaves and scalps would bring the best price. Eventually, though, he was forced 
to abandon Gato's trail and head west to his cabin.
Sleeping only a few hours every night, and stopping only to tend to He Brings 
Peace, he finally reached his home. The boy's fever was raging out of control, 
and for the next few days, Jedidiah kept a bedside vigil, expecting every 
labored breath he drew to be his last. But He Brings Peace clung to life, 
tossing fitfully, crying out for his parents—and for the man who had slaughtered 
them.
But finally the fever had broken. Exhausted, Jedidiah kept one eye on his 
sleeping patient while he prepared another kettle of the beef broth he'd been 
force-feeding He Brings Peace. Then he napped in the chair beside the bed, and 
some time later he awoke to find the boy watching him. The dark eyes that stared 
at him contained a coldness Jedidiah had never seen in them before, but 
considering the tragedy the boy had witnessed, what else should he have 
expected?
“Gato?"
Jedidiah moved to the bed and raised the boy's head so that he could drink. “His 
trail led south,” he replied in Apache. “I believe he has gone to Mexico. When 
you are stronger, I will go after the renegades. Their trail is already cold, 
but I will find him and return your sister to you."
He Brings Peace took several sips of water and fell back into the bedding. “I 
will go with you."
Jedidiah frowned. “It will be a long time before you are strong enough to 
travel. Their trail will already be difficult to follow."
“It does not matter,” he said weakly, but with a conviction that startled 
Jedidiah. “We must go ... together."
The frontiersman saw no point in arguing. “I have seen smoke signals that call 
for all Inday warriors to come together. Your grandfather is preparing a war 
party."
He Brings Peace nodded as though this was an expected piece of information. “He 
will ... attack Bannon."
“I believe so,” Jedidiah replied. “But he may have sent a war party in search of 
Gato as well."
“No.” He barely had the strength to shake his head. “Gato is mine.” His eyelids 
fluttered and closed.
Jedidiah allowed him to sleep for a while, then brought a bowl of broth to the 
bedside and roused him long enough to force a few spoonfuls down him. That 
became their routine over the next two days. He Brings Peace made no further 
attempts at conversation, and Jedidiah finally realized that he was directing 
all his strength toward his recuperation.
He began trying to sit and then stand much sooner than Jedidiah thought wise, 
but He Brings Peace could not be deterred. Before long he was taking feeble 
steps and seemed to be growing stronger with each foray. Only once more in the 
week that followed the fever did Jedidiah mention leaving so that he could go in 
search of Gato, but the boy's response was firm and dramatic: Pindah Dak'é was 
not meant to chase the renegade alone; the spirits had decreed it.
As the boy's health returned, Jedidiah began to see changes in him that went 
beyond the effects of shock and grief. His stoicism was pronounced and 
disturbing, but he displayed an inner strength that was nothing less than 
amazing. Gone was any trace of the mischievous youth Jedidiah had known. His 
place had been usurped by a young man who was already old beyond his years.
Toward the end of that week he began spending long hours sitting out-of-doors 
and staring toward the mountains. The smoke signals had long since stopped. 
There was nothing to see but sky and yellow earth; yet Jedidiah was often struck 
by the eerie feeling that He Brings Peace knew exactly what was taking place 
beyond the horizon. His eyes held a haunting coldness that was seldom tinged 
with even a hint of sadness.
The Apache did not believe in discussing the dead, so Jedidiah made no attempt 
to force the young man to speak about his parents. In fact, they did not talk at 
all except when there was no alternative. The wounded shoulder began to mend, 
but Jedidiah feared that the scars inside the young man might never fade.
Late in the evening of the eighth day of his recovery He Brings Peace finally 
broke the long silence of the previous week. Jedidiah was on the porch of his 
adobe cabin, nursing a cup of whiskey-laced coffee, when the young man rose from 
the spot where he kept his mountain vigil. With a purposeful stride, he 
approached the man who had saved his life.
“It is time. Tomorrow we go."
Jedidiah sighed resignedly. “To Mexico after Gato?"
He Brings Peace looked to the mountains. “No. We go to my grandfather first. 
There are things I must say to him.” He pinned Jedidiah with a look that brooked 
no disagreement. “Things you must hear as well."
The frontiersman could have argued that there was no reason for him to see Blue 
Bear. He could have explained his concern about Morning Star. But Gato's trail 
was already so old that it would be useless to follow him in that manner, and a 
few days more wouldn't make much of a difference. If He Brings Peace needed the 
support of a friend when he confronted his grandfather, Jedidiah could do no 
less than provide it.
“I will go with you and listen,” he replied after a moment.
The young man nodded and slipped inside the cabin.
They left early the next morning, setting a slow but steady pace toward the 
mountains. Near midday they spotted the vultures. A few minutes later they came 
upon the scattered bodies of the Bannon party. From the looks of things, it had 
not been a long fight.
Knowing that Apache were extremely superstitious about being in the presence of 
the dead, Jedidiah expected He Brings Peace to skirt the battlefield, but he did 
not. He rode among the corpses until he had seen them all. The bodies had been 
stripped of their rifles and revolvers; the supply wagons had been looted and 
burned. The fires still smoldered, and smoke hung thick in the air, reminding He 
Brings Peace too much of the destruction of his own camp. Shoving back the 
images of the people he loved, he studied the tracks at the edges of the death 
camp and finally returned to his companion.
“Not a one escaped,” he informed him.
“But Gato is not here, is he?” Jedidiah asked.
The cold-eyed young brave shook his head. “No."
He wheeled his horse and left the battlefield to resume his trek to the 
mountains. For nearly an hour they followed the clear trail left by the Apache, 
who had taken the party's horses with them. As the terrain grew more rugged, the 
signs were more difficult to spot, for the Inday had separated into smaller 
groups that had splintered off one by one from the main war party.
Jedidiah wondered which group Blue Bear had ridden with, but He Brings Peace 
seemed to suffer no such confusion. When the trails diverged, he chose one 
without hesitation and continued his methodical pursuit. The boy should have 
been exhausted, but he showed no sign of it. The only clue that he had been 
wounded at all was that he kept his left arm close to his body. If the shoulder 
still hurt—as Jedidiah knew it must—he kept his pain a closely guarded secret.
They traveled steadily all day, stopping only when necessary. At dusk it became 
impossible to read the signs, but He Brings Peace continued as confidently as 
before. When the sky was completely black, his vigilance was finally rewarded. 
The golden glow of a fire in the distance told them they had found the war 
party. The victory dance was already under way.
As they approached, Jedidiah heard the chanting of the braves as they circled 
the fire acting out the deeds they had performed in battle. Their silhouettes 
were a dramatic contrast to the blazing bonfire. Bows were drawn back and rifles 
were raised. Each warrior had painted a band of white across his chest and over 
his right shoulder. A white band spotted with red crossed the left shoulder. War 
whoops split the night air, and the dancing became a frenzy of movement.
A huge group of spectators sat just outside the war circle, and beyond them 
Jedidiah caught faint glimpses of a vast number of wickiups. The entire Red 
Canyon band as well as clans of Tonto and Cibecue Apache had joined forces with 
Blue Bear's people. It was no wonder the battle that morning had been brief; the 
Bannon party had been outnumbered by more than five to one.
He Brings Peace rode steadily forward until he reached the outer rim of 
spectators. He dismounted, and Jedidiah followed suit, staying at his young 
friend's side as the boy passed through the crowd. When the glow of the fire 
illuminated him, the drums stopped, the chanting died away, and the warriors 
turned to see what had disrupted their dance.
From the other side of the fire, Blue Bear saw the face of his grandson, and his 
heart leaped with joy. He rose and waited as He Brings Peace came to him, but 
when the boy drew close, the old chief gathered him into his arms.
“You live. My grandson lives,” he whispered, unashamed of the tears that slashed 
his weathered cheeks. He drew back and looked at him. “When the medicine man 
returned from the mountains to tell me what had happened, he said that your body 
was not with the others. I buried my family and grieved for you as well, for I 
feared that Gato had taken you away to be tortured."
“Gato believed I was dead, Grandfather.” He Brings Peace touched his wounded 
shoulder and glanced at Jedidiah. “Had it not been for my good friend, he would 
have been right. He took me to his home and brought me back to life."
Blue Bear looked at the white man. “I owe you my grandson's life. All that I 
have is yours."
“Your friendship and his"—Jedidiah gestured to He Brings Peace—"are all the 
payment I need."
The old chief nodded, his eyes brimming with tears and gratitude. “Come. You 
must eat and rest.” He gestured for the victory dance to continue, then led his 
grandson and Jedidiah away from the bonfire. Gian-nah-tah and several of the 
elders accompanied them as they moved toward thenant'an's wickiup. All of the 
women in Blue Bear's clan had been killed in the massacre, but the camp of the 
medicine man's family had not been attacked, and those women were now seeing to 
Blue Bear's needs. The men settled around the cook fire outside the wickiup, and 
food was brought almost immediately.
He Brings Peace asked about his other grandfather, Tall One, and was told that 
his war party had not yet returned to camp. “Your father's mother has not taken 
the news of her son's death well,” Blue Bear told him reluctantly. “I am told 
she does not leave her wickiup."
He Brings Peace stared into the fire, his expression unchanged, but his thoughts 
raged against Gato for the lives he had destroyed. “I will go to her soon,” he 
replied. “But first there are words I must say to you, Grandfather. I rode among 
our enemies today."
Blue Bear straightened his shoulders proudly. “It was a glorious battle. The 
White Eyes had made a camp and were ready for us, but it did not matter. They 
paid the price for the Inday blood they spilled."
He Brings Peace frowned. “But it was Gato who attacked our people."
“I know this,” the chief responded. “But we could not find Gato. Rain and wind 
had destroyed his trail. The White Eyes brought Gato here to destroy us. It was 
just that they pay the price. Honor is satisfied."
“No!” He Brings Peace snarled, showing the first signs of anger that Jedidiah 
had seen from him. “Gato killed my parents and sister. He took Morning Star as a 
slave. I watched as he cut the Thunderbird necklace from my mother's body and 
placed it around his own throat.” He leaned toward his grandfather, his eyes 
burning with hatred. “When I have cut that throat and reclaimed the necklace, 
when I have found my sister and returned her to her people,then honor will be 
satisfied! No blood but his will do."
Blue Bear understood his grandson's hatred, but the boy's desire for revenge 
against Gato and Gato alone was not the Apache way. “This is your grief 
speaking, my grandson. We have taken a life for a life. That is all that 
matters. If Gato and his braves were stilltrue Chiricahuas, we would have taken 
our war party south and spilled Chiricahua blood as payment for White Mountain 
blood. But Gato istsét'a go— a renegade. His people have disowned him, and we 
cannot hold them responsible for his acts. But Bannon paid him to come here. 
Bannon told him to kill us, so Bannon's death satisfies honor. We cannot spend 
the rest of our lives chasing one man."
“I can and must!” He Brings Peace said hotly, unswayed by his grandfather's 
logic.
“It is not the Apache way!"
“It ismy way!"
“Then your heart is not Apache!"
He Brings Peace drew back as though he had been slapped. A shocked silence 
pervaded the area around the campfire, and it was a long moment before the boy 
could finally reply, “I have no heart, Grandfather. Gato has taken it, and I 
cannot be whole until I force him to return it to me."
Blue Bear regretted his angry outburst, but his grandson was not the only one 
who had suffered because of Gato. The old chief had lost his daughters, his 
grandchildren, and his beloved wife, Great Star. His own pain was no less than 
his grandson's, but he was old and had long ago learned the wisdom of the 
customs that had been handed down through generations. He could not allow He 
Brings Peace to spend his life needlessly consumed by grief and hatred. “I feel 
your pain, for it is as my own,” he said quietly. “But I am your chief, and you 
must do as I bid you. Be satisfied with the revenge we have wrought today."
“I cannot, Grandfather,” the young brave replied sadly. “A power greater than 
yours has shown me the course of my life. As I lay dying, the spirit of the 
eagle visited me."
A murmur of surprise went around the fire, but He Brings Peace continued. “I was 
taken on journeys to see things I do not yet understand. I saw wonders too great 
for my mind to comprehend. But some things I do know: It is my destiny to kill 
Gato. When he took the Thunderbird necklace, he took a part of our people with 
him. The necklace must be returned to me. But that will not happen soon. In 
order to meet my destiny I must learn the ways of the White Eyes. I must speak 
their language and live as they do."
“No! I forbid it!” Blue Bear roared, but the words were barely out of his mouth 
before Gian-nah-tah intervened.
“Hear him, my friend,” the medicine man said. “If the eagle has truly favored 
him with the gift of sight, we must listen to what he says."
“No. I have lost too much because of the White Eyes’ greed,” Blue Bear replied 
stubbornly. “I will not give them this grandson as well."
“You may have no choice,” Gian-nah-tah replied. He looked at He Brings Peace. 
“Can you not see that your grandson is no longer a child? He is a man now, old 
beyond his years. The Thunder Eagle has changed him for a reason, and it is not 
for you or for me to challenge the wisdom of the Gans."
“What he says is true, Grandfather,” the young brave interjected. “You must 
allow me to follow the path the eagle has chosen for me."
Blue Bear shook his head, but his protests were growing weaker. “You cannot live 
among the White Eyes. They despise all Apaches. They would kill you."
“All White Eyes are not alike, Grandfather.” He looked at Jedidiah and waited 
until the frontiersman's eyes met and held his own. “This man is different, and 
someday I will meet others who possess his understanding and his heart. I will 
live with Pindah Dak'é, and he will teach me all I must know of the White Eyes.” 
His gaze returned to Blue Bear's. “And from you I will continue to learn the 
ways of my people. I will stand with one foot in each world until I meet my 
destiny."
Blue Bear saw the resolve in his grandson's eyes and knew it was futile to argue 
further. Gian-nah-tah was right. The future of He Brings Peace had been ordained 
by a power Blue Bear could not oppose. With great reluctance, he nodded. “Very 
well.” He looked at Jedidiah, who was clearly startled by the young brave's 
announcement. “You have been chosen to bear a great responsibility, my friend. 
Do you accept it? Will you teach my grandson how to survive in your world?"
Jedidiah looked from the old man to He Brings Peace. His thoughts were of the 
wife and daughter he had lost and of the son his wife had been denied the 
opportunity to give him. “I can think of no greater honor,” he replied.
"Enju."Blue Bear looked at the medicine man. “My grandson needs a new name, 
worthy of the warrior he has become."
The old shaman nodded and stared into the fire for a long moment. Only the sound 
of drums and war cries from the victory dance in the distance marred the quiet 
of the night. “His name must reflect the life he will live and the power he has 
been given,” he said finally, capturing the young brave's eyes. “From this time 
on, our people will know him as He Chases the Thunder."
The newly christened brave nodded and looked at Jedidiah. “I have a good Apache 
name now, but I must have a name the White Eyes will know as well. You must 
choose it."
Honored by the request, Jedidiah thought for a moment, but this was not an easy 
task. He stared into the fire as the medicine man had, but for the life of him, 
only one name came to mind. It had always been his intention to name his first 
son after his own father; somehow it seemed fitting to use it now. “My people 
will know you by a name I respect,” he said finally. “They will call you Case 
Longstreet."
The young brave with two new names reached out, taking his grandfather's hand on 
one side and his mentor's on the other, forging his bond with both worlds.
“It is done."
Part III
The Quest
Ten
Fort Apache, April 1874
“Well done, Sergeant Brogan,” Libby Ashford said, turning in a full circle to 
survey the newly whitewashed parlor. “This place is finally beginning to look 
livable."
Teak Brogan joined her in the center of the room, scratching his head as he 
looked around. “So it does, miss. ‘Course you realize these walls won't stay 
white for too long.” He gestured toward the open windows. Crude shutters could 
keep out some of the elements, but they would never hold back the constant 
infiltration of dust that contaminated this and every other square foot of the 
military encampment. Glass-paned windows were an unknown luxury in the Arizona 
Territory, at least as far as the U.S. Army was concerned.
Libby swiped at a lock of damp hair on her forehead, creating another smudge of 
grime. “Then we shall paint it again when the need arises,” she replied, 
refusing to be daunted by his prediction. When she'd arrived at Fort Apache with 
her brother, Meade, three days ago, their apartment adjacent to the post 
hospital had been so filthy that she'd nearly burst into tears. After weeks of 
traveling in an army ambulance over almost nonexistent roads, eating meager camp 
fare, sleeping in tents, and being terrorized by tales of rattlesnakes, 
scorpions, tarantulas, and—most frightening of all—hostile Apaches, arriving to 
find uninhabitable living quarters had been the last straw.
Of the five rooms they would call their home, the kitchen had been the worst by 
far, but the parlor, dining room, and two sleeping rooms were almost as bad. 
Layer upon layer of dirt had covered rotted food and discarded bottles of 
spirits. The few pieces of furniture that the previous tenant had left behind 
were so ramshackle they were virtually unusable, and the walls of the log cabin 
structure had been black with soot and dust.
She had struggled to keep Meade from seeing the depth of her despair, but her 
brother, as always, was sensitive to Libby's every thought and feeling. They had 
been taking care of each other for so long that words were often unnecessary. 
Meade had immediately set out to find a striker who could help Libby while he 
attended to the pressing problem of whipping the hospital into shape; the new 
post surgeon had been appalled to find that the infirmary was even more of a 
pigsty than the living quarters.
When Teak Brogan, a middle-aged veteran of army life on the frontier, had 
learned that the captain was in need of a striker, he'd quickly applied for the 
position. The part-time job was an excellent way to supplement his pay, and 
though the doctor's sister had kept him busy every waking off-duty minute of the 
last two days, the sergeant didn't regret taking the job. Unlike some ladies 
he'd worked for, Miss Ashford had toiled every bit as hard as he had, and the 
striker had quickly come to admire her pluck. Later, when she had the quarters 
cleaned and arranged to her liking, his duties would be less demanding; cooking, 
doing household repairs, and running an occasional errand would be the sum of 
his responsibilities.
In the meantime, Teak was determined to do whatever it took to make the young 
lady comfortable. She was a sweet, charming girl who looked too fragile to 
survive the rigors of life in the Southwest. Some might have criticized the 
doctor for bringing such a delicate flower to a godforsaken place like Fort 
Apache, but Brogan was of the opinion that the West needed a woman's touch. And 
this young lady was much tougher than she looked, he had decided. She reminded 
him a great deal of his own sister, and working for the Ashfords was almost like 
having a family again. For Teak, that was worth far more than the ten dollars a 
month Captain Ashford was paying him.
“What next, miss?” he asked, collecting his bucket and brushes.
Libby smiled at his eagerness. “Sergeant, you are a jewel beyond price, and I 
can't imagine how I would manage without you. Frankly, though, I am utterly 
exhausted. Why don't we put down the rug, replace the furniture, and call it a 
day?"
Teak couldn't help but return her smile. She was just so darned pretty, even 
with smudges of dirt and whitewash on her heart-shaped face. “That suits me 
fine, miss. And after that, I'll start supper while you wash off some of that 
war paint."
“War paint?” Libby touched her face and only succeeded in spreading a glob of 
whitewash across her cheek. “Oh, my,” she muttered, heading for her bedroom. She 
returned a moment later with an oval mirror in one hand and a damp cloth in the 
other. “Sergeant, why didn't you tell me I look a perfect mess?” she asked as 
she swabbed at the dirt.
“Because the sergeant knows better than to insult my sister,” Meade Ashford said 
pleasantly as he sauntered into the room. Brogan snapped to attention and then 
quietly departed after Meade muttered, “At ease, Sergeant,” as he approached his 
sister. “My, but you do look lovely today, Libby dear,” he teased. “Have I 
arrived in time for high tea?"
He dropped a kiss on her damp, smudged forehead, and Libby glared up at the 
tall, dark-haired man whose greatest joy in life was teasing his sister. Over 
the years Libby had learned to give back as good as she got from him. “Don't 
make sport of me, you cad,” she said, trying to appear stern and failing 
miserably. “Sergeant Brogan and I have been slaving away like Hercules cleaning 
the Augean stables. Our quarters are now spotless, no thanks to you."
“My darling Libby, if you think our rooms were bad, you should have seen the 
condition of the hospital. My predecessor must have received his medical 
training in the Dark Ages. Believe me, I've had my hands full next door."
She looked at him suspiciously, noting that not a single blemish marred his 
appearance. He looked as fresh as when he'd left their quarters this morning in 
his crisp blue uniform. “If you've been cleaning as diligently as I, how is it 
that I'm covered in filth while you look as though you've just come from a 
debutante cotillion?"
Meade ducked his head guiltily. “Well, I didn't say that I did all the cleaning 
myself."
“From the looks of you, you didn't doany of the cleaning yourself."
“Not true,” he claimed. “I had to spruce up and pay an official call at 
headquarters when Major Forsythe returned a few hours ago. And speaking of 
which—you'd better do a little sprucing yourself. As soon as the major brushes 
the dust off his uniform he'll be dropping by to pay his respects."
Libby's heart tripped in alarm. “You're not serious? I look a fright.” She 
glanced down at her soiled gingham frock. “I can't receive an officer like 
this."
“Then I suggest you change. He could be here at any moment."
“Oh, my word,” she muttered. “Just look at this parlor. There's not even a place 
to sit. Sergeant Bro—"
Meade grasped his sister's shoulders and pointed her in the direction of her 
room. “I'll bring in some furniture. You go make yourself presentable."
“But the carpet! The curtains!"
“Don't worry about it. Believe me, the major isn't coming to inspect the 
barracks."
Sighing with exasperation, Libby gave up her protests and disappeared into her 
room. Meade began carting chairs in from the dining room, but he had no trouble 
hearing her through the thin walls. “I swear, Meade, our lives were ever so much 
simpler before you joined the army. The protocol of these endless courtesy calls 
alone is enough to make my head swim. Yesterday it was Colonel and Mrs. Dunlevy, 
Captains Edgemont and Robertson, and Robertson's pretty little wife, Susannah. 
And then there was that odious Major ... oh, what's his name? The one with the 
bushy muttonchops?"
“Armbruster,” Meade supplied.
“That's right.” Libby dashed water onto her face and succeeded in erasing the 
last of the whitewash, then slipped out of her dress. She continued with the 
list of callers she'd entertained in the last three days, bemoaning the 
necessity of returning all their calls in order of rank.
Meade chuckled. “After a few weeks out here, I suspect you'll be grateful for 
any diversion, Libby dear. But if it makes you feel any better, I don't believe 
Major Forsythe's visit has anything to do with courtesy. The moment he stepped 
back on post this afternoon he heard that a lovely unmarried lady had arrived in 
camp. He all but ordered me to make myself ready to accept his call. Personally 
I think he's anxious to throw his hat into the matrimonial ring."
Libby stopped what she was doing and stuck her head out the door to look at her 
brother. “Be serious."
Meade placed an oak rocking chair in front of the hearth with a thud. “I am. I 
can't tell you the number of inquiries I've had about the state of my sister's 
marriageability."
“You're teasing me again,” she accused, not sure whether she should be flattered 
or appalled.
“I'm not,” he swore, raising his right hand to supplement the oath.
A wisp of a smile played around Libby's mouth as she ducked back into her room. 
“Did you tell them I'm a twenty-two-year-old spinster who's determined to devote 
her life to caring for her bachelor brother?"
Though she spoke in jest, her words struck Meade as being too close to the 
truth, and he knew he had no one to blame but himself. Libby didn't see the 
guilt that crept onto his face, nor did she hear it in his voice, because he 
made a concerted effort to keep his tone light. “No, I told them you're a 
fiendish coquette who'd broken the heart of every eligible bachelor in the East 
and that you'd moved out here to escape the shame of a scandalous affair with a 
European count."
The absurdity of the notion made Libby laugh out loud. She had never even met a 
European count, and she'd certainly never engaged in an affair—illicit or 
otherwise—with any man. “Well, that ought to do wonders for my reputation. Once 
all the wives learn of my wicked past I'll be about as popular with them as an 
outbreak of typhoid fever."
“Oh, they'll adore you,” he assured her. “You'll give them something new to 
gossip about."
“That's what I love most about you, Meade...” She flounced out of her room, 
handed her brother a buttonhook, and turned her back so that he could fasten the 
back of the pastel blue day frock she'd changed into. “I can always count on you 
to defend my honor and keep the proud name of Ashford unbesmirched."
“I do my utmost,” he intoned seriously.
She looked around the room, clucking her tongue as he finished with her dress. 
“Really, Meade, Grandma Latham's rocker should sit by the window, not on the 
hearth."
“May we discuss the decor later, Lib?” he asked quietly, handing her the 
buttonhook. “I believe I hear the major on the porch.” A knock at that exact 
moment confirmed his assumption.
“But my hair isn't combed,” she hissed, pushing a mass of errant chestnut locks 
back over her shoulders.
“You look fine,” he whispered, heading for the door. “Now, behave yourself."
Libby gasped, but had no time to retort as Meade admitted their guest. Her first 
impression was that he was quite handsome. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties 
and had the deeply tanned face of an outdoorsman. Meade was a good two inches 
taller than his superior, but no would ever have described him as short.
While the major and the captain went through their ritual mumbo jumbo at the 
door, Libby tried to figure out what to do with the buttonhook. There was no 
convenient place to lay it, and her frock had no pockets. In the end, she 
surreptitiously passed it from her right hand to her left and hoped the folds of 
her skirt would keep it hidden.
“Major Andrew Forsythe, may I present my sister, Miss Liberty Ashford, known 
affectionately to her family and friends as Libby,” Meade said as soon as the 
saluting was out of the way.
“It's a great pleasure, Miss Ashford.” The major's pale blue eyes traveled 
discreetly up and down Libby's trim figure, but she refused to allow herself to 
wonder if he liked what he saw.
“The pleasure is mine, Major,” she said sweetly as she moved forward, her hand 
extended. Forsythe accepted her hand, brushed it lightly with his lips, and 
released it. “Won't you be seated?"
“Thank you."
She ushered him to the misplaced rocking chair—the sturdiest piece of furniture 
in the room—and chose a straight-backed chair for herself. Since there was no 
other place to sit, Meade chose to stand at his sister's side.
“I do hope you'll forgive me for calling on such short notice, Miss Ashford, but 
I was eager to add my welcome to those already tendered to you and your brother. 
In fact, I pulled rank on him to arrange this visit."
“Then you deserve what you get, sir,” Libby said with an easy smile that 
Forsythe found utterly charming. “The lady of the house is a perfect mess—and we 
won't even discuss the condition of the house itself.” A wave of her hand 
encompassed the lifeless, nearly vacant room. “But I could certainly manage to 
prepare a cup of tea for us—or coffee, if you'd prefer."
“Don't trouble yourself on my account, please, Miss Ashford. I just wanted to 
pay my respects. It isn't every day that Fort Apache is granted the pleasure of 
welcoming such a lovely lady to its ranks."
Libby had led such a sheltered life that she wasn't accustomed to blatant 
flattery, and she tended to discount it as a chivalrous but somewhat hollow 
courtesy. Still, she knew better than to challenge one of Meade's superiors. 
“Thank you, Major. Everyone has been exceedingly kind since my arrival."
“If there is anything you need, you have only to ask,” he said gallantly.
Meade laughed. “Watch yourself, Major. You don't know what you're letting 
yourself in for. My sister's list of demands might stagger you."
“Meade! How unkind,” Libby chided, though her eyes were twinkling merrily. “Just 
because I asked you to build shelves for our books and a cabinet for Mother's 
china doesn't mean I'm unreasonable."
“Certainly not, Captain,” Forsythe agreed. “Fort Apache needs more of the 
amenities of civilization. Speaking of which, I assume you will be attending the 
party that Colonel and Mrs. Dunlevy are hosting in honor of you and your brother 
tomorrow night."
“Certainly. Meade and I are looking forward to it.” She lowered her voice and 
leaned forward. “Though, confidentially, I suspect that my brother and I are 
only the excuse for the party rather than the reason for it."
The major laughed. “You're quite right. We use any excuse at all to relieve the 
boredom of post routine. But I assure you, a new surgeon and his fair sister are 
the best we've had in quite some time. And now I really should be going,” he 
said, rising. Without calling undue attention to the gesture, he placed two of 
his calling cards on the mantel and stepped toward the door. Libby and Meade 
joined him there. “I shall look forward to seeing you tomorrow night, Miss 
Ashford."
“Thank you, Major."
“Captain.” The two officers performed their parting ritual, and Libby's smile 
stayed in place until the major was gone. Then she rounded on her brother like a 
miniature virago. “Meade Ashford, you should be horsewhipped, and following 
that, you should be drawn, quartered, and hanged from the nearest yardarm."
Meade laughed and dropped a kiss on his sister's brow. “Libby dear, you're 
mixing your military metaphors."
She shook her head. “Clever alliteration will not get you back into my good 
graces. What do you mean, telling the major that I'm demanding? What must he 
think of me?"
“He thinks you're perfectly charming,” he answered, still chuckling. “Libby, 
when are you ever going to realize the effect you have on the men of our 
species? One smile and a glance from those gorgeous dark eyes are enough to turn 
even the stoutest heart into a puddle of mush."
“Oh, Meade, stop it,” she said dismissively, heading toward the kitchen to find 
Sergeant Brogan. “I've had enough teasing for one day."
“I am not teasing you, Libby,” Meade said, suddenly growing serious.
“I'm going to start supper.” she said with a wave of her hand that reminded her 
she was still holding the buttonhook Meade had stuck her with. She turned and 
slapped it into his hand. “Why don't you make yourself useful and bring in the 
carpets?"
She breezed out. Meade started to follow her, then realized it was pointless. 
His sister's concept of herself had been formed years ago by a vain, neglectful 
mother and an uncaring father.
Meade suspected that he, too, should shoulder some of the blame for Libby's low 
opinion of her own beauty, but he was damned if he knew how to rectify the 
problem. She refused to believe him, no matter how often he tried to tell her 
she had blossomed into a lovely young lady, and these last few years there had 
been precious few others around to verify his claims.
He and Libby had been taking care of each other for nearly as long as either of 
them could remember. When he thought of their mother, Meade envisioned a bitter 
woman who had taken no joy in anything, particularly her children. Their father 
was an officer of the Seventh Cavalry who had never been anything but a 
disappointment to his wife. She had passed away when Libby was eight, and their 
father had been too preoccupied with his military career to take much notice of 
two affection-starved children.
Meade and Libby had been shuffled from one relative to another, treated like 
poor relations, and made to feel that they were subsisting on charity. Then 
their father had died shortly after the war, leaving a small estate that allowed 
Meade and Libby to open their own home while Meade completed his education at 
Harvard.
Libby had attended a modest girls’ school as a day pupil, but spent most of her 
time taking care of their house and helping Meade with his studies. Throughout 
her late teen years, her only social contacts had been a few of Meade's friends 
from medical school and a distant cousin her own age with whom she corresponded.
As a result of her unusual upbringing, Libby was well educated and had been 
schooled in the social graces, but she was also headstrong and independent to a 
fault. She was a fighter and a survivor, but she had never learned the fine art 
of being a woman. Her soft heart kept her from being abrasive, but the few men 
with whom she had come in contact and who had expressed any romantic interest 
generally found her too outspoken and stubborn for their masculine 
sensibilities.
When Meade decided to put his medical training to use in the army, Libby went to 
live with their cousin, but she wasn't happy. The cousin's life consisted of a 
seemingly endless round of parties, social calls, and soirees. Libby was out of 
her depth and utterly miserable. To make herself useful, she took a position as 
a governess, but her cousin's family was appalled that one of their relatives 
had joined the ranks of the working class.
Though she did her best to keep him from seeing how unhappy she was, Meade knew 
Libby too well to be fooled. He was posted in Washington when he finally sent 
for her. He had missed Libby as much as she had missed him, and it had seemed 
right that they be together no matter what the circumstances.
Libby barely had a chance to become accustomed to life in the military when 
Meade was assigned the position of post surgeon at Fort Apache. The journey had 
been anything but easy, but Libby made the best of every situation they 
encountered. After living such a cloistered existence, she seemed to look upon 
the experience as a great adventure. Meade worried incessantly about bringing 
her to such a dangerous place, but she laughed at the notion that her life might 
be in peril.
And she was also determined to scoff at the idea that men found her attractive. 
But surely, Meade thought, in this isolated outpost where women were such a 
rarity, his sister would finally come to realize her own value. She had so much 
to give, and Meade couldn't bear the thought of her wasting her life taking care 
of him. For her sake, he wanted her to fall in love and marry a man who would 
treasure her intellect and her spirit as much as or more than her beauty.
Whenever he teased Libby about finding just such a husband, she usually turned 
the tables and promised to get married as soon as he took a wife. For some 
reason, though, Meade found the idea of marriage for himself unpalatable. He 
enjoyed the company of women immensely, but he had yet to see a marriage that 
was worth the inevitable complications it would bring to his life. Meade 
believed he was fated to live as a bachelor, but while he had no regrets about 
his own unmarried state, he couldn't bear the thought of Libby living a similar 
life. As long as they were together, they would never be truly lonely, but Libby 
deserved far more than a brother could give her.
So he worried about her constantly, and kept a keen eye out for a suitable 
match. Major Forsythe was certainly a likely prospect, and Captain Edgemont of 
Company C had been quite taken with the lovely Miss Ashford. Both were from fine 
families and had promising careers ahead of them. And there were others as well. 
One thing was certain—there was no shortage of eligible bachelors at Fort 
Apache.
If he could just get Libby to keep an open mind, curb her tongue, and behave 
like a lady, he might find a husband for her before the year was out.
Eleven
By the following evening Libby was satisfied that she and Sergeant Brogan had 
done as much as was humanly possible to make the new post surgeon's quarters 
comfortable. With the walls painted, the furniture arranged, and all their 
trunks finally unpacked, Libby gave herself over to preparing for the party that 
was being held in honor of her and Meade.
Dressing was more of a chore than she would have liked. Two days out on the 
trail from Santa Fe to Fort Apache, Libby had decided bustles and corsets had no 
place in the desert regions of the Southwest. Fortunately her wardrobe contained 
very few fashionable gowns that demanded such accoutrements. Her shirtwaists, 
aproned skirts, and simple day frocks had suited the journey admirably, and 
nothing she had encountered thus far at Fort Apache had required she dress more 
formally.
Tonight was different, though. It was important to Meade's career that he make a 
good impression, and his superiors’ judgments would be affected by their opinion 
of the surgeon's sister. For Meade's sake, then, she spent nearly an hour 
combing, crimping, and styling her long chestnut hair into a fashionable 
arrangement of thick braids and curls with a fringe of baby-fine swirls that 
feathered onto her forehead. Then, with considerable reluctance, she donned a 
crinoline bustle and chose one of her best gowns, a full-skirted concoction of 
pale blue foulard with a form-fitting basque trimmed in navy gros grain. After 
weeks of enjoying relative freedom and comfort, Libby felt as though she were 
wearing a straightjacket.
Meade's lavish praise made her efforts worth the nuisance, though. He looked 
impossibly handsome in his dress blues, and when Libby took his arm to be 
escorted down the quadrangle to the home of the post commander, she actually 
felt almost as lovely as he claimed she was. Not even his hushed admonition as 
they knocked on the door—"Now, behave yourself, Libby"—daunted her.
She and Meade were greeted like visiting royalty, and Libby found it remarkably 
easy to relax in the comfortable, attractive quarters of Colonel Grisholm 
Dunlevy and his wife, Elaine. A veteran of numerous campaigns at her husband's 
side, Elaine Dunlevy had long ago learned that surrounding herself with 
heirlooms and a few of the niceties of civilization was the only way to make 
life on the frontier bearable.
Thanks to the officers’ courtesy calls, which she had yet to begin repaying, 
Libby had already met everyone in attendance, including the famed Indian 
fighter, General George Crook, who was making his headquarters at Fort Apache. 
The general fascinated Libby, mostly because he looked so little like her image 
of him. He was not a tall man, nor did he cut a commanding figure, and he seemed 
shy almost to the point of reticence in the presence of ladies. Yet he was the 
only man in the last few centuries of recorded conflict—Mexican and American—who 
had managed to bring the Apache Indians under even partial control.
Libby had done a considerable amount of reading on the problem of dealing with 
America's aborigines, and she was eager to hear Crook's thoughts on the subject. 
But throughout Mrs. Dunlevy's excellent dinner Libby's time was so monopolized 
by the other ladies that speaking to the general was out of the question. The 
hostess was anxious to hear the latest gossip from Washington, and Mrs. 
Crenshaw, a woman of astonishing beauty whose husband was currently out on 
scout, eagerly questioned Libby about the latest fashions.
Both women covered their disappointment admirably when they learned that Libby 
could provide them with very little information of the type they were seeking. 
Libby found she had far more in common with Susannah Robertson, who was much 
closer to her own age and was more concerned with the realities of daily living 
on the frontier than with frivolous topics such as fashion. Susannah was in the 
final stages of her first pregnancy, and Libby felt a great deal of sympathy for 
her discomfort—both physical and emotional. Her husband was the captain of 
Cavalry Company B and, as such, might be called upon at any moment to place 
himself and his troops in grave danger.
As she patiently listened to Susannah's stories of her husband's harrowing 
experiences against the Indians, Libby said a prayer of thanks that Meade was 
not attached to any of the regiments. As post surgeon, his duties would be 
confined primarily to the hospital, so there would be little dangerous 
campaigning of the sort Captain Robertson faced.
Major Forsythe, seated across the table from Libby, disengaged himself from a 
conversation with Susannah's husband and directed his attention to Libby. “Tell 
me, Miss Ashford, what did you think of the journey from Santa Fe?"
For some reason all other conversations ground to a halt and all eyes focused on 
Libby, as though her answer was of great import. She suddenly found herself 
feeling quite self-conscious. “It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced—or 
even imagined, Major. We live in a truly remarkable country."
“I understand you had quite a scare in the area of Apache Pass,” Captain 
Edgemont commented, giving Libby what she interpreted as a rather condescending 
smile.
“Unnerving reports of Apaches on the warpath followed us throughout the 
journey,” she replied politely. “To my knowledge, though, the only ‘scare’ we 
had came in the form of a few smoke signals that were spotted from time to time. 
I believe there was some concern that they might be massing for an attack, but 
none materialized, thank heavens."
“You traveled with the Eighth Infantry, didn't you?” Major Forsythe asked, 
tactfully changing the subject so as not to alarm the ladies with talk of 
Indians on the warpath.
Libby recognized his ploy and was somewhat irritated by it. Did he really think 
that the women assembled wanted to remain blissfully ignorant of any danger to 
themselves and their families? Rather than make an issue of it, though, she 
allowed the topic to drop. “Yes. They provided us with excellent escort. I don't 
think we could have been in better hands,” she replied, then realized to whom 
she was speaking. “Unless, of course, we'd been traveling with the Fifth 
Cavalry,” she added quickly.
At the other end of the table, General Crook laughed, startling everyone. 
“Bravo, Miss Ashford. You have the makings of a true diplomat."
The others joined in his laughter, and Libby's cheeks flamed. “Thank you, sir. I 
am trying my best to learn military protocol."
“It appears you're doing a fine job,” Crook complimented her.
“It's kind of you to say so, sir.” Libby glanced at Meade and found him beaming 
at her. Having impressed the general, she supposed she should leave well enough 
alone, but there were too many questions she wanted to ask. “General, I noticed 
this afternoon that a number of Indians have begun congregating several hundred 
yards from the fort."
Crook nodded. “Quite right. Tomorrow is rations day. The Apaches come to the 
fort twice a week to be counted and to receive provisions from the commissary 
officer."
This wasn't news to Libby, but it provided her with the opening she'd been 
looking for. “Isn't that demoralizing to them? Being forced at gunpoint to 
accept charity, having their autonomy completely usurped, and being treated like 
recalcitrant children—"
Mrs. Dunlevy gasped. “Recalcitrant children? My dear Libby, you are speaking of 
the most bloodthirsty race of Indians in the Americas! Left to their own 
devices, those savages would kill us all without a second thought!"
“Is it any wonder? This is their country, after all,” Libby replied equitably.
Colonel Dunlevy frowned at her. “Miss Ashford, we are sitting on the soil of the 
United States of America. This area was ceded to us by the Mexican government in 
the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo twenty-six years ago."
There was nothing Libby loved more than a lively debate, and her eyes sparkled 
as she leaned forward. “Yes, but who ever said it was theirs to cede? The 
Apaches were here long before even the Spanish conquistadores. What gave Spain 
the right to say, ‘This land is ours'?"
“The right of conquest,” the colonel replied.
“Ah, but the Apaches were never conquered. If they had been, there'd be no need 
for military intervention now."
Meade cleared his throat and tried to nudge his sister's shins under the table, 
but he succeeded only in rustling her skirts and petticoats. Before he could 
take a more definitive action, Captain Edgemont had stepped into the fray.
“Surely, Miss Ashford, you're not suggesting we abandon this territory 
altogether and leave its settlers to the mercy of the Apaches."
His condescending tone was beginning to irritate Libby. “Not necessarily. But 
this is a vast country—millions of square miles, so I'm told. Surely there is 
some better way of dealing with the natives than stripping them of their pride 
and independence. They are human beings, after all."
“They most certainly are not!” Edgemont responded hotly. “If you'd ever seen the 
depredations these savages are capable of, you'd know what I mean."
“I understand your point, Captain,” Libby said in a placating tone, realizing 
she'd opened a can of worms that were about to wiggle out of control. She still 
wasn't ready to give up, though. This was the most fun she'd had since Meade's 
college days when his friends had descended on their home and Libby had inserted 
herself into their lively conversations.
Keeping her smile friendly, she spread her hands in a gesture that included 
everyone at the table. “But I ask you, is there any gentleman here who would not 
resort to savagery if he had no other recourse in defending his home and family 
from an invasion of the sort we have perpetrated on the native Americans?"
“Indians are not Americans, Miss Ashford,” the colonel said sternly.
Libby shrugged. “This is America, sir, and whether we like it or not, the 
Indians are here. What else should we call them?"
Mrs. Dunlevy started to reply and steer the conversation into a more appropriate 
direction, but when Crook cleared his throat, the colonel's wife sat back and 
allowed the commander to have his say. Secretly she hoped the general would put 
Miss Ashford in her place, but the general seemed more amused than irked by the 
Dunlevys’ outspoken quest.
“Your sentiment is noble, Miss Ashford, and admirably humanitarian. But it might 
interest you to know that the Apaches and other Indians I've encountered would 
be quite offended to hear you call them Americans. All the tribes—Sioux, Pawnee, 
Apache—consider themselves independent nations."
Libby smiled at the general graciously. At last someone was addressing her as 
though she had a mind capable of comprehending complex issues. “Which makes 
negotiating with them virtually impossible, I suppose."
Crook nodded. “Exactly. They've been fighting among themselves for centuries. 
Why, the Apaches alone are divided into at least a dozen tribes that have rarely 
lived in peace with one another. Our culture is so vastly different from theirs 
that it would be sheer folly to believe we will be able to live in harmony with 
them until we prove our superiority."
“But, General, is there really no alternative to destroying their way of life so 
completely?"
“None that I have found, Miss Ashford,” he said with genuine regret. “In 
bringing the Apaches under control on this and several other reservations, I 
have done my best to institute programs that would allow them to support 
themselves.” He frowned, but his displeasure was not directed at Libby. 
“Unfortunately there are circumstances that are simply beyond my control."
“You're referring to the government's failure to arrive at a uniform Indian 
policy,” she guessed, earning a look of amazement from Crook and some of the 
others.
“You're surprisingly well informed, Miss Ashford,” the general replied.
“I read, sir,” she said simply. “And I must confess that I find the workings of 
our government fascinating. Though I fear it will not happen in my lifetime, I 
look forward to the day when women are allowed to have a say in their own 
destiny."
Meade and Colonel Dunlevy both cleared their throats loudly. Everyone shifted 
uncomfortably, and Libby realized she had gone too far—muchtoo far, if the 
expressions on the faces around her were any indication. She was not at all 
surprised when the hostess painted on a strained smile and edged her chair away 
from the table. “Gentlemen, the colonel has some excellent port, and I know how 
you all love your cigars ... If you'll excuse us, your ladies shall adjourn to 
the parlor and leave you to your diversions."
The officers rose as one, and as Meade helped Libby with her chair she couldn't 
help noting that no one was looking in her direction. She gave her brother an 
apologetic half smile, and Meade replied with a resigned sigh and a little shake 
of his head. She moved obediently toward the parlor door and in so doing passed 
by General Crook. She avoided looking at him and was astonished when he 
addressed her.
“Miss Ashford...” Libby stopped and somewhat reluctantly turned to face him. 
“Thank you for a most lively debate. I hope we'll have a chance to continue our 
conversation in the near future. One of the few liabilities of being a general 
is that it's difficult to scare up a good argument."
Despite the strain in the room, everyone chuckled, and Libby made a small curtsy 
to the general and gave him a smile that contained equal amounts of respect and 
gratitude. She knew better than anyone that the general had just saved her from 
being a social pariah. “That would be both a pleasure and an honor, sir."
She turned and resumed her trek to the parlor, but before she and the other 
ladies were completely out of earshot they heard the general say quite clearly, 
“Captain Ashford, your sister is a remarkable young lady. I hope you appreciate 
her candor and intellect."
Meade's answer was lost as Mrs. Dunlevy closed the door, and Libby breathed a 
sigh of relief. As she took a seat on the divan beside her hostess, though, she 
realized her relief was premature. Crook had let her off the hook with the 
officers, but their wives were another matter altogether. They seated themselves 
while Mrs. Dunlevy served coffee, but there wasn't a hint of merriment in the 
room. Libby realized that nothing but an apology was going to put her back in 
the good graces of the officers’ wives.
“Mrs. Dunlevy,” she said, leaning forward earnestly when her hostess handed her 
a cup and saucer, “if I misspoke myself earlier, I do apologize. It's only that 
I was eager to hear General Crook and the other officers expound on the 
controversies I've been reading so much about in the eastern newspapers."
“Think nothing of it, my dear,” Mrs. Dunlevy replied graciously but without 
warmth. “Obviously General Crook was not offended."
“But I certainly never meant to offend you"—she looked at the others—"or any of 
you. Meade is forever telling me I'm much too outspoken for my own good, and 
obviously he's right."
“You'll learn, Libby dear. You'll learn,” the hostess predicted.
“Indeed you will,” Mrs. Crenshaw said frostily. “The first time you watch your 
brother go off on a campaign, knowing you might never see him alive again, 
you'll learn. When you see a slain soldier for the first time and start 
imagining the hideous tortures that might lie in store for someone you love, 
you'll learn, I guarantee it. And I'll be anxious to hear you sympathize with 
those heathens then!"
“Caroline, please,” Susannah Robertson said gently, learning over to pat her 
hand. “Libby is new to the life we've chosen."
Caroline Crenshaw drew herself up, and Libby realized that she was about to cry. 
“Speak for yourself, Susannah. I never chose this life; my husband did.” She 
stood abruptly. “Excuse me, Elaine, I'd like a moment to freshen up."
Mrs. Dunlevy rose as well. “Of course, dear. Let me show you to my room."
Cursing her foolish tongue, Libby watched them go, wondering if she could have 
made matters worse had she been trying.
“Don't look so forlorn, Libby,” Susannah said with a wry, sympathetic smile. 
“Caroline is a bit too high strung for cavalry life, and she has a few concerns 
right now that you probably aren't aware of."
“Concerns?” Libby asked, grateful that she hadn't alienated everyone.
Susannah nodded and kept her voice low. “Major Crenshaw is currently in the 
field with Company C in search of some hostiles who fled the reservation last 
month. We've had no word from them for several days now, and Caroline is 
understandably worried."
Libby shook her head at her own folly. “Why is it that I always speak without 
thinking?” she said to no one in particular.
Susannah grinned conspiratorially. “Frankly, I found your conversation most 
refreshing. I'm sick to death of parlor talk."
Libby managed a smile. “You're only saying that to make me feel better, but I do 
appreciate it. Truly I do."
“Don't be silly. It was a real delight to finally hear General Crook speak out. 
I've rarely heard him utter more than a word or two at a time. And when you 
mentioned women in government!” Her eyes grew bright with laughter. “I thought 
Colonel Dunlevy was going to have a fit of apoplexy."
Libby thought back to the moment and couldn't repress a giggle. “He did turn an 
uncommon shade of red, didn't he?"
Susannah nodded and covered her mouth to control her mirth as the colonel's wife 
returned. Libby sobered more quickly. “Is Mrs. Crenshaw all right?” she asked 
with genuine concern.
“She'll be fine,” Mrs. Dunlevy replied.
“I can't tell you how sorry I am for the upset I've caused. As you said, I have 
a great deal to learn about the realities of life here."
Her sincerity touched the army wife. “There's been no real harm done, Libby."
She shook her head. “I hope not. It's just that until this past month, the 
Indian question has been nothing more than a fascinating abstraction to me, 
while to you ladies it's quite literally a matter of life and death. I should 
have known better than to spout off as I did."
Mrs. Dunlevy reassured her once again, and the discussion was dropped when the 
officers joined them. Mrs. Crenshaw returned looking much more composed, and the 
conversation was kept to the superficial. Only once did it threaten to turn 
controversial, when Major Forsythe offered to take Libby on a turn around the 
parade grounds the next day so that she could get a closer look at the Apaches 
who would come into the encampment to collect their rations. Libby was delighted 
to accept his invitation, and Meade, who was standing casually to one side of 
his sister's chair, was plainly stunned that the major didn't seem put off by 
Libby's earlier antics. Taking that as an excellent omen, he was only too happy 
to give his consent when Forsythe looked to him for permission to escort his 
sister.
No further mention was made of the Apaches, and it seemed that the party was 
about to come to a conclusion when there was a knock at the door. Colonel 
Dunlevy gestured to his adjutant, Lieutenant Wexler, and the young officer 
sprang to answer it.
Mrs. Dunlevy attempted to keep the conversation going through the interruption, 
but Libby's concentration fled the moment the door opened and a tall, 
rugged-looking Apache stepped onto the threshold. Indeed the visitor's 
unexpected arrival captured everyone's attention, and the room grew deathly 
silent.
Behind the Apache in the doorway, the porch lamps illuminated two more Indians, 
one carrying a bag of some sort, but Libby found her gaze riveted on the 
apparent leader. He was at least six feet tall, with a lean build and broad 
shoulders that bespoke considerable strength. His coal black hair had been 
bluntly cut on a level with his wide, square jaw, and was held in place by a red 
bandanna. His eyes were deep set, and even from a distance Libby could see that 
they burned with an inner fire. Though he made no threatening gestures, there 
was a fierceness about him that Libby found both terrifying and thrilling.
He was dressed in a conglomeration of clothing that was, to say the least, 
confusing; knee-high moccasins and fringed buckskin trousers, over which he wore 
an odd sort of apron that draped in front and back, contrasted sharply with the 
army-issue blue shirt.
It took only a moment for her to realize that this had to be one of General 
Crook's Apache scouts she'd heard about on the trip from Santa Fe.
The scout said a few quiet words to Lieutenant Wexler, but before the adjutant 
could relay the message, Crook was already on his feet, headed for the door with 
the post commander and Major Forsythe right behind him. Libby watched, 
fascinated by the drama unfolding before her and, even more, by the scout. He 
reached for the bag being held by one of the others and handed it to the 
general. Colonel Dunlevy looked nervously over his shoulder at the ladies, and 
Crook made a gesture that Libby took to mean they should all step outside.
Crook turned to his hostess and begged to be excused for a moment, and then the 
officers filed out. The general preceded the colonel, who preceded the major, 
until finally only the Apache was left at the door.
“Please forgive the interruption, Mrs. Dunlevy,” he said with a slight 
inclination of his head in her direction. His voice was so deep and his English 
so precise that Libby was startled.
“I understand completely,” Mrs. Dunlevy replied.
“Ladies...” He included them all in his apology with a cursory glance that swept 
the room, but when his eyes fell on Libby, he seemed to freeze. His black eyes 
captured hers with an intensity that stilled Libby's breathing, and she had the 
oddest feeling that the scout wasn't seeing her for the first time. For an 
instant she felt an immutable connection with the Apache, something as tangible 
as a touch ... and then the connection was broken. He seemed to remember where 
he was and, without another word, slipped out of the room.
It took Libby a moment to collect her scattered senses. She barely heard Mrs. 
Dunlevy remark on the scout's odd behavior.
“Who was that?” Libby asked, trying to sound casual.
“Case Longstreet,” Captain Robertson answered. “He's one of General Crook's 
chief Apache scouts."
Libby mulled over the information. It didn't surprise her that he was a leader; 
he looked like a man who would find it difficult to bow to any authority. “Case 
Longstreet.” She frowned. “Is that an Apache name?"
“Not from what I've been able to gather,” Mrs. Dunlevy replied. “He seems to 
have some nebulous connection with Jedidiah Longstreet, a rancher in these parts 
who sometimes supplies cattle to the quartermaster."
“He's a—what's the term?—a half-breed?"
“Oh, no, he's a full-blooded Apache. Make no mistake of that. He's had the 
training of an Apache warrior. I know very little more about him than that, 
actually. He's something of an enigma."
“How so?” Libby asked.
Mrs. Dunlevy shrugged vaguely. “Well, for one thing he speaks impeccable 
English, as I'm sure you noticed. Grisholm says he also speaks Spanish and a 
number of different Apache dialects, and I've heard rumors that he reads English 
as well as he speaks it. That alone makes him uncommon."
For some foolish reason, Libby's heart was racing. “This is fascinating. Tell me 
more."
“Please don't,” Caroline said disdainfully. “I've had about as much Indian 
discussion as I can handle tonight. I'd rather not spend the remainder of the 
evening talking about that pretentious heathen. No matter how many languages he 
speaks, he's still a filthy savage."
Libby was shocked by the woman's narrow-minded attitude, but before she even had 
the opportunity to curb her tongue, Meade placed his hand on her shoulder to 
silence her. It was everything Libby could do to keep from telling him she 
wasn't about to make another scene, no matter what the provocation.
A moment later the officers returned, making no attempt to explain the incident 
that had precipitated their absence. Libby was bursting to ask about the 
contents of the mysterious sack the scout had delivered, but she knew better 
than to inquire. She sat passively for the remainder of the evening, barely 
taking notice of the conversations around her. She nodded politely when it 
seemed appropriate and laughed delicately when everyone else laughed at 
something that had been said. Her mind, though, was completely preoccupied with 
the enigmatic Case Longstreet. She found it impossible to erase the image of his 
dark, captivating eyes and the way he'd studied her so intently. She 
contemplated the meager bits of information she'd gleaned about him, and 
speculated on how it would be possible to obtain more. Not once did she stop to 
question her motives.
Longstreet was a fascinating paradox, and next to a lively debate, there was 
nothing Libby Ashford loved more than solving a good puzzle.
Twelve
Naked except for a breechclout, Case crouched by the fire, waiting for the 
stones at its perimeter to heat. Behind him stood his sweat lodge; to his left, 
his wickiup; in front of him, barely visible in the darkness, was Fort Apache, a 
hundred yards from his camp at the base of the hill. The distance between Case 
and the inhabitants of the fort was so wide, though, that it might as well have 
been a hundred miles.
With a stick he poked at the rocks, edging them closer to the fire. Time had 
taught him patience, but tonight he was eager to finish the preparations for the 
sweat lodge. The assignment he had just completed for Crook had left him feeling 
unclean. He needed purification. He needed to soak the stench of death from his 
body. Only sweat and prayers would accomplish that.
He carried the rocks into the lodge using a forked stick, lowered the blanket 
flap, dropped twigs of sage on the stones, and sprinkled them with water. Steam 
filled the tiny enclosure, and Case sang the prayer to prevent the ghost 
sickness. When he had finished and sweat was pouring off his body, he sang 
another song, this one to his spirit, the Thunder Eagle.
As he sang, he clutched the medallion that hung around his neck from a rawhide 
thong. This necklace had no silver beads or nuggets of turquoise; no eagle 
feathers were suspended from its base. It was only a disk made of bone, carved 
with the image of the Thunder Eagle. The day when he would replace it with the 
necklace that had been stolen from his mother would soon be at hand. Gato was 
close: Case's quest was almost at an end. Eleven years ago the eagle had taken 
him on a spirit journey, laying scenes from his life before him, and one by one 
those visions had become reality. The unknown faces in his dream were of people 
he now knew. The places he had visited with the eagle, he had later seen with 
his own eyes. Over the years, Jedidiah had shown him many wonders of the white 
man's world, even taking him to cities in the East, but everything Case had seen 
there had earlier been revealed to him in his spirit journey.
And now one more vision had become a reality. Before he left on his last 
assignment, Case had heard that a new post surgeon was en route to Fort Apache 
and that he was bringing his sister with him. Their name was Ashford. If Case 
had been informed correctly, the woman he had seen tonight was the sister of the 
new doctor.
She was also the gentle-eyed creature in his dream who had tried so hard to 
erase his torment. The vision of her face had stayed with him through all these 
years, hovering on the edge of his consciousness. He held the image of her above 
all the others, because throughout the torturous spirit journey, she had been 
the only ray of hope, the only vestige of peace and contentment in an otherwise 
horrifying nightmare. In quiet moments of despair and confusion, Case had 
sometimes called to her, and she had comforted him.
Even now, in the sweat lodge, she seemed to be calling to him. Case tried to 
ignore her voice, but she had been a part of him for so many years that it was 
impossible to turn away from her. He told himself that she was only one more 
omen that had been fulfilled, bringing him one step closer to Gato ... to 
revenge.
Over the years he had been close to Gato many times. For months after the 
massacre, Case and Jedidiah had searched Mexico for some clue to the fate that 
had befallen their beloved Morning Star. They had found no trace. The little 
girl seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. In his heart Case 
believed she was alive, but with every year that passed, his hope of finding her 
grew weaker. She was a young maiden now. The memories of her former life had 
surely dimmed. Wherever she was, Case prayed that her life was happy, but he 
knew that was unlikely.
The thought of the physical and emotional tortures Morning Star must have 
suffered was one of the things that kept his hatred for Gato burning so 
intensely. Like Case, Jedidiah had been bent on killing the renegade, but the 
frontiersman had become frustrated at not being able to find him, at chasing him 
but always being one step behind.
Case had felt no such disappointment; he had known it was not time. Only when 
all of his visions had come true would he have his revenge on Gato. In the 
meantime he had been content with letting the Chiricahua renegade know that he 
was being pursued, that someone was waiting for him patiently, biding his time, 
gathering power until the moment of retribution was at hand.
In the world of the Apache, everything had a power all its own, and with the 
help of his grandfather, Case had learned how to use those powers. But the white 
man had powers as well—many kinds that went far beyond the capabilities of their 
rifles, cannons, and seemingly endless supply of ammunition. There was a kind of 
power that could be gained from association with a man of influence who 
controlled the fate of many.
General Crook was just such a man. When he had announced his desire to enlist 
Apache scouts in his effort to bring all the southwestern tribes under control, 
he had met with the White Mountain Apaches under a flag of truce and persuaded 
many of them to help him. When Crook learned about Case Longstreet, he had 
sought him out personally and in so doing had turned another of Case's visions 
into a reality. Case had found much to respect in the general and had agreed to 
help him bring peace to Apacheria. His knowledge of languages, his country, and 
his people had made him invaluable to the general. With the help of the Apache 
scouts Case led, Crook had come closer to achieving peace than any military man 
before him.
Case knew that a few men at Fort Apache would never look at him as anything 
other than a savage, but in the field, when their lives were in peril, they 
respected Case Longstreet. More important, General Crook respected him, and that 
gave Case tremendous power.
In the end, when it came time to meet Gato, Case knew that this power above all 
others would help him meet his destiny and prevail. He had lived for no other 
reason. He had studied long and hard to master the white man's difficult 
language. He had learned their manners and customs. He had learned to read their 
stories. He had visited their cities and had suffered insults and even an 
occasional whipping, all in the name of revenge. Gato would be his, and soon.
The knowledge of this should have made Case stronger, for the hatred in his 
heart still burned as brightly as it had on the day of his parents’ death. Yet 
the strength he sought in the sweat lodge would not seem to come. The vision of 
the woman danced before him, replacing resolve with confusion.
For eleven years he had known he would meet her someday. When he thought of her, 
it was ashis woman. It had seemed a harmless enough illusion then. But Case was 
no fool.His woman was white, and nowhere in his travels had he found a place 
where an Apache could claim a white woman as his own.
This white woman, with her wide, soft eyes and cream-colored skin, had some 
place in the grand design of his revenge against Gato; of that Case was certain. 
But she had never been meant to be his woman. He had no choice but to accept 
that now and let go of his foolish fantasy.
He stayed in the sweat bath for an hour or more, praying for the purification of 
his body and mind. He prayed for the completion of his quest. He prayed for the 
eagle to take back the vision of the woman named Ashford...
If not for his sake, then for hers.
Shortly before ten the next morning, Libby stepped out of her quarters and 
surveyed the spectacle on the parade ground. At the east end of the quadrangle 
near the stables, four stakes had been driven into the ground, and hundreds of 
Indians were lined up behind them. Some were sitting, some standing, and the 
lines stretched almost the complete length of the enormous parade ground. There 
had to be a thousand, at least, she decided, and possibly even more than that. 
One thing was certain—there were more than twice as many Apaches as soldiers in 
the fort today.
Common logic told Libby that being in such close proximity to so many “wild” 
Indians should imbue her with at least a modicum of fear, and yet she could 
muster none at all. She felt instead an overwhelming fascination laced with 
sadness. These were a conquered people; yet in every face she studied, she saw a 
flicker of pride or, just as often, a trace of humiliation.
Libby was eager to walk among them, but more than that, she wanted to talk to 
them, ask them about their lives, so that she could better understand what they 
were thinking and feeling. Conversation would be unlikely, though, if Mrs. 
Dunlevy's remarks last night were any indication; apparently Case Longstreet was 
one of the few English-speaking Apaches in the area.
Libby's thoughts drifted back to her strange encounter with the scout. Her 
desire to know more about him had not abated, but her only source of information 
since the dinner party had been Sergeant Brogan. As he assisted her in preparing 
breakfast, Libby had questioned the striker about the scout, but Brogan had 
muttered something about “that damned uppity Injun,” and Libby had let the 
subject drop.
She hoped to have better luck questioning Major Forsythe if she could find a 
casual way of broaching the subject when he called for her. The major was to 
have met her at ten, though, and as Libby surveyed the parade ground she saw no 
sign of him. She glanced at command headquarters on the northwest end of the 
quadrangle, then at post HQ opposite it on the southwest end. She saw a number 
of officers coming and going, and even caught a glimpse of the insufferable 
Captain Edgemont as he entered Crook's command station, but no Major Forsythe.
She was about to return her attention to the Apaches when something new caught 
her eye. At the entrance to the fort, which was situated between the 
headquarters buildings, two tall posts topped with odd-looking ornaments had 
been erected, flanking the entrance. She was certain they hadn't been there the 
day before, and Libby's curiosity got the better of her. Since there were no 
restrictions against her wandering around the post unescorted, she slipped on 
her wide-brimmed shepherdess hat, affixed it with pins, and took off past the 
row of officers’ quarters that stood between the hospital and post headquarters.
Soldiers touched the brims of their hats in an informal salute to her, and Libby 
was aware that she had attracted the attention of some of the Apaches across the 
compound, but no one accosted her as she made her way toward the nearer post. 
When she finally drew close enough to have a better view of the “ornament,” 
though, her steps faltered. A hideous, sinking feeling overcame her. It was...
No. Common sense—nay, common decency—told her she couldn't be seeing what she 
was seeing. It simply wasn't possible ... And yet every step closer seemed to 
confirm her suspicion, until she was less than a dozen feet away and there was 
no denying that the bauble adorning the post was a human head.
A ragged mane of black hair, encrusted with blood, streamed down the wooden 
pylon. The features were hideously contorted and unmistakably Apache.
Sickened, Libby brought one hand to her mouth as she whirled away. The world 
tilted crazily, and she closed her eyes, fighting back a wave of nausea. When 
she opened her eyes again, a man was standing in front of her, his broad chest 
obscuring her view. The unexpected presence of someone so close startled her, 
but the moment of fear passed and her shock mingled with anger when she realized 
that the man was the Apache scout, Case Longstreet.
She stepped back, her breath still coming in short pants. With a flash of 
appalling insight, she remembered the mysterious coffee sack the Apache had 
delivered to the colonel's house last night. Now she knew what it had contained.
“Are you all right?” Case asked, concerned by her pallor. He'd been leaving 
Colonel Dunlevy's office when he noticed her passing by. He had hesitated a 
moment, fighting the impulse to call out to her, resisting the need to hear her 
voice. There was no reason for an Apache scout to speak to any of the ladies on 
the post, though. He had started to turn away, until he realized where she was 
headed. He jumped off the porch to intercept her, telling himself that he would 
have tried to spare any of the ladies the shock Miss Ashford had coming, but he 
was too late.
She saw the bloody dismembered head of Alchinay. She whirled on unsteady legs, 
and Case fought the urge to steady her. When she opened her eyes and looked at 
him, his heart sank. The wide-eyed look of curiosity she'd worn last night was 
gone. The moment she recognized him, cold contempt seized her features.
Libby stared up at him, her image of him blurring with the image of the 
disembodied head. Her curiosity about the scout and all her humanitarian 
sentiments about the noble red man vanished in an instant.
“What is that doing there?” she demanded harshly as soon as she could find her 
voice.
Case took a step back, trying to separate himself from her contempt. His face 
became an unreadable mask. “I believe it's meant to be a warning, Miss Ashford.” 
He gestured to the docile Indians behind him. “A reminder of what can happen to 
those who choose to reject the white man's ... generosity."
The bitterness behind his words barely registered on Libby, nor did she stop to 
wonder how he had learned her name.
“It's barbaric!"
“I quite agree."
“Then take it down at once."
“I didn't put it there, and if I had the authority to remove it, I would. My 
people don't believe in displaying the dead."
“But obviously you have no trouble dismembering them!"
Case finally realized that she believed he had beheaded the chief. She was like 
all the others, condemning him as a savage without knowing who he was or what he 
believed. His eyes grew cold. “You couldn't be more wrong."
“Then why did you do it?” she retorted. “That head was in the sack you brought 
to General Crook last night, wasn't it?"
Case had never justified himself to any white man; he wouldn't start with this 
woman, no matter how much her censure wounded him. “Yes."
Libby had never been so confused in her life. Last night she had felt something 
for this handsome, enigmatic Apache. She hadn't dared label it as physical 
attraction, but it had been a soft emotion enhanced by her innate curiosity. Now 
she felt nothing but disgust. “How could you do something so vile?"
“I did what General Crook ordered me to do."
Libby's eyes widened. “I don't believe you."
“Then I suggest you ask him yourself."
“I will,” she said curtly. She whirled toward command headquarters and found 
herself looking once again at the head on the stake. A wave of nausea overcame 
her, and the ground began spinning beneath her feet. Her knees buckled, but 
before she could fall, Case's arms were supporting her.
“Longstreet! Unhand Miss Ashford at once!” Andrew Forsythe bellowed from the 
porch of post headquarters.
The order captured the attention of everyone on the parade ground, and in an 
instant a dozen officers and soldiers were bearing down on Case, with Major 
Forsythe leading the pack.
When she realized she had suddenly become a spectacle, humiliation compounded 
Libby's light-headedness, but she made every effort to stand on her own. She had 
never fainted before, and she wasn't about to start a trend at this stage of her 
life. “I'm fine,” she said to the scout, but with less conviction than she would 
have liked. “Please let me go."
Case complied and stepped back as Forsythe reached Libby's side. Though she 
seemed steady enough, the major took her hand and placed his other arm at her 
waist. “Are you all right, Miss Libby?” he asked solicitously.
“I'm fine, Major,” she assured him. “There's no need for all this fuss."
Forsythe pinned Case with a contemptuous glare. “You will wait for me in my 
office, Longstreet."
Though the major's proprietary air galled Case, he didn't let the officer see 
it. He'd spent years making sure that no white man could read the thoughts and 
feelings behind his eyes. He nodded curtly and glanced at Libby, but she refused 
to acknowledge his presence. Only when he had moved off toward command 
headquarters did she raise her eyes to follow his retreat. But he had no way of 
knowing that.
When the other soldiers who'd gathered saw that the situation was under control, 
they drifted off, leaving the major to see to the lady's welfare.
“I can't tell you how sorry I am, Miss Libby,” he said in a tone that was meant 
to soothe. “I take full responsibility for this unfortunate incident. If I had 
been on time for our appointment, this could have been avoided."
Libby was having difficulty focusing on his words. Her thoughts were still 
preoccupied with Case and the horrible brutality he had committed. “I'm sure you 
had an excellent reason for being tardy, Major. I know what a demanding position 
you hold.” His arm was still at her waist, and Libby was finding the closeness 
discomforting. Gently she eased away from him.
“Nonetheless, this never should have happened. I promise you, Longstreet will be 
severely punished for the liberties he took with you."
Libby frowned. “What liberties?"
Forsythe looked surprised by the question. “He placed his arms around you."
She sighed impatiently. “He prevented me from falling in the dirt when he 
thought I was going to faint.” She pointed toward the dismembered head, but 
didn't make the mistake of looking at it again. “If you're going to punish him 
for something,there's all the excuse you need."
Forsythe glanced at the post, and the full picture of what had happened finally 
slipped into place. “I'm terribly sorry you were subjected to such a shock, Miss 
Libby. The heads of Alchinay and Klo-sen were placed out here as a deterrent to 
other chiefs who might be tempted to take their people on the warpath. I should 
have seen to it that you were warned."
“This is barbaric,” she said again, but with considerably less force now that 
she had calmed down somewhat.
“But it is necessary,” he insisted gently. “These two chiefs were responsible 
for the death of twenty-two soldiers and civilians in the past six months. Our 
troops have been dogging them so ruthlessly that their followers wanted to 
return to the reservation, but General Crook felt they couldn't be trusted. He 
refused to allow them to return and receive rations until they sent him the 
heads of their chiefs. Which they have done."
Libby absorbed this new information. “Then what you're telling me, Major 
Forsythe, is that Case Longstreet didn't actually behead these men."
“Of course he didn't. He was merely acting as go-between on General Crook's 
orders."
“I see.” The savageness of the act still troubled Libby, but she was amazed at 
the relief she suddenly felt. No wonder Longstreet's handsome face had turned to 
stone when she accused him of committing this barbarous act. He'd only been 
following orders, and the war-weary Apaches had simply been ensuring their 
survival in the only manner open to them.
Libby was suddenly ashamed of having jumped to the wrong conclusion so easily. 
She had accused Case and judged him guilty without allowing him the opportunity 
to defend himself.
Forsythe read the expression of relief that played over her delicate face, and 
wondered why her mistaken belief that the Apache scout had committed the 
depredations had disturbed her so much. He remembered the sympathetic attitude 
toward the Indians she had voiced last night, and surmised that she was merely 
relieved because her beliefs had not been undermined.
“You're very pale, Miss Libby,” he said solicitously, and gestured toward the 
hospital. “Please allow me to escort you back to your quarters. We can postpone 
our tour of the post until another time."
Libby hated being perceived as weak, but her legs were still wobbly and her 
curiosity about the Apaches had been dampened, at least temporarily. “Thank you, 
Major. I believe I would like to return home.” She accepted his arm, and they 
started down the quadrangle. “I'm sure you have duties to perform."
“You're quite right. And I assure you that the first of those will be to see to 
the punishment of Case Longstreet."
Libby was confused. “Punishment for what?"
“The liberties he took with you,” Forsythe said as though speaking to a child. 
“That cannot be allowed to pass."
Libby stopped and withdrew her hand from the crook of his arm. “Major, I told 
you before, Mr. Longstreet did not take liberties with me. He was merely coming 
to my aid."
“Nonetheless, he should not have touched you."
Her shoulders straightened in indignation."You touched me, Major Forsythe,” she 
reminded him. “Are you going to see to your own punishment as well?"
She had a point that gave the officer a moment's pause as he tried to figure out 
a way to explain the difference to her.
“Well?” she demanded.
“It's not the same thing, Miss Ashford. However, if you feel that I took 
liberties, I will by all means apologize."
Libby's hands went to her hips and she sighed with exasperation. Was the major 
dense, or had the Arizona sun addled her own brain? “My point, Major Forsythe, 
is thatno one took liberties with me. You acted out of concern, as did Mr. 
Longstreet."
“Buthe never should have presumed to touch you."
“Because he's an Indian?"
Forsythe smiled thinly. Now he was getting somewhere. “Precisely."
“Are you suggesting that he should have allowed me to fall on my face in the 
dirt?"
The major was becoming irritated. “He should never have approached you in the 
first place."
Libby thought back to the moment she'd encountered the scout this morning. “I 
believe he saw my distress and was—"
“Then he should have called an officer for assistance,” Forsythe asserted 
forcefully.
Libby shook her head. “Obviously we're never going to agree on this. But let me 
make myself clear, Major Forsythe—I do not want Case Longstreet punished."
“Begging your pardon, miss, but that's not up to you. I cannot allow any of the 
ladies of this fort to be manhandled by an Apache, no matter who he is or how 
much faith General Crook puts in him."
Libby looked to the heavens. “Now we're up to manhandling! My God, Major, at 
this rate you'll be charging Mr. Longstreet with attempted rape before the day 
is over!"
“Miss Ashford!"
She lowered her voice, but the intensity of her speech made the officer take 
notice. “Major Forsythe, I do not want Case Longstreet punished for performing 
an act of common courtesy. Now, if you do not give me your word as an officer 
and a gentleman that you will drop this matter immediately, I will march into 
General Crook's office and explain the situation to him personally."
The determined set of her jaw told the major that she wasn't bluffing. Because 
Crook placed so much reliance on Longstreet, Forsythe knew there was an element 
of doubt regarding whose side the general would take in such a situation. Though 
he was convinced of the rightness of his decision, it really wasn't worth the 
risk. “All right, Miss Ashford. If you feel that you suffered no insult in 
being"—he started to say “accosted” and quickly switched—"assisted by an Apache, 
then I will allow the matter to pass."
Libby remembered the incident and was surprised to realize that she'd felt far 
more comfortable with Case Longstreet's arms around her than she had in a 
similar position with Major Forsythe. It didn't seem prudent to tell him that, 
though. “Thank you."
“And now...” He gestured toward her quarters, indicating that they should resume 
their stroll, but Libby stepped away from him.
“Please, Major, don't trouble yourself. I've been too much of a bother to you 
already. I'm sure I can find my way home without further incident."
He bowed lightly and touched the brim of his hat. “In that case, I'll leave you 
here.” He started to turn away, but Libby suddenly had a pang of conscience for 
the way she'd spoken to him. She held out her hand to stop him.
“Major ... One more thing."
He looked at her expectantly.
Libby was uncomfortable. She wasn't good at apologizing, but she seemed to be 
doing a lot of it since arriving at Fort Apache. “I merely wanted to tell you 
how much I appreciate your concern for me. I realize that despite our difference 
of opinion, you were acting in what you felt were my best interests. If I 
reacted too harshly, I apologize."
Andrew Forsythe regarded her with open puzzlement. One minute Miss Liberty 
Ashford was salt and vinegar, the next she was honeyed wine. She had a sharp 
tongue, but her smile was sweet enough to take the sting out of anything she 
said. Her intelligence was obvious, but her unorthodox ideas only proved that 
educating women was a dangerous thing.
He's never met a woman so full of contradictions.
“Think nothing of it, Miss Libby. You're new here, and—if you'll forgive my 
saying so—you have a lot to learn. You'll soon come to understand the realities 
of life in Arizona."
An image of Alchinay's head flashed through her mind. “I believe I had my first 
lesson today,” she said sadly.
With a nod of understanding, Forsythe touched his hat again and left. Libby 
returned to her quarters and, once she was inside, sank into her grandmother's 
rocking chair. A renewed bout of trembling seized her, and for the first time 
since she and Meade had left Washington, she truly regretted having followed her 
brother to this godforsaken wilderness.
Thirteen
“Aren't you tired of acting so brave, Susannah?” Libby asked, handing her new 
friend a cup of tepid water. The weather had turned miserably hot, and the 
pregnant cavalry wife was suffering terribly. Meade had taken a look at her, 
announced that her baby could arrive at any time, and advised complete bed rest. 
Since Susannah's husband and their striker were preoccupied with their post 
duties most of the time, Libby had started visiting several times a day to see 
to the poor woman's needs. “If I were about to have the first baby ever born at 
Fort Apache, I'd be absolutely terrified."
Susannah gave Libby one of her sweet, benevolent smiles. “I must confess that 
until you and your brother arrived last week I was worried, but having a bona 
fide physician on post rather than a rummy bone-cutter has eased my mind 
considerably.” She reached for Libby's hand, and tears formed in her eyes. “And 
you, my dear friend ... I can't imagine how I would have survived this week 
without you."
Libby patted her hand fondly, touched by her emotion. “I've enjoyed every 
moment. In case you haven't noticed, there's very little to do out here. One can 
see the guard mount only so many days in a row before it begins to lose some of 
its charm."
Susannah laughed. “You've been here ten days, Libby. You can't be bored out of 
your mind, yet. It's against army regulations."
“Well, for heaven's sake, don't tell anyone,” Libby said, her voice lowered 
conspiratorially. “I'm in enough trouble around here as it is."
“Things have been lively since your arrival,” Susannah said wryly. She studied 
her new friend speculatively. “Have you seen that scout, Longstreet, since your 
encounter last week?"
Libby's smile faded. “Not even a glimpse, and I do want so much to apologize to 
him for the misunderstanding.” She didn't add that she'd been spending far too 
much time thinking about him. She rationalized her curiosity by telling herself 
she was interested in learning more aboutall the Indians in the area of Fort 
Apache, but that was lame logic.
“And Major Forsythe?” Susannah asked.
“I've already apologized to him."
“No, I meant have you seen him again?"
“Only in passing. He manages to be polite.” She sighed wistfully. “Meade is 
furious with me for alienating him. Confidentially, I think my brother is trying 
to marry me off."
“Men!” Susannah shook her head in disbelief. “Did you tell him you're perfectly 
capable of handling that yourself?"
“Hardly, since the facts would seem to suggest otherwise. So far I haven't done 
an exceptional job of attracting even the slightest prospect."
The comment was meant to be humorous, but Susannah chose to take it seriously. 
“Does that bother you, Libby?"
“Not particularly,” she answered truthfully. “It is strange, though. Most women 
my age are at leastcontemplating marriage."
“And you never have?"
“Only in vague terms,” she confessed. “Does that mean there's something wrong 
with me?"
“Not at all,” Susannah assured her.
“I don't know...” Libby mused thoughtfully. “I guess I've always felt that there 
was something ... special in store for me."
“All girls feel that way."
“No, not like this,” Libby replied. “When I think of the future, trying to 
imagine myself in it, I don't see myself in ordinary settings."
“What do you mean by ‘ordinary'?"
Libby shrugged. “Oh, social calls and lawn parties, fussy parlors and servants 
to bring in tea at four, playing lawn tennis ... raising daughters whose deepest 
concern is what to wear to the next cotillion.” She hesitated. She'd never told 
this to anyone, not even Meade, and she was amazed that she was doing so now. 
Libby had never formed a friendship as quickly as this new one with Susannah 
Robertson, but it seemed right to confess her darkest fear.
She leaned forward intently. “Sometimes I wonder if my inability to imagine 
myself in the future is a"—she struggled to find the words—"well, a sign of some 
sort."
Susannah frowned. “A sign of what?"
Libby shrugged helplessly. “That I'm not meant to have a future."
“You mean that you'll die young?” her friend asked, clearly astonished. “Libby, 
what a horrible thing to suggest. You're going to live a long and happy life, I 
guarantee it."
“You're probably right,” Libby said with a chuckle. “I'll grow old taking care 
of my brother, or if he eventually marries, I'll play spinster auntie to his 
cotillion-clad daughters."
“Libby, you're impossible,” Susannah told her. “I predict that before the year 
is out, you'll be married to some gallant officer of the Fifth Cavalry, and that 
special life you mentioned will be an exciting jounce from one military outpost 
to another."
“You're an optimist, Susannah,” Libby accused. “But even you must admit that I'm 
not the sort of woman most men are looking for when they go to choose a wife."
“You make it sound as though men choose wives in the same manner they select 
their tailor or a fine bottle of wine.” She shook her head. “It doesn't work 
that way, Libby. Any man worth his salt marries because he's found a woman he 
can't live without."
Libby sighed. “Well, thus far in my life I've met a number of men who are more 
than happy to live without me."
“But you're too beautiful for that to last long."
“That's what Meade keeps telling me. Perhaps if I could learn to curb my tongue 
I'd discover he's right."
Susannah laughed. “You go right on being yourself, Liberty Ashford. Somewhere in 
this world is a man who will appreciate all the wonderful things you have to 
offer."
With that pronouncement they changed the subject, and Libby prepared a light 
dinner for them. Afterward she helped Susannah move from the sofa to her bed, 
then left her alone for an afternoon nap.
But as Libby returned to her own quarters, the conversation stayed with her. Her 
unmarried state didn't really bother Libby; she hadn't seen enough examples of 
truly happy marriages to make her want the institution for herself. What was 
beginning to trouble her, though, was Meade's apparent determination to find her 
a husband. It made Libby feel she was becoming a burden to her brother, and that 
was one thing she had always sworn she would never be.
Unfortunately, the idea of marrying just to please Meade was totally 
unacceptable. And even if it hadn't been, there was a marked scarcity of 
suitable prospects. In the short time she'd been there, she'd met a score of 
unmarried officers, but not one appealed to Libby. That in itself wasn't 
bothersome; what was beginning to irritate her was her—and Meade's—preoccupation 
with the subject.
Determined not to give it another thought, Libby stepped onto the porch that ran 
in front of her quarters and the hospital. What she found there made her gloomy 
thoughts vanish. Sergeant Brogan had finally found the time to build her a 
flower box. It was long and crudely constructed, but it would certainly serve 
Libby's needs. She'd brought seed packets in the hope of having at least a 
modest garden, but the moment she'd seen the barren landscape around the fort, 
she'd known a garden was impossible.
A flower box was not out of the question, though. Sergeant Brogan had been 
skeptical about the venture and had cautioned her not to get her hopes up. Libby 
felt sure he had simply been too kindhearted to tell her that her plants hadn't 
a prayer of surviving an Arizona summer. But no matter what it took, she was 
determined to have flowers.
Elated by the challenge ahead of her, she set to work immediately. The first 
step had to be moving the box from the edge of the porch where Brogan had placed 
it, but her excursion into horticulture came to a grinding halt when she 
discovered that the box was too heavy for her to move. Undaunted, she dashed 
inside and called for the sergeant, but he was nowhere to be found.
“Splendid,” she muttered, returning to the porch. Shading her eyes, she glanced 
over the parade ground, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone she knew, but luck 
was not with her.
And then she saw Case Longstreet standing in front of the sutler's store next to 
the hospital. Here, at last, was the chance to apologize she'd been looking for, 
and since she was in need of assistance, no one could possibly criticize her for 
speaking to the scout.
“Mr. Longstreet!” she called, hurrying down the boardwalk past the hospital. 
“May I have a moment, please?"
Case turned and was astonished to see Libby hurrying toward him. He'd noticed 
her, of course, the moment he stepped out of the sutler's store. She was the 
reason he'd paused instead of going on about his business. Though it was 
foolish—probably even insane—he'd been trying to think of an excuse to speak to 
her. There wasn't one, though. To approach her would have been inappropriate. He 
hadn't needed the degrading lecture of Major Forsythe last week to convince him 
of that. He knew better than anyone that the social chasm between himself and 
Libby Ashford was wider than the continent of America—and infinitely more 
difficult to cross.
He'd been prepared to slip away quietly; now there was no question of leaving. 
He stepped toward her as she approached, meeting her just as she reached the end 
of the porch. She was so beautiful that she nearly took his breath away, but he 
betrayed that emotion by not so much as a flicker of an eyelash. “Good 
afternoon, Miss Ashford,” he said, his tone and his expression guarded.
Being on the porch afforded Libby the opportunity to look at the scout almost 
eye to eye. It was a unique sensation. On the parade ground last week, she'd 
been much too distraught to analyze her startling physical reaction to him, but 
now she was experiencing the same incomprehensible stirring she'd felt at their 
first meeting. He was an incredibly handsome man, but the things that moved 
Libby were the intensity of his eyes and the aura of barely controlled power he 
exuded.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Longstreet. I...” Her heart was racing, her mouth was dry, 
and for a moment she completely forgot why she'd called to him.
Case found her sudden bout of shyness amusing. She didn't strike him as the sort 
of woman who would often be at a loss for words. “Yes?” he prompted, barely 
maintaining control of the smile that played around his lips.
When Libby realized he was trying not to laugh at her, she felt like a complete 
fool. But rather than turning red with embarrassment, she smiled. “I wanted to 
ask a favor of you, but I'm not doing a very good job of it."
“Not yet,” he agreed, making Libby laugh. How anyone could call this man a 
savage was beyond her.
She turned and gestured toward the empty flower box at the other end of the 
porch. “I need that contraption moved, and I'm afraid it's too heavy for me to 
handle alone. Would you mind?"
Case knew he should call to one of the soldiers down by the stables to assist 
her, but he couldn't resist the opportunity to speak with the woman who'd 
haunted so many of his dreams. “Not at all."
He stepped onto the porch, and she strolled along beside him, adjusting her 
stride to his. “I also wanted an opportunity to apologize, Mr. Longstreet. Last 
week I made some very unkind assumptions, which I deeply regret."
Case looked down at her, surprised. “Considering the shock you'd had, I'd say 
that your conclusions were natural ones."
Libby noticed for the first time that he had a faint foreign accent that was 
quite pleasing. “Still, I'm not very proud of myself. It certainly put us off on 
the wrong foot, as they say."
Case wondered why it should matter that she make a good impression on him. “Does 
that make a difference to you?” he couldn't keep from asking. “We're not likely 
to run into each other often—formally or otherwise."
Was that bitterness or regret she heard in his voice? Or perhaps a hint of both? 
Considering his intelligence, his command of the language, and his obvious 
knowledge of American customs and manners, bitterness would certainly be 
justified ... but regret? Why would he have reason to regret their vastly 
different social standing? Instead of pondering those questions, she forced 
herself to concentrate on the one he had asked. “It disturbed me a great deal."
“Why?"
They had reached their destination, but neither of them gave a thought to the 
wooden box at their feet. Libby was looking up at him, astounded by how natural 
it seemed to talk to him so freely. “When I saw you at Colonel Dunlevy's, I was 
intrigued by the possibility that there might be someone here who could tell me 
about the Apaches—not just the wartime activities we read so much about back 
east, but about who they are in times of peace."
“That interests you?"
Libby could tell that he was surprised—and a little pleased as well. “Very much. 
But then, at our first real meeting, I jumped to all the wrong conclusions and 
spoke quite disgracefully to you. You see, when I discovered that my brother and 
I were coming to the Arizona Territory, I swore that I would take a broad view 
of the Indian question. I wanted to examine it carefully from both sides before 
forming too many opinions about what the army is doing out here."
Case found himself frowning. “You say that as though there's some question in 
your mind about the rightness of your government's expansion policies."
“Oh, I have plenty of questions, but I'm afraid they're all moot.” She gave him 
a self-effacing smile. “President Grant and the members of Congress couldn't 
care less about the opinions of Miss Liberty Ashford."
Liberty.Her name was Liberty. Case clung to the piece of information. “They 
couldn't care less about the plight of the Apache either."
“I know."
Her voice was sad, and Case recognized her sincerity. “Why should that bother 
you, Miss Ashford?” he asked earnestly, without rancor. “You've never lived 
among my people, have you?"
“No.” Libby thought back to the dismal years after her mother's death. “But I 
know what it's like to be torn from my home, to live on charity, and to be made 
to feel that I'm less than what I am. Your people have had their freedom taken 
away from them. I...” She hesitated, wondering if he thought she sounded 
terribly condescending. “I guess I feel a sort of empathy with them."
Case could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Your attitude is an uncommon 
one."
“And unpopular,” she said ruefully.
“If you expect to make a home here, you should keep it to yourself,” he advised.
She chuckled. “I'm afraid it's too late for that. I've already scandalized the 
entire post."
Case frowned. “Is that how I escaped punishment last week?” After the way Major 
Forsythe had bellowed at him and ordered him to wait in his office, Case had 
expected more than a reprimand. He had assumed the major was “generous” because 
of Case's long-standing relationship with General Crook, but now he realized he 
might have been mistaken.
Libby waved his question away airily. “The major and I disagreed on the 
interpretation of the events that transpired that morning, but I assured him 
that you were not at all to blame.” She glanced away from him. “In fact, I told 
him that, considering the horrible accusations I'd hurled at you, you would have 
been justified in letting me fall on my face."
What shedidn't say told Case more than her actual words. Forsythe had indeed 
wanted to punish him, and Liberty Ashford had damaged her own status by 
defending the actions of an Apache. Life here was hard under the best of 
circumstances, but because of him, her life had become much more difficult. The 
thought didn't please Case. “Don't ever defend me again, Miss Ashford."
She looked up at him, startled by the harshness of his tone. “I was only doing 
what was right."
“There is no ‘right’ when it comes to the Apache. You'll learn that soon 
enough."
Libby gasped with indignation. “I am sick to death of having everyone tell me 
I'll learn! What is so wrong with having beliefs and standing up for them? 
Aren't women allowed to possess a sense of honor, or is that just the purview of 
men?"
This time Case couldn't repress his smile. In his reading and study of the white 
culture, he'd learned the word “spitfire,” but Liberty Ashford was the first 
person he'd ever been able to apply it to. He discovered that he liked her 
spirit very much. There was a word she'd used, though, that was not in his 
vocabulary, and when she scowled at him, demanding to know what was so funny, he 
felt no embarrassment about asking, “What does it mean—'purview'?"
Libby's irritation dissolved, and she smiled. “It means the limits of someone's 
authority or responsibility."
Case nodded, considering the definition, then gave her a gentlemanly bow. “Well, 
Miss Ashford, I'm not sure that this is a good time to discuss the boundaries of 
honor, but it is within my ... purview to help you move this.” He gestured to 
Sergeant Brogan's creation. “I would appreciate it if you'd answer one question 
for me, though."
Libby was only too happy to let their argument drop. There were too many things 
she wanted to learn about Case Longstreet to waste these few precious minutes 
quarreling. Already several soldiers in the quadrangle had noticed her speaking 
to the scout, and if past experience was any indication, she guessed they were 
probably debating whether or not to come to her rescue. “Ask anything you like."
He squatted beside the long wooden box. “How did a watering trough get onto your 
porch?"
Libby laughed. “That, sir, is a flower box."
Case looked up at her. “You're going to grow cactus on your front porch?"
She straightened her shoulders proudly. “No, I am going to grow zinnias, asters, 
and perhaps even a few daisies. By autumn the post hospital will be awash with 
color."
She looked so determined and proud that Case hated to burst her bubble. “By 
autumn your flowers will be withered and brown—if you can get them to come up at 
all."
“They will come up, Mr. Longstreet, and they will survive. A little ... ordure 
from the stables mixed with the earth will make a quite acceptable potting 
soil."
Case had never heard the word “ordure,” but he didn't need to ask the 
definition. “I'm afraid all the stable mix in Fort Apache won't be enough to 
make this soil fertile, Miss Ashford.” He lifted one end of the flower box 
experimentally, and finding it too unwieldy to lift, he gave it a push in the 
direction of the wall. With Libby helping him guide it, they managed to get it 
into position under the parlor window while they argued.
“I'm going to have flowers,” she insisted.
“Not with this dirt,” he countered. “My people learned hundreds of years ago 
that nothing will grow on this particular piece of land but scrub and cactus."
Libby considered that. “Then I'll just have to find some more suitable earth. 
There, that's fine.” She straightened as Case stood. “This is your country. 
Where would you suggest I look? General Crook has been encouraging farming on 
the reservation, so there must be some place where things will grow."
Case thought a moment. “There is a valley below a place called Cottonwoods 
Joining. Flowers grow wild there in the spring, covering two hillsides for as 
far as the eye can see.” He smiled faintly, as though remembering something. “It 
is a favorite spot to place the courting stones."
“Courting stones?"
He explained the tradition, and Libby smiled, imagining the valley he'd 
described and a proud Apache brave in hiding, waiting for the girl he loved to 
walk the flower-strewn path. The image of Case Longstreet replaced the face of 
the imaginary Indian she'd conjured, and her smile faded a little. “That's a 
lovely custom."
“And practical,” he replied. “It's kept many a young brave from being shamed. 
There's very little that's worse to an Inday than suffering humiliation."
“Inday?"
“It's what my people call themselves,” he explained. “Apache is a name that was 
given to us by our enemies."
“I see.” She paused for a moment, trying to curb her tongue, but she couldn't 
keep from asking, “Have you ever placed the courting stones out for a maiden?"
The warm lights in Case's eyes dimmed. “No."
“I'm sorry,” she said quickly.
He looked down at her, his expression cold and unreadable. “Why should you 
apologize?"
“I spoke out of turn. That was impolite.” She shrugged helplessly. “It's just 
that you looked as though you were remembering something pleasant when you 
talked about the stones. I thought perhaps it was where you courted your wife."
“I have no wife,” Case said, more harshly than he intended. When his family 
teased him about not being married, he explained that he could not choose a wife 
until he had fulfilled his quest for revenge. That was only partly true, but 
Case could not explain to anyone—least of all Miss Liberty Ashford—that the 
image of a soft-eyed white woman had filled his mind so completely that there 
had never been room for any other maiden.
He softened his tone and explained, “The place I mentioned is where my father 
placed the courting stones for my mother. Their families had been enemies for 
generations, but their marriage brought many years of peace—the last my people 
ever knew. Or may ever know,” he added quietly.
Libby felt his sadness as keenly as if it were her own. “I'd like to know more 
about your parents,” she said, hoping it would encourage him to keep talking. 
“Perhaps I could even meet them someday."
His expression of sorrow did not change, but a shudder rippled down Libby's 
spine a moment before he replied; “That is not possible. They are dead."
Libby's parents were also deceased, but she knew instinctively that the grief 
she felt over the passing of her neglectful parents wasn't comparable to what 
Case Longstreet felt. When he spoke of his parents, it was with love. All Libby 
had of her own parents was regret for the things that should have been but never 
were. “I am truly sorry” was all she could manage to say.
Case looked down at her and was touched by her sincerity in ways he had only 
imagined possible. The look she wore was one he had seen in his visions a 
hundred times. It was soft and warm. It offered comfort and asked for nothing in 
return. He wanted to thrust the vision out of his mind, but he couldn't because 
this was real. “You must not apologize for things that are not your fault or for 
things you cannot control,” he said gently.
He wasn't scolding her. Libby knew that. He was ... making a connection between 
them, mesmerizing her with the power of his personality. She had never known 
such a fascinating man. And she had certainly never met one who made her feel 
quite the way she did at that moment, as though no one else in the world existed 
but Libby Ashford and Case Longstreet.
She struggled to find something to say, but the opportunity was denied her when 
a voice called out, breaking the spell Case had somehow woven around her.
“Libby? Are you all right?” Elaine Dunlevy asked as she and Caroline Crenshaw 
hurried toward the porch. Both women cast suspicious glances at Case, and he 
stepped back to make room for them.
“I'm fine, Mrs. Dunlevy,” Libby assured her, then murmured a pleasant hello to 
Caroline, who, despite the afternoon heat, looked as though she'd just stepped 
from a page ofHarper's Bazar. She realized that the ladies were curious about 
Case's presence and probably more than a little disapproving. “Mr. Longstreet 
was kind enough to help me move my flower box,” she said sweetly, stepping aside 
so that they could get a good look and hating herself and the situation that 
demanded she have an excuse just to speak to the scout.
Elaine nodded, but admonished her mildly. “Surely your striker could handle such 
a menial task."
“I'm afraid Sergeant Brogan was nowhere to be found. He made the box for me and 
deposited it on the edge of the porch while I was visiting Susannah. I assume 
his post duties called him away."
Caroline was looking at the wooden trough with her delicately arched brows 
raised in disdain. “What on earth could you possibly want with a flower box out 
here?"
“Why, it's for growing flowers, what else?” She turned to Case. “But Mr. 
Longstreet had just informed me that the soil my gardening venture needs is some 
distance away from the fort.” Remembering something Susannah had told her about 
the colonel's wife, Libby gave Elaine her most enthusiastic smile. “Perhaps you 
could put together one of the fabulous picnics I've heard so much about, Elaine. 
The spot Mr. Longstreet described sounds absolutely perfect—wildflowers in 
profusion near a cold spring. The weather is—"
“That sounds lovely, Libby dear,” Elaine interrupted. “But my excursions have 
been somewhat limited of late, due to some unrest on the reservation. My husband 
feels that it's unwise to venture too far from the fort until such time as all 
of the Apaches have been brought under control."
“Mrs. Dunlevy is right, Miss Ashford,” Case said respectfully. “A party such as 
the one you propose would require an armed escort, and a military force of any 
consequence might be misunderstood by my people."
Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at Case. “Oh, my. It would seem I have a lot 
to learn, wouldn't it?"
It was everything Case could do to keep from laughing out loud, particularly 
when it became clear that Libby was daring him to do just that. Straight-faced, 
they stared each other down for a moment, their private joke passing completely 
over the heads of their companions.
“Well, you'd be wasting your time, anyway,” Caroline announced. “No matter what 
kind of earth you use for potting, you'll never get plants to grow in this 
miserable wasteland."
Meade had told Libby the same thing, as had Sergeant Brogan and Case Longstreet. 
But having Caroline decree it as though she were the voice of the Almighty made 
Libby fighting mad. If for no other reason than to confound the snooty Mrs. 
Crenshaw, Libby was going to grow the most beautiful bouquet of flowers in 
Arizona!
Libby glanced at Case and had the strangest sensation that he could read her 
thoughts or that, at the very least, he shared her sentiments.
“I'm sure you have things to do, Mr. Longstreet,” Elaine said, growing 
increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. She'd hurried up here to save 
Libby from yet another social disgrace, but if the scout didn't depart soon, the 
disgrace would be Elaine's and Caroline's, too. “Please don't let us keep you 
from your duties."
“That's very considerate of you, Mrs. Dunlevy,” Case said politely, though he 
knew only too well that he'd just been summarily dismissed.
And Libby knew it, too. She had to struggle to keep her irritation hidden. This 
was her home, after all; Elaine Dunlevy had no right to dictate when her 
visitors should arrive and depart. Still, she managed a smile. “I can't thank 
you enough for your assistance, Mr. Longstreet. It was very kind of you to come 
to a lady's aid."
“It was my pleasure, Miss Ashford. Good luck with your garden.” He nodded to 
Mrs. Dunlevy and to Mrs. Crenshaw, who had yet to look at him. “Ladies, good 
afternoon."
He stepped off the porch, and it was everything Libby could do to keep from 
watching him go. Instead, she turned her attention to her unexpected visitors. 
“Won't you please join me for tea?” she invited, only because it was the proper 
thing to do.
“No, thank you,” Elaine said, trying to appear pleasant. “We only stopped by 
because we saw you with Longstreet and were concerned that he might be trying to 
force himself on you again."
Not again, Libby thought irritably. “If you're referring to the incident on the 
parade ground last week, let me assure you that Mr. Longstreet hasnever forced 
himself on me,” she said tightly. “We've had two brief conversations, and he's 
been nothing but a perfect gentleman."
Caroline shook her head, making the tiny ringlets at the back of her neck 
bounce. “Don't let his manners fool you, Libby. He's still an Apache."
She said “Apache” as though it were a vile contagious disease, and Libby wanted 
to shake some sense into the sharp-tongued, narrow-minded little twit. Her 
missing husband had returned from his mission unscathed several days ago, but 
Libby had yet to see any difference in her vinegary personality.
“Caroline is right,” Elaine said. “Case Longstreet has proven himself invaluable 
in General Crook's conquest of the Apaches, but—"
Libby didn't care to hear another criticism of the scout. “So I understand,” she 
said quickly. “His knowledge of the country, the languages, and the various 
Apache tribes has saved countless American lives. Why, do you know that just the 
other day I heard one of the officers say that if it weren't for Longstreet and 
the other Apache scouts, there probably wouldn't be a single Indian on any 
reservation in the territory?"
“Well, that's true,” Elaine admitted somewhat reluctantly.
“I've also heard that on most military campaigns it's the scouts who do most of 
the actual fighting."
Elaine's lips thinned into a tight line. “That has been true in some instances."
Libby gave her an innocent smile. “Then I'd say that Mr. Longstreet and his 
fellow Apache scouts deserve our utmost respect, wouldn't you?"
“I respect those Apaches who choose to be our allies, but that does not mean 
that I must grant them social equality."
“Have you ever had a conversation with Case Longstreet?"
Elaine looked shocked. “Certainly not. We have exchanged pleasantries when the 
occasion demanded it, but I have no reason to associate with an Apache, any more 
than I would embark on a friendship with one of the enlisted men under my 
husband's command. There is a proper way to do things in the army, Libby."
“That's right,” Caroline interjected. “The social order must be maintained, or 
chaos will be the result. Why, my husband would never dream of fraternizing with 
any of the soldiers under his command—"
“So therefore you can't socialize with any of the wives of the enlisted men,” 
Libby said, calling up one of the many inequities she'd noticed since her 
arrival. There weren't many wives of the enlisted, but the few who did live at 
Fort Apache worked as laundresses. That put them well out of the social class of 
the officers’ wives.
“Exactly,” Caroline declared.
“And the same applies to civilian scouts,” Libby replied.
“Even more so."
Libby knew that there was logic in the segregation of officers and the men who 
served under them. Officers had to command the respect of their subordinates, 
and they couldn't do that by becoming their genial companions. But Libby 
seriously doubted that these two ladies would be quite so up in arms if they 
discovered her conversing on the porch with Private Sloane from D Company. And 
she knew for a fact that Al Seiber, the civilianCaucasian chief of Crook's 
scouts, had been entertained by Colonel and Mrs. Dunlevy only three nights ago.
In Libby's mind, the distinction being made between the white scout and the 
Apache scout constituted bigotry.
For Meade's sake, Libby bit back that accusation. Though it nearly choked her, 
she thanked the ladies for their wise counsel and sent them on their way.
Once she had taken refuge indoors, however, it was everything she could do to 
keep herself from breaking a few pieces of the family china.
Fourteen
Venting her frustration, Libby paced back and forth in front of her brother, her 
skirts swishing furiously. “Those silly old cats! Don't they understand that 
their intolerance is the very thing that's going to make peaceful coexistence 
with the Apache impossible? I swear, Meade, when they started preaching at me, I 
just wanted to scream!"
“Libby, calm down. And sit down, too,” he added. “All that pacing is making me 
dizzy."
She stopped abruptly, arms akimbo, and glared at him. “Meade Ashford, the least 
you could do is summon a touch of moral indignation—if not for Case Longstreet's 
sake, then for mine!"
“I'm sorry, Libby, but I have to agree with Mrs. Dunlevy. You should never have 
engaged in conversation with that scout."
His attitude stunned Libby, but before she could open her mouth to protest, 
Meade stood and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I understand that the 
incident on the parade ground last week wasn't your fault, Lib."
“Well, thank you for that,” she intoned sarcastically.
Meade ignored the gibe. “And I agree completely that Longstreet shouldn't have 
been punished. But this is different. You went out of your way to get him to 
help you when you know as well as I that you could have called upon any soldier 
on this post to give you a hand with that planter."
“He was the only man in sight with whom I was acquainted,” she said stiffly.
Shaking his head, Meade resumed his seat. He knew his sister too well to be 
fooled by her excuse. “He's a fascinating contradiction, and you wanted to know 
more about him."
Libby folded her hands and rested them in the pleats of her skirt. “What's wrong 
with that?"
“He's an Apache Indian."
Libby cast her eyes toward the heavens. “Why is it that whenever I ask that 
question, the only answer anyone can give me is"—she lowered her voice to a 
mimicking masculine pitch—"'He's an Indian.’”
Meade chuckled despite himself. “My darling sister, you are truly unique and I 
love you beyond words, but you have to face certain realities. No matter how 
much you deplore it, prejudice exists."
“Does that mean you and I must propagate it?” she demanded.
“No, but we do have to live within the confines of a society that does."
Normally, Libby enjoyed philosophical discussions with Meade, but she was too 
embroiled in the practical applications of this one to garner any pleasure from 
their exchange. She joined him on the sofa, leaning toward him with her arm 
draped across the backrest. “Meade, we are now living among the Indians. You 
can't look beyond the confines of this fort in any direction without seeing 
their little huts. They outnumber us a hundred to one!” she pointed out 
emphatically. “No matter how much anyone might seek to deny it, the level of 
fear in this place is so potent that it's an actual presence."
“That's right,” he agreed. “And it's perfectly understandable. Even as well 
fortified as this encampment is, no one can be sure that the Apaches aren't 
going to rise against us and slaughter us in our beds."
“Then what is wrong with trying to understand them?” she asked. “Ignorance 
breeds contempt—and fear. If I'm not mistaken, it was you who taught me that."
Meade studied his headstrong little sister. There were times when he wanted to 
paddle her backside, and there were other times—like now—when the pride he felt 
in her nearly overpowered him. But for all the noble sentiments she expressed, 
he had an instinctive feeling that she wasn't being completely honest. “Tell me 
something, Libby. Does your desire for knowledge encompass the entire Apache 
race, or is it just one Apache in particular who fascinates you?"
Libby flushed guiltily. “I want to learn about them all,” she said a little too 
forcefully to fool her brother.
Meade frowned. “That's what I thought.” He rose and glared down at her. “If the 
opportunity to study the Indians from a safe distance presents itself, then by 
all means learn whatever you can, Libby.” He pointed a finger at her sternly. 
“But you stay away from Case Longstreet. Is that clear?"
Libby bristled at his high-handed manner. “I am not a child, Meade,” she said, 
coming to her feet. “Don't try to order me around like one."
“You are my responsibility. That gives me the right.” He glared down at her with 
the sinking feeling that he was dominating her in height only. “In the future I 
don't ever want to hear your name linked to Case Longstreet's in any context. Is 
that clear?"
“Perfectly,” she replied, completely uncowed.
“Good.” He turned and headed toward his room. “I'm going to retire for the 
night, and I suggest you do the same."
“Yes, sir, Captain Ashford!” she barked, giving his back her best military 
salute.
Meade whirled and caught her, but she looked not the least bit penitent. 
Discipline had never been his forte, possibly because there was only a nine-year 
difference in their ages—or, more likely, because they were so close and thought 
so much alike.
Clearly a dictatorial attitude wasn't going to do the trick, so he softened his 
tone. “I'm only thinking of what's best for you, Libby. Surely you can't doubt 
that."
Of course she didn't. And it was impossible for her to be angry with him when he 
was looking at her with so much affection. He was, after all, the only person in 
the world who had ever loved her for what she was—thorns and all. “I know that, 
Meade."
He shook his head ruefully and gave her a smile that was filled with remorse. 
“You can't change the world, little sister."
She grinned impishly. “Can I try?"
He fought back a laugh. “No."
Libby crossed the room and gave him a good-night kiss on the cheek. 
“Spoilsport."
Over the next few days the tension Libby had commented on grew alarmingly as 
reports of a major campaign began to circulate. Factions of the Chiricahua, who 
had always been a thorn in Crook's side, were regularly slipping away from their 
mountain reservation and raiding rancheros in the south. Thanks to a private 
treaty between the formidable Chiricahua leader, Cochise, and a representative 
of the United States government, Crook had no control over the Chiricahua so 
long as they stayed in their mountains.
But rumors had it that a group of braves—variously reported as numbering between 
one hundred and one thousand—had been preparing to go on the warpath. While 
Crook tried to determine the validity of this rumor, he began readying his own 
troops for battle. The scuttlebutt around Fort Apache suggested that cavalry 
companies B and E would soon march against the Chiricahua in a massive campaign.
This news was particularly distressing to Susannah, whose baby was due at any 
time and whose husband was the commander of Company B. Her difficult pregnancy 
was already sapping her strength, and worry for David's safety was taking what 
little she had left. Libby admired the brave front Susannah maintained, but that 
wasn't going to do her much good when she went into labor. Only strength and 
endurance would matter, and Susannah had very little of either in reserve.
With every day that passed, Libby found herself spending more time with the 
frail cavalry wife. It felt good to have a purpose beyond caring for her 
brother's home. And, as Meade put it, it kept her out of trouble. It also gave 
Libby something to think about besides Case Longstreet.
The scout intruded on her thoughts at the most inopportune times. And she was 
reasonably certain he hadn't dismissed her from his mind completely, because the 
morning after their conversation, she'd discovered that sometime during the 
night her flower box had been filled with a rich, dark soil. She'd known 
immediately that it was a gift from Case Longstreet, but just to be sure, she'd 
questioned Sergeant Brogan, who'd sworn he hadn't the vaguest idea where the 
dirt had come from.
To most women, a few bags of soil would have seemed a totally inappropriate 
gift, but Libby wasn't most women. Longstreet had gone out of his way, no doubt 
traveling a considerable distance, just for her. It was a touching gesture, one 
Libby appreciated more than she could have said. Unfortunately there had been no 
opportunity to thank him for the gift. She'd seen him only once since then, as 
he was leaving Crook's command post, and if he'd seen her, he had given no 
indication of it.
As the days passed, Libby found herself haunted by Meade's insinuation that her 
fascination with the Apaches began and ended with Case. In her heart she knew 
her interest was broader than that, but she couldn't deny that the scout held a 
special fascination for her. She found herself dwelling on every look they'd 
shared, every word they'd spoken. Every time she worked in her improvised 
garden, she thought of him, sometimes with growing fondness, and sometimes with 
anger for the unjust manner in which he was being treated.
Questions danced in her mind with dizzying regularity. Where had he learned to 
speak such perfect English? What had prompted him to make the effort? What was 
his relationship to the rancher, Jedidiah Longstreet? What had happened to his 
parents? Had they been victims of the government's war of conquest? Considering 
what was happening to his people, it was obvious that he had suffered great 
personal tragedy; so why had he chosen to ally himself with the white soldiers?
Without Case to talk to, there could be no answers to her questions, of course. 
In general terms, she had learned that the Indians he fought against were not 
technicallyhis people. After some judicious questioning, Sergeant Brogan had 
informed her that Longstreet was a White Mountain Apache. For the most part, the 
bands of that tribe were living peacefully on the White Mountain Reservation 
that surrounded Fort Apache. In some ways, they were more fortunate than other 
tribes, since they were being confined to a place that had been their homeland 
for centuries.
But they were still a people in bondage, their survival almost totally dependent 
on the army's largess. And what was worse, the government of the United States 
didn't even officially recognize them as human beings. They were entities 
without rights, without status, and without any recourse for obtaining 
reparations for the land that was being systematically stolen from them.
Libby often thought about the bitterness she'd heard in Longstreet's voice and 
was amazed that it was not stronger.
Much too often she lay awake at night thinking about the scout, mulling over all 
the questions she wanted to ask him. She also thought about the wonderful, 
breathless way she had felt every time his black eyes looked into hers. In the 
dead of the night, those same feelings would wash over her, and her nights 
became restless reminders that she was a twenty-two-year-old woman with no 
prospects for a home, children, or a husband who could take her breath away with 
a single look.
She was in the midst of one of those fitful nights of tossing and turning when 
banging at the door roused her and Meade from their beds. Meade was still groggy 
with sleep as he trudged to the door in hastily donned trousers, but Libby was 
wide awake, her heart beating with anticipation as she dashed into the parlor. 
She knew even before her brother opened the door that Susannah's time had come.
And she was right. In the faint glow of the lamp Meade lifted, Libby could see a 
disheveled David Robertson.
“Captain Ashford, please forgive the intrusion at this late—"
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Libby snapped. She'd had about all she could stand of 
military manners. “Susannah's gone into labor, hasn't she?"
“Yes.” He looked at Meade. “She's in terrible pain, Captain. Can you—"
“I'm on my way,” Meade assured him. “You hurry on back and hold her hand. I'll 
be there as soon as I collect my bag."
“Thank you, Captain.” Robertson disappeared into the night, and Meade hurried 
toward the door to the hallway that connected the doctor's quarters with the 
hospital.
“I'm going with you,” Libby told him as she headed back to her room for a pair 
of slippers.
Meade stopped at the front door and turned, frowning. “Libby, you have no idea 
what's involved in delivering a baby."
“You forget, brother dear, that if it hadn't been for me you wouldn't have 
passed a single exam in medical school.” She grinned at him. “And besides, what 
could be so hard about it? Susannah's going to do all the work."
When Meade didn't respond to her teasing, Libby's heart skipped a beat. She 
recognized the real reason he didn't want her there and had to fight back tears. 
“You don't think she's going to survive the birth, do you?” she asked, her voice 
barely audible.
“That's a possibility,” he admitted reluctantly. “I don't want to put you 
through an ordeal like this."
Libby squared her shoulders. There would be no tears tonight. “Susannah is going 
to need a woman with her, and you may need an extra pair of hands. I'm going 
with you,” she said with finality.
Meade relented. “All right. Put on some clothes and be quick about it."
A few minutes later they were both dressed, after a fashion, and hurrying down 
the quadrangle to the Robertsons’ quarters. Susannah was already exhausted and 
drenched with perspiration by the time they arrived, but her face lit up at the 
sight of Libby, and Meade was glad he'd allowed his sister to come along. If 
Susannah Robertson was going to survive the night, she would need all the help 
she could get.
Meade's first act was to shoo her husband out of the bedroom. While Libby held 
Susannah's hand and bathed her forehead with a damp cloth, Meade examined his 
patient and discovered, as he'd feared, that they were in for a long night. As 
the labor progressed, with Susannah growing weaker after every contraction, he 
was forced to give her a mild sedative to reduce the pain.
Libby proved to be an extremely competent nurse, but more than that, she did a 
remarkable job of keeping Susannah's spirits from plummeting. By dawn, though, 
his patient's shallow pulse told him that if the ordeal didn't end soon, he was 
going to lose both mother and child. Since nature didn't seem to be working on 
his side, he relieved Susannah of her misery with a heavy dose of morphine and, 
as soon as she was unconscious, used forceps to take the baby.
The wrinkled, squalling infant came into the world with an unsightly cone-shaped 
head, thanks to the forceps, but when Libby presented Captain David Robertson 
with a son, Meade assured him that in a few days his son would look normal. In 
all other ways, he was as healthy as could be.
Meade's real concern was Susannah. Though he tried to keep his apprehension 
hidden from Libby, he didn't expect the cavalry wife to live out the day. 
Morning sick call forced him to resume his regular post duties, but he checked 
on his patient often. Each time he visited, he found Libby there, tending the 
baby and the mother with unflagging determination and good cheer, as though she 
could keep the specter of death away with nothing more than the sheer force of 
her personality.
Her innate gentleness and devotion made Meade prouder of her than he had ever 
been before. He wished the ladies of Fort Apache could see Libby like this, 
exhausted but still smiling, pouring her heart and soul into caring for a 
friend. For all of his sister's strange notions, which she verbalized much too 
frequently, this was what Liberty Ashford was all about—doing what had to be 
done no matter what the cost to herself.
Unfortunately, Meade was fairly sure that if Mrs. Dunlevy and her shadow, 
Caroline Crenshaw, did walk into the Roberstons’ quarters, they would see only a 
bedraggled young woman whose hair needed taming. They might smile pleasantly, 
but when they left, they'd be gossiping because Miss Ashford's behavior was 
unbecoming to a lady of breeding. Of one thing Meade was certain: Neither of 
those estimable army wives would have deigned to soil her hands as Libby had 
last night.
Libby maintained her bedside vigil for several days. She napped on the 
Robertsons’ sofa whenever she could, but most of her time was divided between 
the baby, David Michael, and Susannah. Meade expected every day to be the 
mother's last, but with Libby's unwavering care and Susannah's determination to 
live, the doctor finally decided that his prognosis had been wrong. Both mother 
and son were going to survive. Libby stayed with them another day, but at sunset 
of the fourth day Meade put his foot down and demanded she come home to rest. 
Libby was too tired to argue. She gave David copious instructions on how to care 
for his wife and son during the night, and then Meade dragged her home and put 
her to bed.
It was just before noon the next day when she awoke. How she had slept through 
reveille, turnout for fatigue duty, sick call, and all the other noisy routines 
that kept Fort Apache humming was a mystery to her, but she had. Every muscle in 
her body ached, but once she was bathed and dressed she felt ready to jump back 
into the fray again. Sergeant Brogan came in just as she was starting dinner, 
and she was only too happy to allow him to take over the preparation of the noon 
meal. Meade came in from the hospital and assured Libby that Susannah was doing 
fine.
“But you can't keep this up, Libby. You're going to make yourself ill,” he told 
her as they sat down to eat. “Susannah and little Michael need more help than 
you can give them."
“There is no one else, Meade,” she countered. “Susannah's so weak she can't even 
take care of herself, let alone the baby. David and Mumford, their striker, 
should be able to start helping out, though. Surely they can take care of her at 
night."
“Libby..."
Meade's somber expression told her there was something wrong. “What is it?” she 
asked.
“The rumors we've been hearing are true,” he said reluctantly. “General Crook is 
preparing for a massive campaign against the Chiricahuas."
“Oh, no.” Libby bowed her head. “When?"
“Sometime next week. He's sent to Fort Verde for infantry reinforcements. As 
soon as they arrive, cavalry companies B and E will head for Fort Thomas, below 
the Gila River."
“Is this an official transfer? Will Susannah be expected to move as well?” she 
asked, not daring to breathe until she had an answer. A journey out of the 
mountains and across the desert would certainly kill the new mother; surely the 
army wouldn't be so heartless as to force her to go until she was stronger.
“No, Lib. This is a campaign, not a transfer. I don't imagine the troops will 
stay at Fort Thomas for more than a day or two."
Libby was immensely relieved that she wasn't going to lose the only friend she 
had at Fort Apache. “Does Susannah know?"
He nodded. “David told her this morning. She didn't take it very well.” Meade 
looked down at his plate, toying with a slice of beef as he tried to figure out 
a way to tell his sister the rest of the unhappy news.
Libby was too concerned about Susannah to notice that her brother had suddenly 
grown pensive. She folded her napkin beside her plate and stood. “I'd better get 
to her. Just the thought of David going into battle again will make her frantic. 
That's the last thing she needs right now.” She hurried out of the dining room, 
but Meade's voice stopped her at the door.
“Libby?"
She turned expectantly. “Yes?"
Meade opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wasn't sure he had the heart to 
tell her.
Libby's heart began to race. Something was wrong. She stepped toward him. 
“Meade, what is it?"
“Libby ... Crook received word from Fort Thomas that the Fifth Cavalry's 
regimental surgeon has died."
“How horrible,” she replied. “What happened to him?"
“I don't really know,” he said evasively. It wasn't going to do Libby any good 
to know that the surgeon had succumbed to wounds he received in a skirmish with 
the Apaches. “The point is, the general doesn't want the Fifth to embark on this 
campaign without a surgeon."
Libby's world turned upside down. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. Somehow she made 
it to the table and into a chair before her knees buckled. “This wasn't suppose 
to happen, Meade."
He covered one of her hands with his own. “But we knew it could. I'm truly 
sorry—for your sake, Libby. But for my part, I'm rather looking forward to a 
little campaigning. We've been here nearly a month already, and so far I've done 
nothing but treat a case of the gout, sober up a few drunken soldiers, and 
deliver a baby.” He shrugged and gave her his most boyish grin. “Not exactly a 
challenging medical practice. I could use a little excitement in my life."
“Congratulations,” she said sarcastically, irritated that he could actually be 
enjoying the thought of what was ahead of him. Their father would have been 
proud of his son's attitude, but Libby had a different point of view. “You could 
be the first military man in history to die of boredom."
“I'm not going to die, Lib. I promise."
Libby tried to find a bright side, but there wasn't one. The best she could do 
to ease her fear was to run through a list of her brother's assets. “Well, 
you're a crack shot and an excellent rider. We can thank Father for that much, 
at least. And you do have the sense to know when to duck, don't you?"
Meade chuckled. No one he'd ever known could turn tragedy into humor quicker 
than his sister. “I think so."
She sighed lightly. “Then I suppose I have no choice but to allow you to go."
“Thank you. I'm sure General Crook will be delighted to learn that I have your 
permission."
A shudder of apprehension ran down Libby's spine, but she squelched it. The last 
thing Meade needed was to be burdened by her fear for his safety. She rose from 
the table again. “I'd better check on Susannah now."
Meade stood and drew his sister into a firm embrace. “Don't worry about me, 
Lib."
She clung to him for just a second, then drew back and smiled. “Me, worry about 
you? What a silly idea."
She turned and hurried out on her mission of mercy, but not before Meade saw the 
unshed tears glistening in her eyes.
Susannah was in better spirits than Libby had expected, but now that she knew 
Meade was going away, she had a better understanding of the brave front her 
friend tried to maintain. Libby wasn't accustomed to keeping her emotions 
bottled up, but she was learning that some situations demanded it.
With her sunniest smile in place, she helped Susannah with a bed bath, changed 
her nightgown, and maneuvered her into a rocking chair where she could feed the 
baby while Libby changed the bed linens. Once all the necessities had been 
attended to and Michael was sleeping peacefully in his mother's arms, Libby and 
Susannah turned their attention to the very real problem of how they were going 
to manage once David and Sergeant Mumford left.
“I don't see any other solution,” Libby said firmly, trying to override 
Susannah's objections to her suggestion. “I'll simply move in here with you 
until you're strong enough to do for yourself."
“I forbid it, Libby, and that's that. You've already done too much.” Her voice 
was surprisingly strong for someone who couldn't have won a fight with a newborn 
kitten. “I can't allow you to turn over your whole life to taking care of me."
“What life?” Libby asked, drawing a wan smile from her friend. “I think I can 
manage to curtail my whirlwind social schedule for a few weeks. And besides, 
once Meade is gone, I won't have any responsibilities in our quarters. It will 
certainly be less lonely for both of us if I'm living here."
“But you can't do it all—cooking, cleaning, taking care of the babyand me. It's 
just not right."
“Then suggest an alternative,” Libby challenged.
Susannah let her head fall back into the pillows as she thought. “What about one 
of the laundresses?” she said finally. “Surely one of them might like to earn a 
few dollars extra."
Libby gave her a doubtful look. “Susannah, those poor women already have more 
work than they can handle. Besides, I doubt that any of them could spare more 
than an hour or two a day."
“Well, at least that would besome relief for you."
The rocking chair creaked as Libby pondered the problem. She truly didn't mind 
taking on the extra work that caring for her friend would entail, but even she 
had to admit that having an extra pair of hands would be helpful. Michael's 
difficult birth was going to add weeks to Susannah's lying-in period. She was 
still feverish from the infection that had set in after the delivery, and there 
was simply no telling how long it would be before she could take care of 
herself, let alone her son.
Unfortunately Libby didn't see any alternative to doing everything herself. She 
promised Susannah she'd investigate the possibility of getting a laundress to 
help out a few hours a day, but she held out very little hope.
Susannah napped on and off the rest of the day, and when Captain Robertson 
completed his duties, Libby left the family in the capable hands of Sergeant 
Mumford, who arrived just in time to start supper. Libby and Meade spent a quiet 
but somewhat strained evening trying not to talk about anything important. They 
turned in early, and by the time the bugle called fatigue duty at seven-thirty 
the next morning, Libby was on her way to Susannah's once again.
The weather was abominably hot, but the water-filled clay ollas hanging from the 
ceiling gave them a surprising amount of relief from the heat. Susannah sat in 
the rocking chair for nearly an hour, then returned to bed exhausted. She 
managed to sit up again to eat the light dinner Libby prepared, then retired to 
her bed once more.
She had just finished Michael's afternoon feeding and had coaxed Libby into 
sitting down to rest for a while when they heard Captain Robertson's voice 
coming from the parlor.
Susannah frowned. “What on earth is David doing here at this hour? Isn't it 
nearly time for the cavalry drill?"
“I believe so.” Libby stepped toward the door just as Robertson slipped inside 
and closed it behind him. She moved aside as the captain approached the bed 
hesitantly.
“What's wrong, David?” Susannah asked.
He gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “Are you up to seeing visitors, 
Sukie?"
The question surprised her. Several people had dropped in during the last two 
days, and Libby had been forced to send most of them away with thanks for their 
concern and their assurance that they would visit again when the new mother was 
stronger. As far as Susannah knew, though, David had never personally escorted a 
visitor into their quarters. “I suppose so,” she said. Then an uncomfortable 
thought hit her. “It isn't General Crook, is it?"
David smiled tightly and cast a nervous glance toward the door. “No, my dear. I 
was just in his office, though, and he does send his regards."
“Then who's here, David, and why are you so jittery?"
He cleared his throat. “Well, it seems that the news of our son's birth has 
spread among the Indians, and some of the squaws took it upon themselves to make 
you a present."
Susannah gasped. “A present from the Apaches? How remarkable!"
“Yes, well, that's what General Crook thought, too,” David told her. “It's a 
very encouraging gesture of goodwill, and he was hoping you might feel up to 
receiving the gift personally."
Susannah glanced across the room at her friend. “Isn't that wonderful, Libby?"
“It certainly is,” she replied, moving to the bureau. “Shall we get you into a 
dressing gown for this momentous occasion?"
“Oh, by all means,” Susannah replied.
David started for the door. “I'll just step outside and keep our guests 
company.” He stopped and turned to his wife. “By the way, Longstreet came along 
to act as an interpreter, but if you'd rather not have him in our bedchamber—"
“Don't be silly,” she chided lightly. “How else are we going to communicate?"
“All right, but I don't want you to tire yourself.” He stepped out, closing the 
door behind him.
“Well, Libby, here's your chance to learn a little more about Mr. Longstreet,” 
Susannah said slyly as Libby helped her to the edge of the bed so that she could 
slip on the rust-colored dressing gown.
Libby looked at her drolly. “I've been forbidden that pastime, remember?"
“Has that ever stopped you before?"
She chuckled. “I must do something to correct that image you have of me as an 
insolent hoyden."
Susannah fell back weakly into the pillows. “It's too late. The whole camp knows 
your secret."
“How true,” Libby muttered as she moved across the room and took Michael from 
his cradle, then placed the baby by his mother's side. When Susannah was 
satisfied that she looked as respectable as possible under the circumstances, 
Libby went to the door and admitted their guests.
With David leading them, three Apache women entered the room. The eldest was 
wearing a lovely buckskin dress with elaborate beadwork down the front and 
sleeves. The other two, both much younger, wore short skirts made of stripped 
bark, and low-neckedcamisas of unbleached muslin. This was the costume Libby had 
seen most often on ration days, which she always watched with great interest. 
Two of the women wore their hair long and unbraided, but the third—a lovely 
young maiden with bright, inquisitive eyes—had pulled her hair back and fastened 
it with an exquisitely beaded bow.
All three looked curiously around the room as they entered, and Libby wondered 
if this was the first time any of them had been in a white man's home. The two 
younger women carried beautifully woven baskets, but Libby found her attention 
immediately drawn to the object the woman in buckskin carried. It was a baby 
carrier of the sort they used for their own infants. Libby had seen them before, 
but had never had the opportunity to study one up close.
As everyone crowded into the room, David took up a position at his wife's 
bedside. “Sukie, this is the wife of one of the White Mountain chiefs,” he said, 
indicating the eldest woman. “And this is her daughter-in-law and her 
granddaughter.” He looked to Case, who was standing just inside the door. “Is 
that right?"
“That's right.” Case's eyes darted to Libby, then away before she could 
acknowledge him.
Susannah glanced across the room to Case. “Mr. Longstreet, please tell them I am 
honored by their visit."
"Citc'ì-né...” The old woman turned to him, and Case intoned a string of 
guttural, unintelligible sounds. The chief's wife replied, making a speech of 
some length.
When she had finished, Case looked at Susannah. “She says her heart is glad that 
you are honored. She knows you have been ill, and she has brought gifts to 
return you to health and to keep your baby strong. It will make her heart glad 
if you accept these gifts."
David gestured toward the object the old women held. “That's a papoose basket, 
isn't it?"
“A cradleboard,” Case corrected. If he objected to the term “papoose,” he gave 
no indication of it. “She made it herself and blessed each piece with the ritual 
prayers."
“May I see it?” Susannah asked, holding out her arms. The gesture spoke for 
itself, and the other woman handed her the cradle. “Why, it's the softest thing 
I've ever touched. And it's so light. See, David?"
She held it out for her husband, and he inspected the extraordinary 
craftsmanship. Susannah wanted to know how the cradleboard worked, and after a 
few words from Case, the older woman stepped forward and picked up little 
Michael. David started to protest, but Susannah shushed him and watched with 
delight as her son was strapped into the snug baby carrier. The other women 
gathered around as well, smiling and laughing in the gentlest manner imaginable 
as they admired the little boy.
Libby watched the proceedings with a kind of amazement. She glanced at Case to 
see his reaction to the cultural exchange, and found him looking at her. No, not 
looking, she decided. Studying.
Smiling happily, she moved toward him. “I was beginning to fear that you were 
going to ignore me completely, Mr. Longstreet,” she said sotto voce.
Case tried to resist the urge to return her smile, but found he couldn't. He'd 
thought of little else but her smile in the weeks since he'd seen her. “I wasn't 
sure that speaking to you was appropriate,” he replied softly.
“If you don't speak to me, how can I thank you for the wonderful present you 
left on my doorstep? I know how much trouble you must have gone to to obtain 
that potting soil. I was very touched."
“No thanks are necessary."
Susannah asked a question, and while Case translated, Libby watched him, trying 
to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. In her month at the fort, she had 
heard the Apache language spoken a number of times, but it was a shock to hear 
Case speak it so fluidly—much more of a shock, in fact, than she'd experienced 
weeks ago when she'd heard him speak English for the first time at Colonel 
Dunlevy's. It made her all the more curious to know everything there was to know 
about him.
When he finished translating and the women were once again cooing over the baby, 
Libby recaptured his attention. “You've called the older one Sit-say-i-nay 
several times. Is that her name?"
She said the word perfectly, and Case smiled down at her. “No. In your language 
her name is She Goes to War.Citc'ì-né is my paternal grandmother."
“You're the grandson of a chief?” she asked with surprise.
“Does that impress you?"
“Everything about you impresses me,” she admitted honestly.
Her candor astounded him. More than anything, he wanted to tell her that the 
feeling was mutual, but he couldn't. She was a remarkable woman, but Case knew 
he was nothing but a curiosity to Miss Liberty Ashford. He couldn't allow 
himself to read more into her words than was there. “Then you should be truly 
impressed, Miss Ashford,” he said lightly. “Since I am the grandson of not one 
chief, but two."
“Will you be a chief someday as well?"
Case's expression grew pensive, and he glanced away from her. “I don't know. I 
have not seen that far into the future."
She laughed lightly. “You say it as though you have seen at least some distance 
into the future."
He looked at Libby, and suddenly she found it difficult to breathe. “Some of my 
life has been laid before me,” he said quietly. “But I do not know what it all 
means."
Libby was confused, not only by his words but the intensity of his gaze. It was 
almost as though he was seeing through her.
Before she could think of a comment, David announced that it was time for 
Susannah to get some rest, and Case began ushering his relatives out of the 
room. The Robertsons thanked the women profusely, and Case translated. Just as 
the youngest one reached the door, though, she turned back and spoke for 
herself.
“Baby pretty,” she said in broken, halting English. “He make good warrior, like 
he father."
That said, she ducked her head shyly and darted out.
David moved toward the bedroom door. “I'll see them out,” he said, but Libby 
wasn't paying him the least bit of attention. Her eyes were locked on 
Susannah's.
“Did you hear that?” she asked with a grin. “The young one spoke English."
Susannah nodded. “I know. She said a few words while you and Mr. Longstreet were 
conversing.” She paused, trying to read her friend's mischievous expression and 
finally picked up her train of thought. “Libby ... are you thinking what I think 
you're thinking?"
Libby nodded. “Why not?"
Susannah was too exhausted to come up with an argument. “You're right. Go ask 
her."
Grinning broadly, Libby dashed for the door and nearly collided with David. 
“Libby, what on earth is wrong?"
“Not a thing,” she replied merrily, hurrying past him. “In fact, I may have just 
solved the servant problem at Fort Apache!"
“What is she talking about?” David asked his wife as Libby disappeared.
“A part-time nursemaid for your son,” Susannah replied. He made the connection 
immediately and frowned. “Now just a minute, Sukie—"
“My darling husband, it's out of your hands,” she said matter-of-factly.
Fifteen
“Mr. Longstreet!” Libby dashed out of the house and looked frantically around, 
blinking against the blinding sun. At the far end of the parade ground, the 
cavalry units were preparing for mounted drill, and several hundred Apaches were 
still in their ration lines. With so much activity going on, it took Libby a 
moment to spot Case and his family, but she finally saw them headed toward the 
headquarters buildings.
“Mr. Longstreet!” she called, hurrying down the quadrangle.
Case stopped and turned to her. “Yes, Miss Ashford?"
“Could I have a word with you, please?"
Case hesitated a moment, then spoke a few words to his grandmother. The old 
woman fixed her dark eyes on Libby, studying her intently before she shepherded 
her young relatives away. Case turned back to Libby. “What is it?"
“I'd like to talk to you about your cousin,” she answered, raising one hand to 
shield her eyes from the sun.
Case took note of her discomfort and gestured toward the ramada—the 
thatch-covered porch that ran along the front of the officers’ quarters. “Why 
don't you step out of the sun?” he suggested, leading her into the shade. “You 
shouldn't come outside without a bonnet."
Libby gave him a grateful smile. “I know. My skin has already turned at least 
two shades darker. In another few months, I'll be able to pass for an Apache."
Case didn't return her smile. “That's doubtful, Miss Ashford."
She sobered. “I'm sorry. I suppose that wasn't a very funny jest, was it?"
“There's more to being an Apache than having dark skin."
“So I've been told. Someday I hope to have the opportunity to learn what that 
entails."
Case frowned. “Why should you want to?"
“Because I like understanding things. What's so wrong with that?” she asked 
defiantly, puzzled by his obvious displeasure.
“You could study and observe for a lifetime and never understand the Inday mind, 
Miss Ashford."
For some reason, prejudice was about the last thing Libby had expected from the 
handsome scout. “Because I'm a woman, you mean,” she said with a touch of 
belligerence.
“Because you're white,” he said, softening his tone.
Libby's heart responded to the gentleness of his deep voice, but her keen mind 
was primed, as always, for a good debate. “You're an Inday, but you've learned 
to think like a white man.” she pointed out. “Why can't that understanding be 
reciprocal?"
Case shook his head. “I understand the white man's language. I've read some of 
your books, seen some of your cities. I have learned to imitate your manners ... 
but that doesn't mean I think and feel as you do."
Libby had trouble seeing the distinction he was making. Before she could think 
of a suitable rejoinder, though, Case reminded her of the reason she had 
detained him. “What was it you wanted to say about my cousin?"
Though she was disappointed, she let go of their discussion. “I'm sure you've 
heard that several cavalry companies will be leaving next week."
“Yes."
She gestured vaguely toward the officers’ quarters. “Well, you see, when Captain 
Robertson leaves, his wife is going to need someone to help her with the baby. 
She'd like to hire someone, and I thought—that is...” As she spoke, Case's face 
became such an unreadable mask that Libby suddenly found herself growing 
tongue-tied. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all. “I've offered to 
help out, you understand. I'll be staying with her at night, but Susannah—that 
is, Mrs. Robertson—doesn't like being so reliant on me. So I thought ... well, 
when I heard your cousin speaking English ... She seems like such a sweet 
girl..."
“You wish to hire her as a servant,” Case said flatly, putting Libby out of her 
misery.
Her heart sank at his tone. “Is that an offensive offer?"
“It is—” Case couldn't find the words for it. He was too astonished. “Your 
friend would trust an Apache to care for her son?"
Libby looked at him blankly. “Why shouldn't she?"
He raised one dark eyebrow. “Haven't you heard? Apaches torture women and 
children."
“Oh, stop playing the devil's advocate. There's no way you could convince me 
that that sweet-faced young girl would deliberately harm the Robertsons’ baby,” 
she said irritably, then remembered what Case had said about understanding the 
Apache mind. Her conviction slipped a little. “Would she?"
“No,” Case assured her. “Tessa would not hurt anyone unless it was in defense of 
her loved ones."
Libby frowned. “Tessa? Is that an Apache name?"
“It's the name that was given to her by the missionaries who taught her to speak 
English. I use it because it is disrespectful to speak an Apache's true name."
Libby was fascinated. “Why?"
Case shrugged. “It is their property. Would you go into the home of a friend and 
use an article of her clothing without asking permission?"
“I see what you mean.” She would have loved to question him further about Apache 
customs, but this time she remembered that she had a mission. “How do you think 
Tessa would feel about helping Mrs. Robertson? Would she like the opportunity to 
earn a little money, or would she find the offer insulting?"
Case thought it over a moment. The money would help her family buy goods at the 
sutler's store, but for Tessa that would not be the prime consideration, Case's 
young cousin had a keen interest in learning about the white man. The 
missionaries who'd spent two years trying to convert the White Mountain Apache 
to Christianity had left quite an impression on the girl.
At Tall One's request, Case had been teaching English to several of the braves 
in his grandfather's clan, and Tessa often found an excuse to be nearby when 
Case was giving lessons. Most Inday girls would never have considered toiling in 
the home of a white man, but Tessa just might. And one thing Case knew for 
certain: He would not have to worry about his cousin being mistreated as long as 
Libby Ashford was around.
“I will ask her father's permission,” he said finally.
“Her father? Why don't you ask Tessa?"
“Because she would not agree if her father did not wish it.” He grinned. “Is 
that not the way in the homes of white men? Mustn't the woman ask the permission 
of the man of the family?"
He was teasing her and Libby knew it. “Well, that's how it'ssupposed to be 
anyway."
“But your house is different?” he asked slyly.
Libby flushed guiltily, but she was thoroughly enjoying his needling. “My 
brother and I have an understanding. He gives orders, and then I do as I 
please."
“Isn't that called anarchy?"
Libby laughed. “I've been called many things, Case, but never an anarchist.” Her 
laughter faded when she realized she had broken the bonds of formality between 
them. “I'm sorry. I meant, Mr. Longstreet."
“It's all right, Miss Ashford,” he reassured her. “There is no disrespect in 
using the name that was given to me by a white man."
“Jedidiah Longstreet?” she guessed, and when Case's expression turned 
questioning, she explained, “I heard that you are somehow related to a rancher 
by that name."
“He is my very distant cousin by marriage,” he replied. “And he has also been 
what you would call my mentor."
“Will you tell me someday how that came to be?” she asked hopefully.
Case frowned, thinking of the spirit journey that had set him on an impossibly 
twisted course. He still could not imagine what part this fragile, spirited 
woman would play in that journey. “Perhaps,” he replied cautiously.
Since the subject clearly displeased him, Libby changed it. “Do you also have an 
Apache name?"
He nodded and spoke a string of difficult sounds. “It means He Chases the 
Thunder."
Libby smiled. “That's lovely."
“It describes my life,” he told her, his voice quiet and reflective.
For the first time Libby caught just a glimpse of the enormous sadness that 
engulfed Case Longstreet. “How so?” she asked gently.
“Miss Ashford!"
Libby turned at the sound of her name being called and saw Major Forsythe 
galloping across the parade ground on a huge gray stallion. “Damnation!” she 
swore under her breath, turning back to Case. “One of these days, you and I are 
going to have a conversation that isn't interrupted by some narrow-minded 
Samaritan who thinks he's doing me a favor!"
It was a struggle for Case not to laugh, but he managed to keep his face somber 
as Forsythe charged up.
“I'll handle this,” Libby whispered, then turned a bright smile on the man 
towering over her.
“Is something the matter, Major Forsythe?"
The officer's horse danced a bit, forcing Libby to step farther into the shelter 
of the ramada. “I was about to ask you the same question.” He pinned Case with a 
ferocious glare. “Longstreet and I had an agreement that he was never to disturb 
you again."
“I'm afraidI am the one doing the disturbing,” Libby said with forced 
affability. “Mr. Longstreet has a young cousin who speaks passable English, and 
we were discussing the possibility of having her come work for Mrs. Robertson 
once you and the general drag her husband off to war.
Forsythe scowled. “An Apache working as a domestic? That's unthinkable."
Libby's eyes widened with false innocence. “Why? Is there some rule forbidding 
such a thing?"
“Well ... no,” the major admitted reluctantly. “I suppose the possibility never 
occurred to anyone."
“Good,” Libby muttered, then smiled. “As you know, Major, Mrs. Robertson has 
been desperately ill. Having someone to help me care for her and little Michael 
would be invaluable."
“I'm sure that's true, but an Apache—"
“Is my only hope for relief,” she said smoothly. “I've grown quite exhausted 
caring for the little tyke, and once the captain leaves, there's going to be 
even more work to do.” She batted her eyelashes at him as she'd seen her cousin 
do countless times when she wanted to get her way. “Please say you'll pave the 
way for me if I should need to obtain the permission of Colonel Dunlevy."
Forsythe knew he was being manipulated—and rather clumsily at that—but he 
couldn't think of a way out of this dilemma. He knew the girl Libby was 
referring to. She was clean and well mannered, and she did speak English 
remarkably well for an Apache. No doubt General Crook would think this was 
another excellent cultural exchange. “Very well, Miss Ashford. If the girl and 
her family agree, I'll see to it that daily passes are arranged for her."
“And I will see to it that she has a suitable escort to and from the fort,” Case 
added.
Libby beamed and reached out impulsively, placing her hand on Case's arm. “Thank 
you.” Her eyes met his, and the connection made by the glance and the touch took 
Libby's breath away. She withdrew her hand quickly and managed a smile that 
encompassed Case and the major. “My thanks to both of you.” She took two steps 
backward. “And now I should be getting back to Susannah. Please let me know when 
you have Tessa's answer, Mr. Longstreet."
“I will."
Libby hurried away, and Case sensed Forsythe's eyes on him. He looked up, 
unintimidated by the officer glowering down at him.
“You're treading into dangerous territory, Indian,” the major warned him, his 
voice harsh and low. “You stay away from that white woman, or else."
“Or else what, Major?” Case asked evenly.
“We're going into battle with the Chiricahua.” Forsythe leaned forward. “And all 
sorts of things can happen in battle. Remember that."
Forsythe straightened and jerked on the reins, forcing his horse to dance 
dangerously close to Case. The scout stepped back to keep from being trampled, 
but his expression betrayed no fear because he felt none—of the horse or of the 
warning.
If the dreams Case had had about the arrogant officer were true, Major Forsythe 
wasn't going to live long enough to make his threat a reality.
Libby's plan worked like a charm. The next day Case brought Tessa by to speak 
with the Robertsons, and Major Forsythe obtained all the necessary 
authorizations. The girl's English was halting at best, but thanks to the 
missionary wife who had so fascinated her, she had a rudimentary knowledge of 
the workings of a Caucasian household. She was bright and inquisitive, and best 
of all, little Michael seemed quite at home with her.
Although Libby's plan had been for Tessa to begin work as soon as David left on 
the campaign, the captain insisted she start immediately. He claimed it was only 
to give Libby a little freedom, but privately, Libby and Susannah speculated 
that he wanted to see for himself that the arrangement was going to work out.
And it did, splendidly. By the first of the following week, Libby felt 
completely comfortable leaving Tessa and Susannah alone for protracted periods. 
Her life returned to a more normal routine of taking care of Meade's home and 
seeing to the needs of their own little family. The time she spent at the 
Robertsons', though, became very special to her, because Tessa was so eager to 
learn whatever Libby cared to teach her. In return, the girl did her best to 
answer some of Libby's questions. The language barrier made lengthy 
conversations and explanations impossible, but Libby treasured every crumb of 
information she could get.
The bits and pieces of knowledge she put together convinced her that the Apache 
were an extraordinarily superstitious people. Tessa refused to kill spiders 
because she feared their relatives would miss them and take revenge against her. 
A brief thunderstorm blew up one afternoon just as Libby served dinner, and the 
girl refused to eat until it had passed for fear the lightning would make her 
teeth fall out.
Since leaving Washington, Libby had been keeping a journal, and as her knowledge 
of the Apache grew, so did the volume of her writing. Only facts and impressions 
about people and places went into her diary. Her feelings she kept to herself. 
She wrote little of her growing dread of her brother's imminent departure; she 
wrote even less of her growing attraction to Case Longstreet.
Every afternoon just before sunset he came to the Robertsons’ to collect his 
cousin, and Libby always managed to find an excuse to be there. They rarely 
exchanged anything more than simple pleasantries, but the thought of seeing him 
at the end of the day became the highlight of her existence. The mask of 
stoicism he wore always seemed to dissolve when he looked at her, and Libby 
began to anticipate the change. When he appeared at the Robertsons’ door, his 
eyes would be cold and lifeless, as though he had steeled himself against 
something unpleasant. Then he would see Libby and the coldness would begin to 
fade. His gaze would grow as warm as a caress.
Feminine instinct told Libby he was fighting that warmth—but losing the battle. 
He looked at Susannah with respect and a touch of admiration for her gentle ways 
and the patience she had shown toward Tessa. The emotions he transmitted when he 
looked at Libby were more intimate.
On Wednesday, the moment Libby and Susannah had been dreading finally arrived. 
Companies E and H of the Forty-seventh Infantry completed their harrowing 
journey from Fort Verde. While the officers in charge reported to General Crook, 
the men set up camp just outside Fort Apache. Before the end of the day, most of 
the ranking officers had been summoned to Crook's headquarters, and word had 
been passed around that the campaign against the Chiricahua renegades would 
begin on Friday.
When Case didn't come for Tessa that evening, Libby surmised that he, too, was 
meeting with Crook. Tessa's brother, a stern-faced young brave with the most 
hostile eyes Libby had ever seen, came to escort her home. Meade and David were 
meeting with the general, which left Libby and Susannah alone in the Robertsons’ 
quarters, trying to pretend that everything was normal.
Sergeant Mumford prepared supper, but neither of them could eat. Together they 
passed the time as all proper ladies were supposed to—by engaging in ladylike 
pursuits.
“Thunder and tarnation!” Libby cursed as she stabbed her finger with her 
embroidery needle for the third time in an hour.
With her feet up on the parlor sofa and little Michael sleeping peacefully in 
his Apache cradleboard nearby, Susannah lowered her needlework into her lap and 
gave her friend a mildly reproving look. “Why don't you give it up, Libby? Those 
pansies you're embroidering aren't worth the loss of so much blood."
“No,” she said obstinately. “I refuse to be defeated by a sofa pillow."
“I think it's your brother's impending departure that's defeating you,” Susannah 
replied.
Libby lowered her embroidery hoop. “How can you be so calm?"
“You forget, I've been through this before. I accept it because I have no 
choice, and you're going to have to learn to do the same thing.” She smiled and 
gestured toward Libby's needlework. “All the bloodletting in the world isn't 
going to help Meade."
“Is the first time the worst?” she asked hopefully.
Susannah would have liked to give her the answer she wanted, but she couldn't 
lie. “No, Libby. It doesn't get any easier."
“I was afraid of that."
“Look on the bright side. As post surgeon, Meade won't have to do this very 
often."
“I'll try to bear that in mind,” she said, but in truth it was cold comfort. Her 
brother had never been in combat before. He'd been only fifteen at the outbreak 
of the Civil War. It had been surprising to both Libby and Meade that when he 
reached an age when most boys were signing up, their father had discouraged him 
from doing so. He insisted that Meade carry on with his medical studies as 
planned.
At first Libby had thought he was finally showing some concern for his son's 
welfare, but she had eventually come to realize that Martin Ashford's only 
concern was the war effort. Doctors were desperately needed, and Colonel Ashford 
wanted his son to be more than a hastily trained bone-cutter. Meade had to be 
the best so as not to disgrace his ambitious father.
Now Meade was going into battle in a war that Congress had never officially 
declared to be a war, but the casualties were all too real.
When Libby fell silent, absorbed by thoughts she didn't want to think, Susannah 
let the conversation drop until the silence became too oppressive to bear. 
Without really intending to, she asked a question that had been nagging at her 
for days.
“You're worried abouthim, too, aren't you, Libby?"
“Him?” she questioned innocently, though she knew very well what her friend was 
getting at.
“Case Longstreet."
Libby focused her attention on her embroidery. “I'm concerned for the welfare of 
everyone who's going on this campaign."
“Libby, don't be evasive. I've come to know you too well. I see how your eyes 
light up whenever he calls for Tessa, and I know how disappointed you were this 
afternoon when her brother came for her instead. You're infatuated with the 
man."
She didn't bother to deny it. “Well, at least you called him a man instead of 
‘that Indian.’”
“He is an Indian, Libby.” Her gentle voice also held a note of warning. “A 
relationship between the two of you is quite impossible."
“I know that,” she snapped irritably.
“Then stop—"
“Stop what?” Libby demanded, tossing her embroidery hoop onto the table beside 
her. “Stop thinking about him? I've tried. Stop remembering what I feel like 
when he looks at me with those beautiful dark eyes?” She stood. “Believe me, 
I've tried that, too."
Susannah knew Libby's anger wasn't directed at her. “You could try not 
questioning Tessa about him."
“Yes, I could do that,” she replied ruefully as she began pacing the room. 
“Particularly since she refuses to answer the questions I ask."
“Perhaps that's because she knows you're in love with her cousin and that such a 
relationship is hopeless."
“I am not in love with Case Longstreet,” she insisted. “You said it yourself—I'm 
infatuated. There's a difference."
“But infatuation can lead to love."
“Don't be silly.” She returned to her chair. “I was once infatuated with a young 
man Meade was tutoring in anatomy at Harvard. He came to our house twice a week, 
and I served him rum cakes and tea. When I put the plate in front of him, he 
always found a way to brush his hand against mine as he took a piece of cake or 
the cup...” She sighed at the sweet memory. “He would look at me with the most 
adoring eyes imaginable, and I hung on his every word."
“What happened to him?"
“The day after he passed the anatomy course he came to our little house, hat in 
hand, to ask what he called ‘a most delicate question.’”
Susannah clapped with delight. “He proposed to you?"
“No, he asked if I'd send my recipe for rum cake to his fiancée in Boston.” 
Susannah burst into laughter, and Libby assumed an injured air. “Don't make 
light of it! I was utterly devastated!"
Susannah covered her mouth to muffle her giggles. “I'm sure you were."
“My point is that women recover from these harmless little infatuations,” Libby 
said, trying to remain serious. “They don't mean a thing."
Susannah's laughter finally dissipated. “To you, perhaps,” she said seriously. 
“But what about Case Longstreet? What is he supposed to make of your 
flirtation?"
Libby gasped. “I'm not flirting!"
“Aren't you? When he's in the room, your eyes look nowhere else. Your face 
positively glows, and you hang on his every word. What kind of an impression are 
you giving him?"
“That I find him ... interesting,” she answered, finding that their conversation 
was growing quite uncomfortable.
“But what if he begins to believe it's more than that? Libby, you can't toy with 
this man,” Susannah warned.
“I'm not toying with him! I'm ... I'm..."
“Just infatuated?"
“That's right."
Susannah shook her head. “No, Libby, I think it's more. You're obsessed with 
him. He's handsome, enigmatic, and, even more tantalizing, he's forbidden fruit. 
By word or deed everyone at Fort Apache has told you to stay away from him, but 
you're just stubborn enough to defy them all for spite.” The words were gently 
spoken, but their impact hit Libby like a slap in the face. Too hurt to be 
angry, she froze in the chair. “Is that really what you think of me, Susannah? 
You believe I'm that shallow?"
“No, of course not,” she exclaimed quickly, realizing she'd expressed herself 
badly. “I'm just trying to impress on you the dangers of an infatuation with 
Longstreet. We're in a precarious situation here, Libby. You may feel sorry for 
the Apaches on this reservation, but you can't lose sight of the fact that they 
are a warlike race of people who could rise against us at any moment with only 
the slightest provocation."
“Case would never harm me—or anyone else at Fort Apache!"
“Perhaps not,” Susannah said evenly. “But you can't deny that a very real 
prejudice exists against him. What if Major Forsythe or some of the other 
soldiers took it upon themselves to punish Longstreet for the interest he's 
shown in you? Longstreet's people respect him. Can you imagine what they'd do if 
he was killed because of a white woman?"
“That's preposterous,” she snapped, refusing even to entertain the idea. 
“Nothing like that is going to happen. Now could we please change the subject 
before you decide to tell me again how shallow I am."
“I didn't mean to offend you, Libby."
“I know,” she replied, but it was difficult to accept the notion that her only 
friend at Fort Apache thought of her as a petulant child. Her attraction to Case 
Longstreet was not an act of rebellion. Yes, she cared more for him than she was 
willing to admit to Susannah, or even herself, but her obsession had nothing to 
do with his being “forbidden fruit."
They changed the subject to something harmless, but Libby was suddenly too 
restless to stay still. Alert to every sound on the parade ground, she rose 
frequently and went to the window, but there was nothing to see except the 
lights in the enlisted men's barracks across the quadrangle.
Finally, when she realized she was being anything but a comfort to Susannah, she 
left, knowing that Mumford would look after the mother and child until the 
captain returned. The idea of going back to her empty quarters was unappealing, 
but there were precious few options open to her. The evening was cool, with no 
moon to provide even a glimmer of illumination. The stars were so vivid they 
looked close enough to touch, though, and Libby stepped out from under the 
ramada, leaned back against the support post, and began looking for 
constellations.
Orion and the Pleiades were simple. The nearby Hyades were more difficult. 
Pegasus proved so elusive that before she could find it she grew dizzy from 
looking up.
“Have you lost something, Miss Ashford?"
The voice in the dark was so soothing that Libby wasn't at all startled, but she 
did wonder how Case Longstreet had managed to come so close to her without 
alerting her to his presence. Then she remembered he was an Apache, and 
dismissed the question as foolish. Susannah's dire prediction also passed 
through her mind, but she dismissed it as well. Being with Case felt so right 
that she couldn't bring herself to believe it was wrong.
“Indeed I have, Mr. Longstreet,” she replied wistfully, glancing up again. 
“Pegasus is missing."
Case looked up at the stars. “Perhaps if you told me what this Pegasus is, I 
could help you find it."
“He's a beautiful white winged horse from Greek mythology."
“Ah.” That explained why he'd never heard the word before. He'd had trouble 
enough comprehending the white man's ways without delving into the fables of 
ancient cultures. He did know that men had once assigned mystical meanings to 
the stars, though. “I'm afraid I see no horse, winged or otherwise. Perhaps if 
you looked over the stable..."
Libby laughed and abandoned her search. “You're teasing me."
“A little,” Case conceded, stepping closer as though drawn to her like a magnet.
“Don't your people ascribe meanings to the stars?"
“Not as specifically as some. A falling star is said to point in the direction 
of an approaching enemy. And that band of light there"—he used his thumb to 
point to the Milky Way—"is made by the pitching of a flour-laden burro."
“I suppose that makes as much sense as seeing a winged horse in a collection of 
random lights,” she said with a airy laugh. “Tell me, is there a reason why you 
pointed with your thumb?"
He looked down, and for the first time in their brief acquaintance, Libby 
thought that he was actually embarrassed. “Pointing to any heavenly body with a 
finger gives you warts,” he finally answered.
Libby stifled a laugh. “I see.” There was a moment of silence as they looked at 
each other. The lights from the officers’ quarters were the only illumination, 
and it was difficult to see clearly. For some reason, though, the darkness 
enhanced the strange connection Libby always felt to this man when she was with 
him—and sometimes when she wasn't. “Do you believe that?” she asked after a 
moment.
“I respect the beliefs of my people,” he replied.
“But you've experienced so much more of the world than most of your people. 
Surely that's eliminated some of your superstitions."
Case knew she wasn't criticizing him or his people. She was simply trying to 
understand him. He took another step toward her, and Libby shifted so that her 
shoulder was leaning against the post. Case couldn't resist mirroring her 
position on the other side of it. “I once visited the home of my friend, 
Jedidiah, in Philadelphia. His family was quite suspicious of me, but they took 
me in and treated me as they would have any other guest,” he told her, smiling 
fondly at the memory.
Libby was certain he hadn't changed the subject and was working toward an answer 
to her question, so she remained silent, enjoying the hypnotic quality of his 
voice.
“The first night we sat down to supper, his aunt spilled a little bowl of salt, 
and when she cried out in alarm, I jumped from my chair and began searching for 
a spider or snake on the tablecloth. Everyone assumed I was preparing to attack 
them, but dear Aunt Millie was oblivious to their fear because she was too busy 
throwing pinches of salt over her shoulder, muttering ‘bad luck, bad luck.’”
Libby laughed merrily. “I retract my question."
Case chuckled, too. “No, it's a valid one,” he said gently. “What you really 
want to know is whether I ever find myself confused by the differences between 
my beliefs and yours."
“Do you?"
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But I have learned to accept what is without asking 
too many questions."
“Whereas I question everything,” Libby observed.
“It seems that way to me.” He looked down at her, and it was everything he could 
do to keep from touching her face. “And if you don't like the answers you get to 
your questions, you fight to change them."
Libby could hardly breathe. “Is that bad?"
“It is wonderful."
Without thinking about what she was doing, Libby moistened her lips and realized 
that she had never wanted to be kissed so desperately in her life. The desire 
was so potent that she moved a little distance away from the pillar, trying to 
break the spell she had fallen under. It didn't work. She tried changing the 
subject, but feared that wouldn't do the trick, either.
“Obviously you've finished your meeting with General Crook,” she observed 
somewhat belatedly.
Case took a step back as well. His thoughts were too dangerous. “Yes. The 
general is laying out his strategies."
“Is the meeting over?” she asked, wondering why she hadn't noticed any officers 
passing.
“No. I expect it will go on for several hours, but my presence was no longer 
required. I was headed for the Robertsons’ to make certain that Tessa had left 
for her home."
Libby assured him that she had, then made a vague gesture toward the hospital. 
She murmured something about needing to return to her quarters, and Case bade 
her good night. As he started to walk away, though, Libby found that she 
couldn't let him go. “You'll be leaving with the cavalry, won't you?"
Case turned to her. “Yes."
“Will you be careful?"
He smiled. “An Apache is always careful."
A pause turned into a protracted silence, but neither of them moved. Finally it 
was Libby who broke it. “Would it be presumptuous of me to ask you to walk me 
home, Mr. Longstreet?"
“It would be foolish of you to ask and foolish of me to do you that courtesy,” 
he answered quietly.
Libby took a step back. “You're right, of course. Forgive me."
“Anything."
His voice was as soft as the breeze against her face, and for reasons that made 
absolutely no sense, Libby suddenly felt like crying. “Good night, Mr. 
Longstreet.” She turned and had taken only a few steps when Case fell in beside 
her.
Her melancholy vanished, and she couldn't bring herself to comment on their 
folly. They were simply two fools. Two fools in love, she thought, then quickly 
swept the ridiculous notion away. She was passing a few innocent minutes with an 
intriguing stranger on a dark, silent night. There was no reason to read more 
into it than that.
Case inquired after Susannah's health, and their discussion eventually turned to 
Tessa's thirst for knowledge. They strolled along at a leisurely pace, speaking 
of trivialities that didn't seem trivial to them, and when they reached the 
hospital, it was the most natural thing in the world for them to sit in the 
chairs Libby and Meade kept on the porch for those times when they needed to 
escape the heat of their quarters.
Case asked about her “garden,” which was surviving despite the heat. He asked 
where she had come from and why she had chosen to follow her brother to Fort 
Apache. She told him the truth about her life—the loneliness that had been 
alleviated only by her brother, the restrictions and conventions that had always 
chafed her, the inadequacies she felt because she was so different from other 
women.
Case commented little, but he cherished the things she told him because they 
gave him a better understanding of her. In some ways, her past had been no less 
tragic than his, but she had a spirit that refused to be broken.
She also had a curiosity that was insatiable, and soon she was the one asking 
the questions. She asked simple ones at first, but it was impossible for her to 
resist becoming more personal. “Last week you told me that your Apache name, He 
Chases the Thunder, describes your life. What did you mean by that?"
“It is the name that was given to me when I became a man,” he said evasively.
“But how is it descriptive of your life?"
He tried to find her eyes in the darkness, but she was only a vague shadow. He 
felt her, though, as he had felt her every day of the last eleven years. “You 
would not understand,” he replied, but something inside him told him that was a 
lie. She would understand everything.
“Is it something you're forbidden to speak of?” she asked, remembering the few 
times that Tessa had refused to answer her questions because she feared that 
some harm might come to her.
“It is ... complicated."
“Then I won't press you to talk about it.” Libby was disappointed, but she tried 
not to let it show. Case heard it in her voice, though.
“I did not say that to hurt you, Libby."
He used her name for the first time, and she had never heard it sound so sweet. 
“I'm not hurt. It's just that I have so many questions about you. I'd like to 
understand how you became the man you are."
He was silent for a moment. “Would you be so eager to understand me if you knew 
that my life has only one purpose, that of revenge?"
“Revenge?"
“It is all I am, Libby,” he told her, his voice growing hard. “I exist for no 
other reason, and until I have that revenge, I have no other life."
She leaned toward him. “Revenge against what? Or whom?"
“His name is Gato."
Libby didn't have to see his face to imagine the hatred she would see in his 
eyes. The depth of his loathing was in his voice. “What did he do to you?"
“He murdered my parents and all the women and old men of my mother's family. He 
took my sister, Morning Star, to be sold as a slave in Mexico, and he stole a 
necklace that has great meaning to my people ... and to me."
Libby couldn't begin to imagine the horror of what he described, and her heart 
went out to him. “Where were you when it happened?"
“In the eye of an eagle. Watching,” he answered quietly. He half expected her to 
get up then and leave without a backward glance. Had she known what was good for 
her, she would have; but she stayed.
“Do you mean that literally?” she asked.
“Yes."
Libby wasn't sure what to say. It was impossible for her to believe him, of 
course, but it never occurred to her to doubt that he believed it. In the final 
analysis, that was all that really mattered. “When did it happen?"
“Eleven years ago."
“And you've been searching for Gato all this time?"
“No,” he replied, amazed at her acceptance. “I have spent these years preparing 
for my revenge."
“When will that happen?"
In the simplest terms he could find, he explained the spirit journey the eagle 
had taken him on and the many sights that had been revealed to him. “When all of 
the visions have come to pass, then I will take my revenge."
The memory of their first meeting was nagging at Libby. “Did you meet people on 
your journey?"
“Yes. General Crook I met. And Major Forsythe ... and many others who have 
already come and gone from my life."
Libby hardly dared ask her next question. “The night you first saw me, at 
Colonel Dunlevy's, you looked at me as though you had seen me before.” She held 
her breath. “Was I in your dream?"
The silence grew long and heavy before he replied. “Yes."
“What is to become of me?"
“I don't know,” he replied honestly. “My journey was filled with signposts that 
have pointed me in the direction of Gato, in the same way that I would follow a 
shooting star to find my enemy. In meeting you I have passed another milestone 
that has brought me one step closer."
“How many ... milestones are left?"
“Not many. A great battle is coming. Gato will be there, but I will not know it 
until later. I will find his arrow."
“How will you know it's his?"
“Each brave makes his own arrows, and on each one he carves a symbol to make it 
fly straight and sure. I have seen Gato's arrows before,” he said coldly, 
remembering the shaft that Jedidiah had removed from his shoulder. “I will know 
it when I see it again. Soon after that we will come face to face. We will 
fight, and one of us will die."
“Do you mean your dream doesn't show you prevailing over Gato?” Libby asked, 
trying to quell her fear. What Case was telling her was beyond her 
comprehension, and it undoubtedly had about as much validity as the salt dear 
Aunt Millie had thrown over her shoulder to ward off bad luck; but for some 
reason Libby believed him. She felt like a child being frightened by a ghost 
story on a stormy night, but there was nothing childlike about her fear. It was 
painfully real.
Case heard the fear in her voice and was touched by it. He wanted to reach out 
to her, but didn't dare. Instead, he stood and moved restlessly to the edge of 
the porch. “The eagle promised me only that I would meet Gato,” he told her. “I 
have spent my life preparing. I am ready."
Libby frowned at him through the darkness. A light from the barracks across the 
quadrangle cast him in silhouette, highlighting the perfection of his lean form. 
It was the hatred in his heart that induced her to go to him, though. “But you 
might die."
Case shrugged, refusing to look at her. “Then I will die."
“How do you know this Gato isn't already dead?” she challenged. There was more 
light at the edge of the porch than there had been in the shadows, and she could 
see the fixed, determined set of his jaw.
“I have followed him for years. He knows I am waiting, and he knows why."
“Where is he now?"
“At this second? I'm not sure,” he confessed. “Last year he was hiding in 
Mexico, but he will return soon."
Libby placed her hand on his arm. The simple touch moved them both. “Case, your 
parents are dead. Wreaking revenge on Gato won't bring them back."
He looked at the soft pale hand on his arm, then at her delicate heart-shaped 
face. He couldn't allow the imploring look in her eyes to sway him. “It will 
bring the Thunderbird necklace back to me. Until I have that, my mother and 
father cannot be at peace. That is reason enough."
He believed every word of it. Libby realized that nothing she could say would 
sway him from the dangerous course he had set. Perhaps his visions were 
irrational, but his hatred was as much a part of him as his piercing eyes and 
the dignity with which he carried himself in the white man's world.
“Do I play a part in your revenge?” she whispered unable to look away from him.
“I don't know."
Will I ever play a part in your life? she wanted to ask, but didn't dare.
They studied each other for a moment, bound together by a web of emotion neither 
of them understood or wished to explain. It was Case who finally broke the 
fragile strands by stepping off the porch. He bade her a good evening, then 
disappeared into the night. Libby stood on the porch watching the darkness long 
after he had gone.
She didn't notice the two soldiers across the quadrangle who'd been hidden in 
the shadows between the barracks buildings, passing a bottle of whiskey back and 
forth.
But they had noticed her. And Case.
Sixteen
The next morning General Crook tapped his foot thoughtfully as he studied the 
map on his office wall. Between the Black River and Cochise's stronghold in the 
Dragoon Mountains, tiny red flags marked a score of locations that had been hit 
by renegades during the past month. Thanks to a treaty that had made the 
Dragoons a reservation—and an unsupervised one, at that—there was no way Crook 
could mount an assault against the wily old Chiricahua chief. However, with 
troops from Fort Thomas and Fort Bowie he was going to do his damnedest to make 
an impression on the bands of renegades who were leaving the reservation, 
attacking rancheros, and then hightailing it back to Cochise.
A knock at his door broke Crook's concentration, but he didn't turn away from 
the map as he called, “Come."
His adjutant stepped into the room and announced, “Case Longstreet reporting as 
ordered, sir."
“Good! Come in, Case.” He turned as the scout entered, and his welcoming smile 
turned into a scowl of barely controlled outrage when he saw the bruises and 
cuts on the Apache's face. “That will be all, Lieutenant,” he barked, and the 
adjutant left, closing the door behind him. “What, happened?” he demanded once 
they were alone.
Case's battered face remained impassive. “It's nothing, sir."
Crook retreated to his desk. “That cut over your eye is not nothing, 
Longstreet.” He sat. “Since I've never known an Apache to engage in fisticuffs, 
I presume this was done by one or more of my men."
“I'd rather not say."
“Is this person, or persons, still alive?"
“To my knowledge, none of your soldiers are missing, sir."
“But you're not going to tell me who did this to you?"
“No."
“Blast it, Case, I cannot have this sort of thing going on. I've got a hundred 
White Mountain Apache scouts on the army payroll. They trust me, and by virtue 
of that, they trust the army. If I allow whoever did this to go unpunished, I 
could lose that trust. I'd be in a devil of a fix then, and you know it."
Case shook his head. “The incident is already in the past, General. Believe me 
when I tell you that it will be much better for all concerned if you leave it 
alone."
Crook drummed his fingers on the desk. Longstreet clearly wasn't going to 
explain what had happened, why, or who had been involved. Unfortunately, the 
general had a pretty good idea about the why. And the who wouldn't be too 
difficult to determine, either. “I daresay it won't be too hard to find out who 
else was involved. I'll just search for the man or men who look worse than you 
do."
Case almost smiled. “As I said, sir, the matter would be best left alone."
“Because there's a lady involved?” Crook asked shrewdly. Case's silence was all 
the answer he needed. He shook his head, wondering how to handle what could 
become an explosive situation. At the Dunlevys’ party, he'd found Miss Liberty 
Ashford's forthrightness refreshing. What he'd heard about her since had 
convinced him she was a lady of great conviction and spirit. Her association 
with the scout was probably quite innocent, but it could lead to problems that 
Crook shuddered even to think about.
“Longstreet, you're a civilian scout. I can't punish you, because to my 
knowledge, you haven't done anything wrong. And since you're not a soldier, I 
can't order you to stay away from ... this lady. The most I could do would be to 
release you from your contract with the army and ban you from Fort Apache.” He 
sighed heavily. “Of course, if I did that, I'd probably lose about half of my 
scouts."
“You're probably right."
Crook had to smile at that. One of the things he'd liked most about this scout 
from the very beginning was his candor. He could always count on getting nothing 
but the unvarnished truth from Case Longstreet. “Then I don't have any choice 
but to leave this matter up to your good judgment, do I?"
Case's glance didn't waver from the general's. “Not that I can see, sir."
“Well, if you don't wish to press charges against the men who did this to you, 
then officially I'll have to pretend that it didn't happen. I just hope there 
are no ... repercussions."
“So do I."
Crook got down to business, questioning Case about the readiness of his scouts, 
who would be setting out in advance of the cavalry the next morning. Case 
assured him that the braves were ready. “But they want to hold a ceremony 
tonight, General."
Crook frowned. “You mean a war dance, don't you?"
For the first time since he'd entered the room, Case smiled. The very mention of 
an Apache doing a war dance was enough to make even the most stalwart army man 
nervous, because there was always an element of doubt in the soldier's mind 
about whom the Apaches were preparing to make war on. Those who had actually 
seen a war dance got even more nervous. “If they're not allowed to perform the 
ceremony, some of them will refuse to go,” Case reminded him.
“I know.” Crook sighed. “Permission granted."
“Thank you, General."
They completed their business, but as Case started to leave, Crook stopped him 
at the door. “One more thing, Longstreet. I want you to head over to the 
infirmary and see Dr. Ashford about that cut over your eye."
Case immediately thought of the doctor's lovely sister and what had happened 
last night as a result of the time he had spent with her. For Case, a few cuts 
and bruises were a small price to pay for those precious moments, but when word 
of his fight and the reason for it began to spread, as it surely would, Libby 
Ashford might feel very differently. “That's not necessary, sir,” he replied.
“I disagree, and since I'm in charge, what I think is the only thing that 
matters. I can't afford to risk that cut festering and putting you out of 
commission. You're too valuable to me. Report to the infirmary immediately."
Case had no choice but to acquiesce. “Yes, sir."
Crook looked at him archly. “And just in case Captain Ashford has heard about 
your little altercation, I trust you will bear in mind that he is to accompany 
us tomorrow. I wouldn't want him out of commission, either."
Case nodded curtly. “Understood."
He left Crook's office and headed for the hospital, mustering all the Apache 
stoicism at his command. The glares that followed him eliminated any hope that 
Libby's brother was ignorant of the fight—and the reason for it.
“They did what?” Meade demanded, glaring at Sergeant Brogan. The striker had 
apparently felt it was his duty to bring Captain Ashford the news as soon as 
he'd heard it. He'd found Meade in the infirmary and drawn him aside for a word 
in private.
“They ambushed him, sir,” Brogan replied, looking a little embarrassed at having 
to recount the gossip. “They slipped away from the fort and hid themselves near 
Longstreet's wickiup. As soon as he got back to his camp, they gave him a good 
thrashin'. Or at least, theytried. From the looks of ’em this morning, it was 
the Injun who did most of the thrashin'."
“And you say they did it because they saw Libby with Longstreet?” Meade asked, 
scowling.
“Now, they're not sayin’ that Miss Liberty did anything wrong, Captain. It was 
the scout."
Meade had never been so angry. “What did he do to her?"
Brogan shrugged. “No one knows for sure. Naturally, Reynolds and Cooper aren't 
talkin’ much ‘cause they're afraid of bein’ punished. The facts have sorta been 
pieced together. All anyone knows for sure is that Longstreet and Miss Liberty 
were seen on the porch, sorta ... close, like."
“Libby!” Meade bellowed, storming through the ward. His only two patients 
watched him go, wondering what all the excitement was about. “Libby!"
In their quarters next door, Libby was preparing to visit Susannah when she 
heard her brother shouting to her. The behavior was so out of character that she 
was convinced something was seriously wrong. Her heart beating in her throat, 
she dashed into the connecting hallway and collided with Meade in the hospital 
anteroom.
“Meade! What's wrong?” she asked urgently, then winced as he grabbed her arm and 
propelled her through the door of his office. “Meade, stop that. You're hurting 
me."
He released her. “What the devil did you think you were doing?"
“What are you talking about?” she asked, rubbing her arm.
“Last night you were seen with Longstreet!"
That was what the fuss was about? Libby was astonished. “What of it?” she asked 
defiantly.
“What did he do to you?” Meade demanded.
“Nothing! We just talked. What's wrong with that?” she asked, beginning to get a 
little angry herself.
Meade could hardly believe she was treating this so lightly. “Someone saw you!"
“What difference does that make?"
“My God, Libby. You're a smart woman. Don't you see the damage you've done?"
Libby was getting frightened. She'd seen her brother angry before, but she'd 
never seen him act like this. “All we did was sit on the porch and talk. It was 
perfectly innocent,” she insisted, though she knew very well the feelings she'd 
experienced last night were anything but.
“Well, because of your innocent little talk, two privates from Company D took it 
upon themselves to defend your honor."
“Oh, God,” Libby whispered, reaching for the back of a chair for support. 
Susannah's warning flashed through her mind, and guilt and fear nearly 
overpowered her.
“They ambushed Longstreet in his camp last night."
“Where is he?” she asked frantically. “How badly was he hurt?” Assuming he was 
in the hospital, Libby dashed for the door, but Meade grabbed her arm again.
“Libby, stop worrying about Longstreet and think of your reputation!"
“The devil take my reputation!Is Case all right!"
Meade couldn't believe what he was seeing and hearing. “My God, Libby, you're in 
love with the man."
Tears pooled in her eyes. “Meade, please. Is Case hurt?” She held her breath. 
“Is he dead?"
“No, Libby, I'm fine."
Libby whirled at the sound of Case's voice and found him standing in the door 
Meade had left ajar. Relief flooded through her, and she ran toward him, 
stopping just short of throwing herself into his arms. She studied his battered 
face, knowing that what had happened was her fault. Biting her lower lip to 
force back tears, she gingerly touched the bruise on his cheek.
“It's all right,” he said softly, wanting more than anything to draw her into 
his arms.
“I'm so sorry,” she whispered.
“It's not your fault."
A tear escaped her control. “Yes, it is. I shouldn't have asked you to walk me 
home."
Unable to stop himself, Case reached out and brushed the tear away. “And I 
should have had the strength to say no,” he answered softly.
The look on Longstreet's face told Meade much more than he wanted to know. 
“Libby, go to our quarters at once."
Fighting anger at his dictatorial tone, Libby lowered her head. “Don't order me 
around, Meade. I'm a grown woman."
“Then for God's sake start acting like one!"
She whirled toward him. “Don't yell at me."
Case placed a calming hand on her shoulder, and she glanced back at him. “Do as 
he says, Libby, please. I won't be the cause of trouble between you and your 
brother. Go home and calm down."
She opened her mouth to argue, but there was nothing to say. Terrified of what 
her brother might do after she left, she hesitated for a moment, then went to 
Meade. “Have I ever lied to you?” she asked softly.
Meade felt his anger draining away, but the concern that replaced it was just as 
potent. “No, Libby. We've always been perfectly honest with each other."
“Then you have to believe me when I tell you that Case and I didn't do anything 
wrong last night."
Meade shook his head helplessly. Couldn't she see the damage she was doing, not 
just to herself, but to Longstreet, too? “I do believe you, sweeting.” Gently he 
took her by the shoulders and placed a kiss on her brow. “Let me talk to 
Longstreet."
Libby nodded and pulled away from him. “You'll take care of his cuts, won't 
you?"
“Of course."
She stepped toward the door, stopping when she reached Case. She looked up at 
him, wanting more than anything to touch him, to feel the comfort of his arms 
around her, but that was impossible. There didn't seem to be anything to say, 
either. Though it was difficult, she hurried out of the office, through the 
anteroom, and into the hallway. She pushed the door to, leaving it ajar, and 
leaned against the wall, straining to hear what was being said, but there was 
nothing to hear because Meade had closed the door to his office.
Now that Meade's anger had cooled, he wasn't quite certain what to say to 
Longstreet. The Apache was standing by the desk, his face a mask of stoicism. 
Gone was the tenderness Meade had seen in his eyes when he'd looked at Libby, 
but there was no hostility there, either. They stared at each other for a 
moment; then Meade went to his desk and removed a bottle of whiskey from the 
drawer where his predecessor had left it. He wasn't a drinking man by nature, 
but the situation seemed to call for it.
“Would you care for a drink?” he asked, pouring a shot into the cup that had 
held his morning coffee.
“Haven't you heard? It's illegal to give an Indian liquor,” Case said placidly.
Meade studied him for a moment. “You meant that as sarcasm, Mr. Longstreet, but 
actually you've hit upon the crux of this little mess we've landed in.” He took 
a sip of whiskey. “See, you don't seem like an Indian, not to my sister, at 
least. You're as civilized and mannerly as any officer on this post, and 
apparently Libby can't see past the veneer."
Case didn't like what Ashford was saying, but he respected his directness. 
“Perhaps she sees me with better eyes than you do. She looks with her heart and 
sees me for what I am."
“And what are you?” Meade challenged.
For Libby's sake, because this man was someone she loved, Case knew he had to be 
equally honest. “A man standing between two worlds, belonging to neither, but 
aman just the same."
“A man who's in love with my sister."
Case found it difficult to hold Meade's penetrating gaze, but he did. “I respect 
your sister. I have great admiration for her openness."
“You're not going to admit you're in love with her, are you?"
“No,” he replied.
“But you're perfectly willing to contribute to the ruination of her reputation."
This time Case had to look away. “That was never my intention."
Meade slammed the cup onto his desk. “Damn it all, Longstreet, just what were 
your intentions? Did you really expect to carry on an open flirtation with my 
sister and not have anyone object?"
Case frowned. This was becoming frustrating. “This was never a flirtation, 
Captain Ashford."
“Then what would you call it?"
“A friendship."
Meade looked at him in disbelief. “Can you honestly stand there and tell me that 
your feelings for my sister are strictly platonic?"
Case was beginning to feel like a child being reprimanded by a parent, and he 
didn't like it. He'd been prepared to take whatever abuse Ashford wanted to 
fling at him for the damage done to Libby's reputation, but he hadn't expected 
to be asked to dissect his emotions. At the moment they were so tangled he 
couldn't even identify them himself, let alone explain them. Or justify them.
“You would not understand what I feel for your sister, Captain."
Meade was having a hard time, too, because he was finding it impossible to 
dislike Case Longstreet. He knew the man's reputation—both the good and the 
bad—and he had to respect him for the things he had accomplished. In the 
territory of Arizona, where hatred of the Apache ran at a fever pitch, Case 
Longstreet had earned the trust and respect of George Crook, one of the most 
important military men in the country. That hadn't happened without a reason.
And Meade also knew his sister. It was impossible for him to imagine Libby 
caring so intensely about someone who had no redeeming qualities. But Case 
Longstreet was an Apache. All the good diction and proper manners in the world 
weren't going to change that fact.
“You do realize that a relationship with my sister is impossible, don't you?” he 
asked finally.
Case's expression didn't change, but an intense pain seized his heart. “I know."
“Then for God's sake stay away from her. I don't want Libby to be hurt!"
“Her interest in me will soon pass,” he predicted.
Meade shook his head. “You don't understand my sister, Longstreet. She gives 
with her whole heart, holding nothing back. That's what makes her so special, 
but in your case, it could destroy her. I won't let that happen."
“Neither will I."
“Then stay away from her."
Case looked down at the floor as he tried to sort through his emotions. It was a 
long moment before he spoke again. “Do you believe that some things in this 
world are beyond the control of one man—or many?"
The question took Meade by surprise. He hadn't been a doctor long, but during 
his hospital apprenticeship, he'd seen patients die who should have lived, and 
some live who should have died. The lesson it had taught him was that all too 
often man was as powerless as any of God's other creatures. “Yes. I do."
“Good.” Case nodded. “I will stay away from your sister, Captain,” he promised, 
then took a step toward Meade. “But if this should turn out to be beyond your 
control and mine and Libby's, you will have to accept it."
“Never,” Meade swore.
Case shook his head sadly. “Then it is you who will destroy your sister."
Meade didn't want to admit it, but he knew Longstreet was right. He would just 
have to do everything in his power to convince Libby that she had chosen to care 
for the wrong man. There didn't seem to be anything more to say to the scout, 
though. Meade believed his promise to stay away from Libby, but in his heart he 
knew that wasn't going to be enough.
“Come into the infirmary and I'll dress that cut,” he said shortly, heading for 
the door.
But Case didn't follow him. “Ashford.” Meade turned. “You know that I must see 
Libby before I leave tomorrow."
Meade thought it over and nodded reluctantly. If Longstreet left tomorrow 
without speaking to Libby, she would magnify this incident in her mind. She 
might even romanticize it beyond recognition—or control. “You'll tell her that a 
relationship is impossible and you don't want to see her again?"
Case was silent for a moment. “I will say what needs to be said."
That wasn't a very satisfactory answer, but Meade knew he wasn't going to get a 
better one. “All right. You can see her after I've had a look at that cut."
Case met his gaze evenly. “I wasn't asking your permission."
Meade's anger flared again, but he controlled it when he realized that 
Longstreet wasn't being insolent, just honest. He opened the office door, and 
Case followed him through the anteroom into the infirmary.
Waiting in the shadowed hallway, Libby heard them go, but that was all she had 
heard. She opened the door a few inches more. Case would pass by on his way out 
of the hospital, and Libby intended to talk to him, no matter what anyone said 
or thought. She had to make sense of what she was feeling. She had to know what 
Case was feeling. Most of all, she just had to see him again because he was 
leaving tomorrow and there might never be another chance.
She waited for what seemed like hours. When she heard the squeak of the 
infirmary door at last, she peeked into the anteroom. As Case passed her hiding 
place, she opened the door wide.
He stopped and looked at her. He could see that she had been crying, and traces 
of fear laced with confusion showed plainly in her eyes. For the first time Case 
realized that his woman had no defenses to protect her from the kind of pain she 
was feeling now. He wanted to provide that protection, but how could he when he 
was the cause?
“We have to talk. Please,” Libby implored.
“I know."
She stepped back to make room for him in the hallway and closed the door behind 
him. She started to lead him into the parlor at the other end of the hall, then 
remembered the open windows. Anyone passing might see or hear them, and this 
nightmare could start all over again.
“We'll have more privacy here,” she said quietly. The room on the other side of 
the wall was a supply room, so it was unlikely they would be heard. Sunlight 
coming in from the parlor made it possible for them to see each other clearly, 
but the knowledge that they had to hide in a hallway only added to Libby's 
confusion and pain. They stood a few feet apart, close enough for their hands to 
touch had they reached out, but neither did.
“What did my brother say to you?"
“What we already know. That you and I cannot be together, even as friends."
Libby started to protest, then looked at the bruises on his face and remembered 
why they were there; “I don't have any choice but to accept that, do I?"
Case shook his head. “No."
She found it impossible to look at him. “When Meade told me what had happened, 
I'd never been so frightened. They might have killed you."
He smiled ruefully. “Fortunately for me, that was not what they had in mind."
Libby heard the humor in his voice and looked up. “They just wanted to teach you 
a lesson?” He nodded. “What did you do?"
“I fought them off without doing too much damage. They'd been drinking, so it 
wasn't difficult."
“But you'd have been within your rights to kill them."
“I'm not as much of a savage as everyone thinks I am."
Libby took one step toward him. “I don't think that."
“I know,” Case said softly.
She wanted desperately for him to reach for her, but when he didn't, she turned 
and faced the wall, embarrassed by her overwhelming emotions. “I'm falling in 
love with you,” she whispered. “You know that, don't you?"
Case wanted to tell her that he had been in love with her long before they'd 
met. It would have made her woman's heart open to him like a flower to the sun. 
But her brother was right. If she gave him all her heart, her trust, her 
loyalty, it would destroy her. But he wasn't going to lie to her and allow her 
to believe that she meant nothing to him. She wouldn't have believed it anyway. 
“You are the most priceless woman I have ever met, Libby. Your honor and 
honesty, your sweetness and compassion, are all any man could want in the woman 
he loves."
Libby clung to the words, gathered them into her heart, and stored them in a 
safe place. “What do Apache women do when they care for a man they can't have?"
“The same as white women. They carry on with their lives until a man they can 
have comes along."
“And what does a man do?"
Case remembered the story of how his father had fought the opposition of two 
tribes for the woman he loved. It made him want to claim Libby as his woman then 
and there and tell the white man's world to go to the hell they believed in. But 
there was his revenge against Gato to think of and the uncertain future he 
faced. Even when he came to the end of his quest, there would still be the world 
to deal with, to live in. Perhaps by the time his bones had turned to dust, an 
Apache would be able to love a white woman and the world would smile, but Case 
didn't really believe that would happen.
“If he cares for her enough, he lets her go,” he replied sadly. “What does a 
white man do?"
Libby looked up at him, her heart shining in her eyes. “If he loves her enough, 
he fights for her."
She was disappointed in him. He saw it in her eyes, and it hurt him as much as 
not being able to tell her he loved her. “I must go, Libby."
“No.” Her hand flew to his arm to detain him. “Not yet."
He looked down at her and placed his hand on hers, but did not pry it away. 
“There is nothing more to say."
“I have many things to say!"
He shook his head. “Nothing that will change what is."
“Case, please...” she pleaded softly, raising her hand to caress his cheek. 
“You're leaving tomorrow, and there may not be another chance....” Stretching 
up, she pressed her lips to his.
The kiss was light and innocent, the sweetest thing Case had ever experienced. 
His people did not kiss; it was considered unclean. But there was nothing 
repulsive about Libby's lips touching his. He had never felt anything like it.
His breath hissed between his lips. His eyes closed, shutting out the world that 
would not have approved, forgetting about the quest for revenge that had forced 
him to go places an Apache should never have gone. He pulled Libby into his 
arms, lifting her off her feet as he pressed her body to his. She wrapped her 
arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair as their lips explored 
and tasted. The kiss and their embrace went beyond passion. It was the communion 
of one lonely soul reaching for another and finding it was no longer alone.
When Case finally released her, lowering her feet to the floor, they looked at 
each other. Both were breathless, aching, and more confused than ever.
“You should feel soiled,” Case said in a deep, hoarse voice that made Libby 
tremble with need.
A sob welled in her throat, and tears coursed down her face. She brushed at the 
wetness on her cheek and looked down at the glistening teardrops on her 
fingertips. “I feel as though my heart is breaking in half,” she whispered. She 
studied his face, memorizing every line, every angle, and especially the bruises 
that symbolized the reason she couldn't fight for this man's love. She touched a 
swollen spot on his cheek, then placed her fingertips against his mouth. “I 
can't bear the thought of causing you any more pain."
Case's breath hitched as his tongue tasted the residue of her salty tears. “The 
pain would be yours."
“I don't care."
He embraced her gently, pulling her close, resting his cheek against her hair. 
“You would,cida'ké. Someday you would."
Libby made no effort to control her silent tears, nor did she try to correct 
him, though she knew he was wrong. “What does that mean—cida'ké?"
Case hesitated. “Beloved."
She clutched him tightly, then let go and stepped back. “Do your people have a 
god?” she asked, her voice broken with emotion.
The question surprised him. “We have many deities, but the spirit who leads me 
is the Thunder Eagle."
“Then I will ask your god and mine to keep you safe.” She took another step 
back. “Good-bye...cida'ké."
She turned and walked slowly toward her quarters. The sunlight coming from the 
parlor cast her in a golden halo until she quietly closed the door.
For a long time Case stood in the darkness. When his parents died, he had never 
shed a tear. Was it wrong, he wondered, that his face was wet now?
Seventeen
She was sitting in the rocking chair, staring blankly through the window when 
Meade finally found her late in the afternoon. It was the third time he'd 
checked their quarters, but there had been no sign of her. At first he'd feared 
she might have run off with Longstreet, but he had quickly discounted that 
notion. Libby had never taken the coward's way out of anything in her life, and 
it was unlikely that Longstreet had, either.
Meade stood in the door, watching her for a moment. She had to know he was 
there, but she refused to look in his direction.
“Where have you been, Libby?” he asked quietly.
It was a moment before she answered. “I had to prepare dinner for Susannah."
The terrible flatness of her voice frightened Meade. “Are you all right?"
“I will be."
Meade moved a cane-backed chair close to the rocker and sat, leaning forward 
with his elbows on his knees. “Libby, talk to me."
She looked at him finally, but there wasn't a flicker of life in her dark brown 
eyes. “It's over.” She laughed bitterly. “And the truly funny thing is, I don't 
even know what ‘it’ was."
He touched her hands. They were as cold as death despite the afternoon heat. 
“You fell in love, Libby. It had to happen sometime."
Tears pooled in her eyes. “It hurts."
“I know.” Meade wasn't sure he could bear seeing her like this. “But, my sweet, 
darling Libby, you can't fight the world."
“Yes, I can,” she replied with the conviction of a true idealist. “I would fight 
anyone or anything if it meant that Case and I could be together. But I won't,” 
she assured him. “Yesterday Susannah warned me about what could happen, and she 
was right. It could be worse next time, and I can't let Case take that risk."
“You never cease to amaze me, little sister."
“Your little sister is growing up in a hurry, Meade.” She patted his hand. “It's 
about time, wouldn't you say?"
“I love you exactly as you are, Libby. I don't want this experience to change 
you."
She managed a tired smile. “Maybe it will be a change for the better."
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I don't think so."
“I'll be all right, Meade,” she assured him earnestly. “I don't want you 
worrying about me. In fact, I don't want you thinking about anything but getting 
yourself back here in one piece."
“I'll do my best,” he promised, releasing her hand as he straightened. “Are you 
angry with me, Libby?"
“No,” she replied.
“But you are disappointed in me, aren't you?"
Libby never would have told him that on the eve of his departure with Crook's 
army, but since he'd asked, she couldn't lie to him. “A little,” she admitted. 
“You're not like Forsythe and the others who judge Case simply because he's an 
Apache. I expected more tolerance from you. Or at least a little more outrage 
over the unfairness of it all."
“I'm only thinking of you, Libby. Obviously Case Longstreet is an honorable man. 
There's a great deal to admire about him."
“So long as he stays away from your sister,” she said without rancor.
Meade couldn't deny it. “Yes."
“Because he's an Apache?"
He shook his head. “Because we live in a world that would never accept a 
relationship between a white woman and an Indian, In the long run, Libby, it 
would cause you enormous pain. Think of your children—"
Libby frowned. “Children? Meade, we didn't elope last night. We just talked."
“But the more you're with this man, the more you come to care for him. Can you 
honestly tell me you haven't thought about spending your life with him?"
She looked away. “I haven't thought about the future at all."
“If that's true, it's because in your heart you know it's impossible for you to 
have a future with Case Longstreet. Libby darling, I know you're hurt, but in 
the final analysis, this is for the best."
“I'm sure you're right,” she replied, but the part of her that was numb with 
pain and an overwhelming sense of loss didn't believe it.
She gave him a smile that was meant to reassure, then went off to start supper. 
For Meade's sake she did her best to appear normal. They both knew it was an 
act, but it was the only way either of them knew to get through the long night 
ahead. All through the meal Meade wrestled with a decision, and finally, as he 
helped her clear away the dishes, he made it.
“Libby, Captain Edgemont dropped by the hospital to see me today."
“That must have been pleasant,” she said with a touch of sarcasm as she immersed 
their plates in the small tub of water on the counter. “Did he advise you to 
give me a sound thrashing?"
“Of course not,” he scoffed, though her supposition wasn't too far from the 
truth. Edgemont liked Case Longstreet a great deal more than some of the other 
officers did—Forsythe, for example—but he still disapproved of the Apache's 
interest in Libby. When he made that known, it had been everything Meade could 
do to remain polite. Though he'd been expressing some of the same sentiments 
Meade felt, the cavalry captain's prejudice rankled. Edgemont had made a 
suggestion, though, that had merit. “Actually, he wanted to inform me that the 
Apache scouts are holding a ceremony tonight, and since you've expressed such an 
interest in their culture, he thought you might like to attend."
Libby was surprised by the suggestion and amazed that Meade would countenance 
it. “Have the Apaches invited us?"
“Well, not specifically, but I checked around, and there's no prohibition 
against our attending. Edgemont's going, and he promised to drop by to see if 
we'd like to walk down with him."
“Walk?"
Meade nodded. “It's being held in a ravine near the river."
Libby mulled the idea over. Of course she was intrigued by the idea of 
witnessing an actual Apache ceremony, and anything at all would be better than 
spending a tense night alone with Meade in their quarters. But Case would surely 
be there. Part of her wanted to see him again, but another part warned her that 
the meeting might mean more pain.
The part that wanted to see him was the stronger of the two. “I'd love to go,” 
she told him, then smiled wryly. “The idea of attending with Captain Edgemont 
casts a pall over the occasion, but I expect I can manage to ignore his 
condescension for one evening."
“Excellent. Why don't you get ready while I finish off these dishes?” he 
suggested.
“All right.” She dried her hands and moved to the door, then paused a moment to 
study her brother's back, wondering why he'd told her about the ceremony. He, 
too, had to know that Case would be there. Why would he willingly throw her in 
the scout's path, unless, of course, he was convinced that his presence and 
Edgemont's could prevent her from spending any time with Case? That seemed the 
only explanation, and Libby finally slipped off to her room to don a pair of 
sturdier shoes and to collect her shawl.
Edgemont called as promised, and Libby was surprised to learn that the Crenshaws 
were accompanying them as well. Apparently the boredom of post routine had 
overwhelmed Caroline's aversion to the Apaches. They strolled out of the 
quadrangle through the egress between the hospital and the sutler's store, then 
picked their way across the rough plateau that led toward the river.
No one had thought to bring along a lantern, or perhaps, Libby thought, her more 
experienced companions knew better than to call attention to themselves.
Long before they reached the ravine, Libby could hear the insistent, steady 
beating of drums. The near horizon glowed a golden hue, and eventually they 
began to see tiny golden sparks as smoke from massive bonfires threw burning 
embers into the air. The drums grew louder, and when they came to the edge of 
the ravine, the scene below sent shivers down Libby's spine. The fires sent 
dancing shadows racing up and down the sides of the vast arroyo. Hundreds of 
Apache men and women were seated on logs or on the ground, but the bright golden 
circles around the bonfires were eerily empty. The persistent drumbeats and the 
hissing crackle of the bonfires were the only sounds.
Meade held Libby's hand to steady her as they picked their way down the hill. No 
one seemed to pay them any heed as their vastly outnumbered party found a log 
and sat near the outer edge of the great circle.
Sandwiched between Edgemont and her brother, Libby sat spellbound as the drums 
picked up speed and intensity. Four braves, naked save for calf-high moccasins, 
breechclouts, and headbands, entered the circle of light from the east. They 
approached the fire side by side, then began dancing in single file around the 
great bonfire. They circled it four times, then separated and danced in a square 
pattern around the blaze.
When the drums stopped abruptly, the dancers left as they had come, and one 
brave stepped into the edge of the dance circle. Libby's heart skipped a beat 
when she realized it was Case. He was dressed like the others, and the light 
turned his bronze flesh to gold, highlighting every muscled contour of his naked 
torso and thighs. With his face raised to the ember-strewn sky, he brought his 
arms up and sent up a war chant that turned Libby's blood to ice. The drums 
began again, and the spectators began chanting and whooping as one by one the 
warriors entered the circle and began a furious dance.
Some carried bows; others carried spears and shields, or wicked-looking knives. 
They brandished the weapons, and the shouting from outside the circle rose to a 
fever pitch that completely drowned out Case's voice.
“He's calling the warriors by name, demanding that they dance to show how 
bravely they'll fight the enemy,” Edgemont said, leaning close to Libby's ear. 
She registered the information, but was too entranced by the spectacle to 
acknowledge him. The whoops and yells were obviously meant as encouragement, but 
Libby noted that none of the dancers joined in. It was probably just as well. 
Their contortions were terrifying enough. They drew back their bows, they 
stabbed the air with their spears, they slashed with their knives. As the 
drumbeat quickened, so did their movements.
Libby couldn't begin to count the number of braves, nor did she try. She 
absorbed the primitive display like a sponge and tried to convince herself that 
she was not frightened. It was impossible to quell her instinctive fear, though. 
She was a civilized woman from a society that had long ago rejected the 
abandonment of inhibitions. Yet there were no constraints here. The dance was 
savage. The men who danced were savages. That was the image they meant to 
convey, and they did it with astonishing skill.
She watched them, mesmerized and horrified. This was the society in which the 
man she loved had been raised. She looked across the sea of warriors, searching 
for Case. He was not where he had been before, and she craned her neck, 
searching for him among the spectators. Then, without warning, a figure bathed 
in light and shadow suddenly leaped into the circle brandishing a rifle. He 
joined the frenzied dance, and Libby drew back with a start when she realized 
that dancer was Case.
Gripping the rifle in one hand, he held it above his head as he performed a 
series of dizzying twists and turns. He crouched and sprang, whirling in midair. 
Sweat glistened on his arms and torso as he bludgeoned imaginary enemies with 
the butt of the rifle. His dance was savage and horrifying, and yet it had an 
elemental power and grace that Libby found strangely seductive. His movements 
called up primal, erotic emotions Libby hadn't known she possessed. Shame merged 
with her fear, and her heart pounded ferociously as the cries of the spectators 
urged Case on until he raised the rifle and fired into the air, startling 
everyone.
The three army officers jumped to their feet, and Libby rose as well. Edgemont 
and Crenshaw reached instinctively for their revolvers, but Libby grabbed 
Edgemont's arm before he had the opportunity to remove it from the holster. Her 
fingers dug into his forearm, but what prevented him from drawing was the 
realization that it would be suicide to display a weapon while the Apaches were 
whipping themselves into a senseless frenzy.
Caroline demanded that her husband take her away immediately, and the major 
motioned to Edgemont and Meade. They stepped over the log, but Libby didn't 
move. Her eyes were riveted to Case's dancing silhouette.
“Libby? Libby...” Meade's voice barely reached her, but she finally glanced at 
him. “We have to go now. It may not be safe here. Come.” His arm was at her 
waist, urging her to move, and she had no choice but to slip quietly away with 
the others. The chants and war whoops chased them out of the ravine, but when 
they reached the top, they all stopped and looked back. Even from that distance, 
Libby could pick Case out among the ferocious dancers.
She was utterly oblivious to Caroline standing beside her, until she spoke, 
pulling Libby out of her hypnotic haze. “Well, Libby dear,” she said, her voice 
tinged with sarcasm, “do you still doubt that your precious Case Longstreet is a 
savage?"
Libby glared at her, fear mingling with outrage and the sickening feeling that 
the malicious witch was right. She glanced at the others and found them all 
staring at her expectantly. In a flash of blinding insight, she suddenly 
realized why Meade had brought her here, and why Caroline and Edgemont had come 
along. They all wanted to be on hand to see the moment of Libby Ashford's 
awakening.
“Damn you,” she muttered, stiffening her jaw against a rush of tears that she 
refused to allow to fall. “Damn you all."
She whirled and began running toward the fort, away from her treacherous 
brother, away from the pulsating drums, away from the proud Apache she'd thought 
she knew ... but didn't really know at all.
Eighteen
Libby spent the next month in hell. After the war dance, Meade admitted that 
he'd known what kind of ceremony it was, and that Case would be dancing. He'd 
taken her because he wanted her to see the other side of the man she'd fallen in 
love with. He claimed to have done it for her sake.
Libby could see his actions only as a cruel deception. He had broken the bonds 
of trust and honesty that had always been the keystone of their relationship. 
Meade had always been the only person Libby could depend on, but now his 
dishonesty made her feel as though she'd lost the most important thing in her 
life. On the eve of his departure into a harrowing and uncertain future, his 
betrayal of her trust had cast Libby adrift in an emotional wasteland.
She watched him leave the next morning, torn between anger and the fear that she 
might never see him again. The scouts had set off on foot an hour before the 
cavalry, so Libby had no opportunity to see Case and reconcile the two hideously 
different images she had of him.
But in the month that followed, with word of the fate of the troops nearly 
nonexistent, Libby had more than enough time to think. For two weeks she devoted 
herself to taking care of Susannah and Michael, but every day her friend grew 
stronger and needed less help. Tessa continued to come, and there was little for 
Libby to do.
Everyone at Fort Apache knew about the cruel joke that had been played on her, 
and they watched her like buzzards circling their prey. “Well,” their looks 
seemed to say, “has the high and mighty Miss Ashford learned her lesson?” Pride 
was about the only thing that kept Libby going. She kept her head up, her 
demeanor pleasant, and she refused to allow anyone to see her anguish and 
confusion.
Susannah was the only exception. They spent hours talking, trying to sort 
through Libby's tangled emotions and bring everything into perspective. It was 
the hours Libby spent alone, though, that did her the most good. She finally 
forgave Meade. He was only human, after all. He didn't want her to spend the 
weeks or months of Case's absence romanticizing him into something he wasn't. 
Meade had done what he thought was right, not out of spite or malice, but 
because he loved her. The breach in their relationship would mend, and Libby 
refused to consider the possibility that she would be denied that healing time.
Her feelings about Case were much more difficult to sort through. One minute she 
would laugh at herself for fancying that she'd been in love with him; the next, 
she would remember the desperate longing in the kiss they'd shared and the 
tender light in his eyes when he looked at her. His deep, mellifluous voice 
spoke to her in her dreams, weaving a spell around her, drawing her to a place 
of warmth and safety that was very much like coming home after a long, harrowing 
journey.
But that was the Case Longstreet who'd sat on her porch and spoke to her in the 
darkness, revealing to her the demons that haunted him. That was the man she 
loved, and no matter how often or how resolutely she told herself that she 
couldn't love him, the emotion wouldn't go away. It clung to her, wrapping 
itself around her heart with unshakable tenacity.
There was another Case Longstreet, though—the one his people called He Chases 
the Thunder. Libby made no effort to block out the image of that warrior dancing 
in a fierce, unbridled frenzy around a ghostly fire. She forced herself to hear 
the war cries of his people and remember the way he'd responded. Meade had hoped 
the image of Case as a savage would destroy the love she felt for him. Libby 
hoped it would, too.
But it didn't. It was a part of him she didn't understand, one she might never 
understand; but after the shock wore off, she realized that Case was still the 
same gentle, haunted man who'd held her in his arms and called her his beloved.
Case Longstreet and He Chases the Thunder were two sides of the same coin. Just 
because one side was strange and savage didn't make the coin any less valuable. 
In some ways, in fact, it made it more so.
Unfortunately, that realization did nothing to assuage Libby's feelings of 
hopelessness. Meade claimed the relationship was impossible. For all her 
sympathetic understanding, Susannah said the same thing. Even Case believed 
there could be no future for them. Libby tried to accept that, but only because 
she feared a repeat of the incident between Case and the soldiers who had taken 
it upon themselves to punish him.
No matter how often she told herself it was impossible, though, she couldn't 
make herself believe it. She told herself she was being foolish and unrealistic. 
She tried imagining the isolation from society she would have to endure if she 
tied her life to Case's. She thought about the bleak future of the Apache nation 
and tried to convince herself it would be suicide to offer to share in it.
Nothing worked.
Her love for Case wouldn't go away.
Case stood at the back of Crook's command tent, listening to the officers 
congratulate themselves on the great victory they had won that morning. Three 
days earlier, the Apache scouts had located an encampment of Chiricahua braves 
and their families on the western slopes of the Santa Elena Mountains. The 
information was reported to Crook, and Case had argued in favor of going in with 
his scouts immediately before the Chiricahua realized they were in danger and 
slipped away. Major Forsythe had argued that, burdened as they were by their 
women and children, the renegades would be unable to escape. Crook had agreed 
and ordered his two cavalry companies into position.
Case and the other scouts had waited, shaking their heads at the folly of the 
Blue Coats. It seemed impossible that the advancing army had gone unnoticed by 
the Chiricahua, and yet miraculously, the renegades stayed where they were. Even 
more miraculously, when Major Forsythe led his troops in an attack against the 
encampment, the Chiricahua had put up only token resistance. Though there were a 
few injuries, not a single death had been recorded on either side. The 
Indians—thirty-three Chiricahua, half of them women, children, and old ones—had 
been rounded up and escorted back to Crook's field headquarters as docilely as 
lambs being led to slaughter.
The officers thought it was a great victory. Case thought the entire affair 
smelled like a rotted barrel of salt pork. When Case expressed that sentiment, 
though, Forsythe had laughed and accused him of being resentful because his 
scouts had been robbed of the credit for another capture.
“It was too easy,” Case argued. “They had to know you were preparing for an 
attack. The cavalry does not travel quietly."
“Obviously they were just tired of running,” Forsythe said dismissively. “We've 
been dogging them for a month now, and when we finally tracked them to their 
lair, they knew it was time to give up."
“Then why didn't they send someone to sue for peace?” Case countered. “Why put 
up even token resistance?"
"Tokenresistance!” Edgemont exclaimed. “We've got four wounded men out there.” 
He gestured to the dried blood on Case's arm. “Even you took a shot."
“It was a ricochet, that's all. And I still say the Chiricahuas stayed too long 
and gave up too easily."
Clearly the other officers didn't agree with him, but Crook knew better than to 
discount his opinion completely. “If it wasn't because they were tired of being 
on the warpath, why do you think they did it?” he asked.
“I'm not sure,” he admitted. “Perhaps they wanted to trick us into believing 
that we had found their main camp while the rest of them stay in hiding until 
we're out of the area."
“No, this is the main body,” Forsythe argued. “I'm certain of it. Your scouts 
tracked them here and swore there were no signs of any others. This has got to 
be the group that's been causing all the trouble."
Edgemont agreed with the major. “My guess would be that these Chiricahua intend 
to allow themselves to be taken to the reservation so they can collect rations 
for a week or so; then they'll try to slip quietly away one night and go back to 
their raiding."
Crook nodded thoughtfully. “That's certainly happened before."
“Well, they're not going to do anything as long as we have their leader in 
irons,” Forsythe pointed out.
Crook looked at the scout. “You've talked to them, Case. Do you get the feeling 
that they're going to give us any trouble before we can get them back to the 
reservation?"
“I wish I could say, sir.” Case shook his head. “I just know something isn't 
right. I've got some of the scouts mixing with the prisoners to see if they'll 
say anything that would give us a clue, but so far nothing."
“What about the four missing scouts?” Crook asked.
That was troubling Case most of all. He'd sent four men out to scout the area 
before the battle this morning, and none of them had returned. “I haven't heard 
anything yet, sir. There's a party out looking for them."
“Keep me posted."
“Yes, sir. And there is one other thing,” he added before Crook's attention 
could be diverted. “Apparently an old woman was wounded this morning."
“That's right,” Forsythe confirmed. “I believe she was trampled by one of their 
ponies that was spooked by the gunfire. Captain Ashford tried to get a look at 
her, but she wouldn't allow him to touch her. I don't know what more we can do."
“She wants their medicine man to hold a ceremony for her,” Case informed him.
“What kind of a ceremony?” Crook asked.
“For curing horse sickness, sir."
“Do you see any danger in allowing it?"
“I don't think so, sir. It's a simple ceremony."
Forsythe was appalled. “Begging your pardon, sir,” he said to Crook, “but you 
can't be considering granting this request."
“You know my policy, Major. I believe that whenever possible, these captives 
should be allowed to hold their ceremonies. It cuts down on resentment and makes 
it less likely that they'll create trouble."
Forsythe knew the policy and thoroughly disagreed with it, but Crook was in 
charge. “Then I would suggest that we post a company around them while the 
ceremony is in progress, sir."
“Doubling the guard would be more sufficient, sir,” Case declared.
Crook looked from one man to the other. “I'll leave those arrangements up to 
Major Forsythe,” he decreed after a moment. “Take whatever precautions you deem 
necessary, Major."
Case kept his displeasure hidden. Knowing Forsythe, he'd have every soldier in 
camp guarding a simple curing ceremony.
Crook dismissed everyone but Captain Edgemont, whose company would begin 
escorting the Chiricahua back to a temporary reservation at Fort Verde first 
thing in the morning. Captain Robertson's company had left the area that 
afternoon headed for Fort Thomas where they would pick up a supply train and 
then rendezvous with the rest of the troops, most of which were already on their 
way to the Graham Mountains.
Case left the tent, still convinced that the Chiricahua were up to something. He 
strode purposefully across the tent-strewn headquarters camp toward the separate 
piece of ground that had been assigned as sleeping quarters for the scouts. He 
wanted to speak to his uncle, Angry Coyote, to see if he'd learned anything from 
the Chiricahua he'd been talking to, but when he passed by the hospital tent, 
Meade Ashford stepped out.
The two men stopped and looked at each other. Both were surprised by the 
unexpected encounter, but Meade was the only one who showed it. Case had spent 
very little time among the soldiers during the campaign; generally he stayed 
with the scouts unless Crook sent for him. And since the scouts always traveled 
well in advance of the cavalry, there'd been virtually no occasion for Case and 
the doctor to meet. They'd seen each other from a distance a number of times, 
but that was all.
Case couldn't think of any reason to linger. He nodded to Meade and started to 
step around him, but the doctor seemed to feel differently about the encounter.
“I understand you were wounded today,” Meade said before Case could pass him. He 
gestured toward the arm. “I'd appreciate it if you'd let me take a look at it."
“It's only a scratch,” Case assured him.
“Nonetheless, it should be disinfected and bandaged.” He stepped back and waved 
into the tent. When Case hesitated, Meade added, “Please, Longstreet. If you 
allow me to treat you, the other scouts, and even some of the Chiricahua, might 
do the same when the need arises."
A ghost of a smile played around Case's lips. “You want to make an example of 
me."
Meade chuckled. “I wouldn't have put it quite that way, but you're right. That 
is what I want."
Case nodded and stepped into the tent. Except for an orderly who was rolling 
bandages, it was empty: “You've released your other patients?"
“Yes. Fortunately, their wounds weren't much more serious than yours.” Case 
slipped off his cartridge bandolier and his shirt, and Meade began swabbing the 
wound with alcohol. Though it had to sting like the blazes, the Apache didn't 
betray the discomfort by so much as a flicker of an eyelash. Meade worked in 
silence for several minutes, bandaging the cut. When he finished, Case slipped 
back into his faded blue shirt.
Before he could leave, though, Meade dismissed the orderly who'd been covertly 
watching them. The young corporal left, wondering what fireworks he was going to 
miss.
“I've been looking for an opportunity to talk to you,” Meade told him. “Can you 
spare a moment now?"
Case looked at him, betraying none of his curiosity, then nodded slowly. “A 
moment."
Meade sighed and turned away, pacing a few steps as he tried to figure out how 
to begin. For that matter, he wasn't even sure what he wanted to say. Finally he 
just jumped in. “The night before we left Fort Apache, I took Libby to the war 
dance."
Case wondered why he looked embarrassed. “I know. Your arrival did not go 
unnoticed by my people. Neither did your departure."
“Captain Edgemont told me you'd be dancing and that it was quite a violent 
display.” Meade looked down. “But I didn't warn Libby."
Case shrugged. “You did what you thought was best for her."
“Damn it, Longstreet, why don't you stop this stoic Apache malarkey and talk to 
me!"
“I am talking to you,” Case replied calmly.
“But you're not saying anything!"
“What would you suggest I say? That I'm sorry Libby saw me as my people see me?” 
He shook his head. “I'm not. She needs to know that side of me. Either she will 
accept it or she will not. I cannot control what she feels in her heart, and 
neither can you."
There was a desolation in Meade's eyes that Case couldn't keep from responding 
to when the doctor said, “She's never going to forgive me for taking her to that 
dance without warning her. She thinks I betrayed her trust."
“You did,” Case replied. “But she has already forgiven you."
Meade frowned. “How can you know that?"
Case paused. This product of the white man's world would never believe him if he 
told the truth—that he was connected to Libby in a way that went beyond even 
Case's understanding. He felt her every minute of the day; when he slept, she 
was with him in his dreams. “She loves you, Captain. People who love each other 
forgive each other."
“I hope you're right, because my sister is a part of me.” He laughed 
humorlessly. “Sometimes I think she's the best part."
Case held Meade's gaze. “She is the best part of us all,” he said quietly, 
unable to hide the sadness in his voice.
“How did you come to know my sister so well?"
“You said it yourself: she holds nothing back. All her thoughts and feelings are 
there in her eyes for anyone who cares to look."
“And you care,” Meade said softly.
“I love her."
Meade ached for his sister and for this man. “But you can't have her."
Case moved toward the gathering darkness outside, then stopped. “Tell me 
something I don't already know,” he murmured, then disappeared into the 
twilight.
When he returned to the scouts’ camp, Angry Coyote was looking for him to report 
that the Chiricahua captives had invited the White Mountain scouts to attend the 
curing ceremony.
“They have tiswin, they say,” Case's uncle told him in Apache.
Case shook his head. “That is not possible."
Angry Coyote shrugged. “Your general let them bring some of their belongings. 
The soldiers didn't search them good, maybe."
Case supposed it was possible, but it seemed highly unlikely. Crook had allowed 
them to bring only food and blankets; they had little else anyway. He didn't see 
how they could have smuggled jugs of the mild corn beer into the camp. “Tell the 
scouts they should not attend or they will be punished,” he instructed. “And 
tell them they should be alert tonight."
His uncle nodded. “You suspect a trick."
“I do."
While Angry Coyote went from brave to brave, issuing the warning, Case walked 
down to the prisoners’ encampment. As he had predicted, Forsythe had overreacted 
to the situation and stationed nearly fifty men around the area. The men, too, 
seemed to realize that their presence was unnecessary, for most of them were 
lounging about, talking among themselves, and grumbling about being denied a 
well-deserved night's rest.
The medicine man had built a huge bonfire and had already begun to dance by the 
time Case arrived. He found Forsythe and repeated what he had learned from Angry 
Coyote, then headed back to his own camp. He talked to the braves, questioning 
them to find out if anyone had seen signs of the four missing scouts or the men 
who had been sent to look for them. Every negative response increased his 
conviction that something was terribly wrong.
His conviction turned to certainty an hour later when Metal Knife, one of the 
second party of scouts, finally returned to camp. The brave was hungry and 
tired, but he didn't waste even a moment in finding Case. “What did you learn?” 
Case asked urgently.
“Two are dead,” Metal Knife told him. “The others ... I don't know."
“What happened?"
The scout handed him several arrows and followed him as Case moved toward his 
campfire to study them in the light. “There were signs of many Chiricahua. They 
had tried to hide their tracks, but I followed them."
Case squatted by the fire near his uncle. “Where?"
“The tracks led me here."
Case's heartbeat began accelerating. “We have been tricked."
Angry Coyote nodded. “They will attack at dawn, maybe. The Chiricahua do not 
like to fight at night."
MostChiricahua, Case thought, remembering reports he had heard of night attacks 
perpetrated by the band led by Gato. It was rumored he had a large following who 
believed that their leader's power was great enough to keep them safe from the 
evil spirits of the night.
The possibility of being so close to Gato made Case's blood roar in his ears. He 
leaned toward the fire, studying the arrows Metal Knife had brought. None bore 
Gato's markings, but that only meant that Gato had not done the killing himself. 
Case remembered his spirit journey and the vision that had warned of an attack 
by Gato. Major Forsythe would die in that attack. Case would remove an arrow 
from his body, and it would be Gato's.
Another memory assaulted him, this one much closer in time, of fifty soldiers 
clustered around their Chiricahua prisoners, alert only to what was happening 
inside the huge circular formation, their bodies silhouetted by an enormous 
bonfire, making them easy targets.
The Chiricahua weren't going to wait for dawn to attack. If what Case suspected 
was true, they were surrounding the camp right now in the darkness.
Instantly Case doused his campfire and made a cooing sound like the call of the 
white-winged dove. In seconds, a dozen scouts were gathered around him and more 
were coming. “Prepare for an attack,” he instructed urgently. “Disappear into 
the night, and make a wide circle around the camp. We will surprise them from 
behind. See that it is done, Metal Knife.” He looked at Angry Coyote, who spoke 
enough English to make himself understood to the Blue Coats, “Uncle, go to 
Forsythe. Tell him what we believe. I must warn Crook."
Snatching up his rifle, Case ran toward the headquarters camp, keeping low to 
the ground so that he cast no shadow. As soon as he reached the soldiers’ camp, 
he made a hasty report to the officer of the guard, then hurried on to Crook's 
tent. As he neared the hospital he saw Meade sitting by the entrance at a 
makeshift desk. The lamp beside him made him an easy target. “Ashford, get your 
rifle and come with me!” he ordered as he ducked his head into the tent.
Startled, Meade frowned up at him. “What—"
“Just do it!” Case commanded, then disappeared.
Puzzled and more than a little alarmed, Meade did as he was told.
There was no question that the scout's warning saved Meade's life—and nearly 
cost Case his.
Nineteen
The routine of life at Fort Apache had become second nature to Libby. She knew 
the purpose of every bugle call and the significance of every sound that came 
from the parade ground. Experience had taught her which to ignore and which to 
heed. She had become so accustomed to them that she barely noticed them anymore, 
unless something out of the ordinary happened—which it seldom did.
But six weeks to the day after Meade and Case left, Libby and Susannah were 
sitting in the Robertsons’ parlor with their needlework when a commotion in the 
quadrangle captured her complete attention. The bugle call that summoned a 
fatigue detail to fall into formation was completely out of place, as was the 
brief accompanying chaos.
“What is it?” Libby asked, but before she could put down her embroidery and go 
to the window, Susannah was on her feet.
“They're back,” she said, but there was no joy in the way she announced it. “And 
they have wounded,” she added as she snatched Michael from his cradle and rushed 
out the door.
Libby hurried after her, and they stopped in the shade of the ramada, waiting. 
Though it was only a matter of minutes before the first mule-drawn ambulance 
rolled in, it seemed like hours. Four mounted cavalrymen flanked the vehicle, 
and another four accompanied the second ambulance and the supply wagon. Two 
officers rode at the head of the sad procession.
“Meade!” With her skirts tangling around her legs, Libby ran onto the parade 
ground. Meade spurred his horse, urging him out of the path of the ambulances, 
then dismounted just as Libby reached him. She threw herself into his arms, and 
his embrace lifted her off the ground.
“You're all right ... you're safe,” she whispered.
“I'm fine, Libby.” He kissed her brow and set her back on her feet. Tears of 
relief were streaming down her cheeks, and Meade brushed at them, but succeeded 
only in smearing her face with dirt. “Don't cry."
“I'm just so happy to see you.” She tried to get control of her weeping, but 
when she finally looked at her brother—reallylooked at him—the tears only flowed 
more freely. He was hot, sweaty, and exhausted, but those things could be easily 
rectified. His eyes, though, were those of a man who had seen things no man was 
meant to see. Libby feared it would be a long time before that look went away. 
“What happened, Meade?"
“We were tricked by the Chiricahua ... ambushed."
“Oh, God...” The ambulances rolled past them, and Libby realized the rest of the 
cavalry was not bringing up the rear. The lieutenant who'd been riding beside 
Meade was hurrying into command headquarters to report to Colonel Dunlevy, but 
there was no sign of David Robertson, Major Forsythe, Crook ... or Case 
Longstreet. “Where are the others?"
“They're continuing with the campaign, searching for the renegade who 
masterminded the attack.” Meade looked toward the hospital where the ambulances 
were stopping. “I have to get to the hospital and take care of the men, Libby."
“How many wounded?” she asked, walking with him.
A soldier from the fatigue detail assigned to assist with the wounded approached 
Meade and took his horse. “Eight have made it this far.” His jaw stiffened 
before he continued. “Five died on the way, and twelve more didn't live through 
the night after the attack."
Libby was staggered. No wonder her brother looked as though he'd been to hell 
and barely made it back. “My God, Meade,” she said hoarsely. “How many deaths 
were there?"
“Twenty-six."
She swallowed hard. “Was Case—” She couldn't bring herself to ask if he was 
dead. “Is Case still with Crook?” she amended.
Meade was torn between his duty to care for his patients and his need to soften 
the blow that was in store for his sister. He stopped and looked down at her.
Libby shook her head, unwilling to believe the worst. “No. He's not dead,” she 
said, grabbing his arm. “Tell me he's not dead, Meade,” she said harshly.
“He's not dead, Libby.” Meade closed his eyes. “But he is badly wounded.”And 
it's all my fault, he wanted to add, but there would be time enough later to 
tell her how Longstreet had nearly lost his life saving Meade's.
She looked at the stretchers being unloaded from the ambulances. “I have to see 
him,” she said, hurrying toward the hospital.
With two long strides, Meade caught up with her. “Let me get the men settled 
first, Libby."
“I have to see Case now!"
He grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. “Libby, most of these men are in 
agony. They've been jouncing in a wagon over nonexistent roads for nearly three 
days. Let me do my job, and then you can come in."
“But Case—"
“Is going to be all right,” he assured her. “That crazy bastard is too damned 
stubborn to die, believe me. Now go to our quarters, and I'll send someone for 
you as soon as I can."
Libby knew when it was useless to fight her brother. He disappeared into the 
hospital, and she stayed on the porch, out of the way of soldiers being carried 
inside. As each stretcher passed, she looked for Case, but saw only bloodstained 
bandages and faces contorted in pain. The last man in the procession was staring 
up, his eyes glazed with agony. When Libby saw the bloody stump where his leg 
had once been, she whirled away, unable to bear seeing any more. She thought of 
her brother being forced to remove that leg, and tears flooded onto her cheeks 
again.
Was Case in that condition? she wondered. Or worse? How much could one man 
suffer and still survive?
“Libby?” Susannah hurried onto the porch, and Libby looked at her through a blur 
of tears. Mortified, she realized she hadn't asked about her friend's husband.
“I'm sorry, Susannah. I don't know what happened to David,” she managed to choke 
out.
“He's all right,” Susannah assured her. “I spoke to one of the men from the 
escort. David was on his way to meet a supply train when the Chiricahua 
attacked. But, Libby ... Major Forsythe was killed."
Libby pressed her hand to her forehead. “This is a nightmare,” she murmured.
Cradling Michael in one arm, Susannah reached out to her friend. “I heard that 
Longstreet was wounded. Is he going to be all right?"
“Meade says he is.” She glanced at the hospital doors, then away. “He won't 
allow me to see him yet, though."
A frown creased Susannah's brow. “Libby, should you?"
“Of course!” Libby was appalled that she would even ask. “I have to see him."
“But you've said it yourself a dozen times—you have to stop thinking about him."
“This is different! I have to see for myself that he's all right. Can't you 
understand that?"
The dark-haired cavalry wife sighed wearily. “I'm beginning to understand that 
you're not going to let go, no matter what."
Libby looked at her beseechingly. “Susannah, please. Don't scold me. I need 
support right now, not trepidation."
Susannah squeezed her hand. “And you've got it. Just be careful with your 
heart."
Libby nodded and tried to smile, but the effort was wasted when she glanced down 
the quadrangle and saw Tessa standing under the ramada in front of the 
Robertsons’ quarters. Since Susannah's recovery, the girl came only a few hours 
a day, and Libby had completely forgotten about her when the ambulances rolled 
in. “Case's family should be told,” she said, glancing at the hospital doors 
again. She didn't want to abandon her vigil, but she couldn't leave the girl 
standing there wondering what was happening.
“I'll tell Tessa,” Susannah volunteered, but Libby shook her head.
“No, I'll do it.” Together they moved down the row of buildings. Tessa looked at 
them expectantly, and Libby did her best to make the girl comprehend what had 
happened. Her English was improving, but there were still huge gaps in their 
ability to communicate.
“He die?” Tessa said forlornly.
Libby shook her head. “No, Tessa. We won'tlet him die.” Somehow she managed an 
encouraging smile. “Would you like to wait with me? Maybe we'll be able to see 
him soon."
The Apache maiden looked at the hospital. She had seen the bodies being carried 
in. Now represented a place of death to her. She wanted to see her cousin, but 
she didn't want to go into that building. After a moment she shook her head 
vigorously. “I go now. Grandfather must know."
She hurried off, and Susannah looked at Libby. “Would you like me to wait with 
you?"
Libby was grateful for the support, but despite Susannah's sympathy, she knew 
that her friend didn't really approve. It would be better to wait alone. Libby 
thanked her and returned to her quarters.
One hour passed, then two, before Meade finally came for her. He escorted her 
into the hospital, where rows of once-empty cots were now occupied. Morphine had 
allowed most of the men to escape their misery, but one or two were beyond the 
reach of that painkiller. Libby's footsteps echoed off the plank flooring as she 
moved past the cots to the back of the room. A line of empty beds separated Case 
from the other men, and Libby frowned at her brother, deeply disappointed in 
him.
“You separated him from the others because he's an Apache?"
It hurt Meade to know that Libby believed him capable of that kind of prejudice, 
but considering everything that had been said between them before he left, he 
had earned her disillusionment. “No, Libby,” he replied wearily. “I put him down 
here so that when he wakes up, you can speak to him without worrying that the 
others are eavesdropping."
Libby realized how deeply she'd wounded him. The chasm between them was wider 
than she'd ever imagined it could be. “I'm sorry, Meade. I should have known."
“It's all right."
They stopped at the foot of Case's bed. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but 
he was so pale that Libby knew it had to be a drug-induced sleep. A light sheet 
covered him to the waist, and a fresh bandage encircled the area below his rib 
cage.
Forcing back tears through willpower alone, she stepped to the side of the bed. 
“What happened to him?” she whispered.
“He took two bullets, one in the thigh and one in the upper abdomen,” Meade 
replied quietly, moving to Libby's side. “I wasn't sure he'd make it through 
surgery. Field conditions are not the best,” he added bitterly.
Libby couldn't help but respond to his pain. She placed a comforting hand on his 
arm. “You did the best you could, Meade."
Her eyes were filled with understanding, and Meade wanted to pull her into his 
arms and pour out the horror of it all. But that was a burden he was going to 
have to bear alone. Just knowing that she could feel his torment without having 
to be told helped a great deal.
He nodded to her, and Libby turned back to Case. She knelt by the bedside and 
gently reached out to touch his face. “I'm here, Case.” she whispered. “For 
whatever it means to you, I'm here.” She stroked his brow and wasn't surprised 
to find him feverish. Her fingers drifted over his lips as she remembered the 
bittersweet passion of their kiss, and then her hand moved lower. Gingerly, she 
touched the scar on his shoulder.
“One of the men said it looks like an arrow wound,” Meade told her. “I don't 
know how old it is."
“Eleven years,” Libby replied without looking up. “He was shot with a poisoned 
arrow on the day his family was massacred."
Meade was surprised by the extent of her knowledge. “You know a lot about him."
“Not nearly enough,” she replied, reaching for Case's hand and enfolding it in 
both of hers. He knew she was there with him. She wasn't sure were her certainty 
came from, but she knew it. And he was glad she was there, too. “Do you know who 
ambushed you?” she asked Meade, thinking of what Case had told her about his 
quest for revenge. According to Susannah, Major Forsythe was dead. Was that 
another milestone? she wondered.
“No one knows for sure. Some of the scouts claimed they found arrows belonging 
to a Chiricahua renegade named Gato, and Case has cried out that name several 
times."
The prophecy was coming true, Libby realized. “You're getting close,cida'ké," 
she whispered, raising his hand to her lips. “Too close."
Meade frowned. He could barely hear her, but he would have sworn she spoke an 
Apache word. “What did you say?"
“Nothing.” Libby stood and looked at her brother. “Is there anything I can do 
for him?"
“No."
She took Meade's arm. “Then let's get you home. You need a bath and a good 
night's rest.” She led him down the aisle that separated the two rows of beds, 
and Meade didn't have the strength or the will to resist. “Once you've been 
taken care of, I'll come back and sit with Case."
He frowned again. “Libby, the orderlies can handle this. A hospital is no place 
for you."
“According to whose rules?” she asked defiantly.
“Mine,” he said firmly.
“Then change your rules, Meade. I am coming back."
This time it was Meade who knew better than to argue.
There was no such thing as cold water at Fort Apache at that time of the year, 
but Libby did her best to keep cool compresses on Case's forehead. When she was 
nursing Susannah, she'd learned to dip a rag in warm water, then fan the air 
with it to cool it down, and that was what she did for Case throughout the 
night. The two orderlies on duty gave her strange looks, but she ignored them, 
certain they were less puzzled by her methods than by her gentle ministrations 
to a heathen Apache.
A single lamp at the opposite end of the room cast dim, ghostly shadows, but 
Libby ignored those apparitions, too. Case was restless, and all her attention 
was focused on him. She spoke to him softly, soothingly, and was convinced he 
was comforted by her presence.
It was nearing midnight when he finally awoke. Libby was running the wet cloth 
across the muscled contours of his chest and down his arms, but the second his 
eyelids fluttered open, she sensed his alertness. His eyes were bright with 
fever, but they focused on her instantly and he smiled.
“That is how you touched me in my dream,” he said hoarsely.
Libby returned his gentle smile and reached for a glass of water. “In your 
spirit journey?"
“Yes."
“I didn't even know you existed then,” she said, lifting his head so that he 
could drink. “I was only a young girl."
She lowered his head to the pillow, but Case's eyes never left her. “The eagle 
knew."
“Knew what?"
“That you were meant to be my woman."
Libby's heart skipped a beat, and she reminded herself that Case's mind was 
addled by fever. He reached out his hand toward hers, and when he winced, Libby 
started to rise. “I'll get something for the pain."
“No.” Case managed to get hold of her hand. “It's not so bad if I don't move. I 
need to clear the fog from my mind."
“But I don't want you suffering."
“I will not suffer so long as you are here,cida'ké."
“I'm not going anywhere,” she whispered, smiling through a mist of tears. She 
wet the compress again.
“Do you know what happened?"
“Only that you were ambushed.” She suddenly found it impossible to meet his 
eyes. “Your scouts said that Gato was responsible."
“I know. They brought me an arrow taken from Major Forsythe."
Libby stopped what she was doing. “You saw his death in your vision, didn't 
you?"
He nodded weakly.
“How many more are going to die, Case?"
“I don't know."
She wanted to ask him to give up his quest for revenge, but there was no reason 
to believe that his quest was in any way responsible for the ambush. She said 
nothing, but in her heart she knew that Case understood how she felt—not just 
about his revenge, but about everything.
She gave him another drink and continued bathing him until he drifted off to 
sleep again. Some time later, barely able to hold her eyes open, she stretched 
out on the empty cot beside his and fell asleep almost at once.
The first note of reveille brought her awake the next morning, and it took her a 
moment to recognize where she was. Slipping off the cot, she checked on Case and 
found him still asleep, and still feverish. A basin of fresh water was sitting 
on the floor between the beds, thanks to one of the orderlies, and Libby 
immediately began applying compresses again. Thirty minutes later the quiet that 
had pervaded the night finally ended when Meade and the relief orderlies 
reported for duty.
Meade checked his patients methodically, ordering their dressings to be changed 
and morphine administered when needed. He worked his way down the rows, and when 
he finally reached Case's bed, he addressed his sister with his sternest 
expression in place. “Libby..."
“Go home,” she said for him. “I know. I was just waiting for you, lazybones. Did 
you sleep well?"
“Like a baby,” he assured her, though in truth, he had tossed and turned, 
plagued by visions of the limbs he'd amputated and the men he'd buried.
Libby knew he was lying, but let it pass. “Case slept soundly most of the 
night."
“Good.” Meade stepped to the bedside and was pleased to discover that there was 
no blood on either of the Apache's bandages. “You go wash up and get some rest. 
I'll take over."
“That's an offer you won't have to make twice.” She stretched up on tiptoe and 
kissed her brother's cheek. “I'll come back later."
“Is that a good idea?” Meade asked with a troubled frown.
She sighed deeply. “Are you worried about what everyone on the post is going to 
think?"
“I'm worried about you."
“Well, don't. As long as Case needs me, I'm going to be here for him."
Meade knew it was pointless to argue. Obviously the lesson she'd learned about 
Case Longstreet at the war dance hadn't sunk in, or she had decided it didn't 
make any difference. Either way, six weeks hadn't done anything to change her 
feelings for the scout. Meade was beginning to fear that he could do nothing to 
save his sister from tragedy.
Libby waited to see if he was going to press the point, but before either of 
them could say anything, a commotion at the infirmary door captured their 
attention.
“What the—” Meade stared as three Apaches—two old men and a young girl—stepped 
into the cavernous room. “Isn't that Tessa?” he asked Libby, and found that her 
face was beaming.
“And those are Case's grandfathers, Blue Bear and Tall One,” she informed him. 
One of the orderlies stepped in front of the old chiefs, and Libby hurried down 
the aisle. “It's all right, Corporal. They've come to visit their grandson."
“At ease, Corporal,” Meade added when the orderly looked uncertain about whether 
to accept an order from the doctor's sister. Meade followed Libby down the 
aisle.
“Tessa, tell thenant'ans they are welcome here,” Libby instructed. As the maiden 
translated, Meade noted that neither of the old men looked surprised that Libby 
had used an Apache word, but Meade certainly was. Now she was even starting to 
speak their language!
In her halting English, Tessa told Libby that the chiefs wished to see Case. 
Meade nodded his approval, and Libby led the three visitors down the aisle. 
Meade explained the nature of Case's wounds, and Tessa did her best to 
translate. The two old men remained stoically silent, and Libby suspected that 
they were somewhat intimidated by the Blue Coats’ hospital.
The chiefs stopped at the foot of the bed, and Libby went to the far side and 
knelt, gently running her hand over Case's brow, talking to him quietly until he 
awakened. “Your grandfathers are here,” she told him. “They want to see for 
themselves that you're still alive.” She motioned to the chiefs, and the old men 
crowded closer. When Case began speaking to them, Libby joined Meade at the foot 
of the bed.
“Am I mistaken,” Meade whispered, “or do those two old men know you?"
“Tessa introduced us on ration day not long after you left, and I've talked to 
both of them a number of times since then."
He digested the information. “And Tessa has been teaching you as much Apache as 
you've taught her English."
Libby shook her head and smiled. “Hardly. She's a much better student than I 
am.” Her smile faded. “Meade, there's something you should know, and you might 
as well hear it from me."
He sighed and prepared himself for a shock. “What is it?"
“I've been teaching while you've been away."
“Teaching?” He was relieved for a moment—until he realized what she was telling 
him. There were only a few children at the fort, and their parents took care of 
their education. “You mean you've been teaching Apaches."
“That's right. You see, before he left, Case had been teaching English to some 
of the young boys in his clan. When Tessa told me that, I decided to see if they 
would allow me to resume their lessons."
“What did Colonel Dunlevy have to say about that?"
“Actually, he didn't put up any opposition at all.” She smiled triumphantly at 
the memory. “Even he realizes that English-speaking Apaches would be a boon to 
his administration of the reservation. So, on ration days, I hold class on our 
porch."
She never ceased to amaze him. “How many pupils do you have?"
“I started with just one—Tessa—but I'm up to six now."
“And they don't object to being instructed by a woman?"
Libby shook her head. “No. You see, women are afforded a great deal of respect 
in Apache society,” she said pointedly.
Meade chuckled. “I stand corrected.” He sighed. “Well, since the colonel doesn't 
object, I certainly don't see any reason to. Not that that would stop you,” he 
added quickly.
“Leebee?"
She turned to the bed. “Yes, Tessa?"
“Grandfather say the white man's medicine is strong. Make my cousin strong soon, 
too, maybe."
Libby smiled at the old chiefs. “Yes, he will be strong again soon. My brother 
studied many years to be a good medicine man. He has great powers."
“Thank you for the endorsement,” Meade whispered in Libby's ear as Tessa 
translated.
Blue Bear spoke, and the girl turned to Libby again."Nant'an say he think your 
medicine is more strong.” The words were barely out before the chiefs turned to 
leave. They moved down the aisle, and Tessa followed.
“I'd say you just received quite an endorsement, too,” Meade murmured, but there 
was no humor in his voice. “Obviously you have the old man's blessing."
Libby looked up at him, her expression guarded. “But I'll never have yours. Is 
that what you're saying?"
Meade ran a hand through his dark hair impatiently. “How can I approve of 
something that's going to destroy you?"
“I don't know what's going to happen, Meade,” she said flatly. “But please don't 
make me choose between you and Case."
“Libby, if you stay on this path, you may not be able to avoid that choice.” 
Meade looked down at his patient and discovered that Case was watching them. 
“I'll be back in a minute to change your bandages, Longstreet.” He stalked away, 
and Libby moved to the bedside again.
“You mustn't argue with him, Libby,” Case said with all the strength he could 
muster. “He loves you very much."
“I know. That's why he'll come around."
“Around to what?"
She looked surprised. “To us."
Case shook his head. “There is nous, Libby."
She leaned close and gently stroked his cheek. “Last night you called me your 
woman. You said it was meant to be."
Case looked away. “Last night I had a fever."
“You still do,” she said equitably, reaching for another compress.
Wincing against the pain in his side, Case grabbed Libby's arm. “I cannot let 
you be hurt by me."
“And I don't want you to be hurt because of me,” she said, cradling his hand in 
both of hers, stroking his palm gently. “But I'm willing to fight for you, Case. 
I came to that decision while you were away. I'll fight the army and my 
brother—I'll take on the whole damned territory if necessary. And if I have to, 
I'll even fight you."
Her determination and the love shining in her eyes filled Case's heart until he 
thought it might burst. “I could not fight a lizard and win today,” he said with 
the faintest, most beautiful smile Libby had ever seen.
Twenty
Two days later Libby finally met Jedidiah Longstreet. He was nothing like the 
tall, brawny frontiersman she had envisioned from what little Case and Tessa had 
told her about him. But when the gray-haired middle-aged man dressed in 
buckskins appeared on her porch, she knew instantly who he was. His bright blue 
eyes studied her with disquieting intensity as she ushered him inside, and she 
wondered what he'd heard that brought him to see her.
“Have you seen Case?” she asked as they sat.
“I just came from the hospital,” he told her, his manner neither friendly nor 
cold. “Your brother says he's doing much better."
Libby nodded and clasped her hands nervously in her lap. “Yes. His fever is 
gone, and he was much stronger when I saw him earlier this morning."
“I understand you've been taking care of him."
Longstreet's penetrating gaze was beginning to unnerve her. She looked down at 
her hands. “I know my brother would never neglect Case because he's an Apache, 
but I'm not so sure of some of the orderlies. As you must know, there's a great 
deal of prejudice against him here."
“You've been feeling the brunt of some of that, haven't you?"
She gathered her wits and looked at him. “What, exactly, have you heard about 
me, Mr. Longstreet?"
His weathered face cracked into a network of deeply etched lines as he smiled. 
“Depends on who I'm talking to."
Libby had to smile, too. “Have you heard that I'm outspoken and willful to a 
fault?"
He nodded. “And I've also heard that you're loyal, intelligent, and caring.” His 
smile faded. “But I have to wonder if you're very practical, Miss Ashford. Case 
is an extraordinary man, and I understand that you might be drawn to him out of 
curiosity. He's known a great deal of suffering in his life, and I'd hate to see 
him hurt once your curiosity is satisfied."
Libby's shoulders stiffened. “What I feel for Case went far beyond curiosity a 
long time ago."
“What is it you feel for him?"
“I mean you no offense, Mr. Longstreet, but that's between Case and me. It's 
something we're going to have to work out for ourselves."
Apparently she'd given him the right answer, because he chuckled ruefully. 
“That's just about the same thing Case told me not ten minutes ago. I'd like to 
give you a warning, though, Miss Ashford."
Her expression became guarded. “What?"
“Don't mistake Case's strength for sophistication."
She understood what he was trying to tell her, and it rankled. “I'm not exactly 
a jezebel, Mr. Longstreet. This is"—her voice faltered—"an unusual situation for 
me, as well."
Jedidiah nodded thoughtfully. “I guess maybe it is, at that.” He stood. “I won't 
take up any more of your time, miss."
Libby walked with him toward the door. “Will you be staying at Fort Apache 
long?"
“I'll be in the area for a week or two, probably. I want to make sure Case in on 
the mend. Then I'll see if he'd like to come home with me to recuperate."
“Like old times?” she asked with a hint of a mischievous smile.
Jedidiah looked surprised. “Case told you about that?"
“He's told me many things, Mr. Longstreet. I know how much you mean to him and 
what an important part you've played in his life."
“Do you know about Gato?” he asked soberly.
Libby nodded. “Yes."
“And his visions?” When she nodded again, Jedidiah looked openly amazed. “Do you 
believe in them?"
“I know that Case believes in them,” she replied matter-of-factly. “That's 
really all that matters."
“He's not going to give up until he's killed Gato, or Gato has killed him,” 
Jedidiah told her frankly. “Hatred is a very powerful force, Miss Ashford. It 
doesn't leave much room in a man's heart for softer emotions, like love."
Libby squared her shoulders. “I'll take my chances."
“You're not going to change him,” he warned her.
“I wouldn't say that's something Case needs me for, Mr. Longstreet. He's spent 
most of his life learning to change himself."
Jedidiah shook his head and smiled ruefully. “Well, they were certainly right."
“Who's ‘they'?” Libby asked suspiciously.
“All the people who told me about you—Blue Bear, Colonel Dunlevy, your 
brother..."
“And what did they say?"
“That you're a lot tougher than you look."
She smiled. “They were right."
Jedidiah nodded to her respectfully as he stepped onto the porch. “Thank you for 
your time, Miss Ashford. I expect I'll be running into you again."
“Sooner than you might think,” she replied. “Do you have plans for supper 
tonight?"
A slow smile spread across his craggy face. “No, miss."
“In that case, would you care to join my brother and me?"
“I'd be honored."
“Six o'clock,” she told him.
“I'll be here."
In the week that followed, Jedidiah became something of a fixture in the 
Ashfords’ home. Meade and the frontiersman hit it off famously, but Libby 
suspected that had more to do with their mutual disapproval of her relationship 
with Case than with any commonality of interests between them. Neither of them 
said anything about the amount of time Libby spent with the Apache, though.
She went to the hospital several times a day, and as soon as she knew Case was 
out of danger she began expanding the scope of her ministrations to the other 
patients. She left the more delicate matters, like bed baths, to the orderlies, 
but it was not unusual for Meade to enter the infirmary and find his sister 
spooning broth or writing letters for those men who had family back east. She 
finally persuaded one of the orderlies to show her how to change bandages, and 
before long she was doing that as well.
Her smiles and soft words were the best medicine for the men, though, and Meade 
couldn't bring himself to deny them that. Nor could he deny it to Libby, for the 
new respect and gratitude displayed toward her were enormous. And the change 
wasn't confined to just the wounded men, either. The soldiers who visited their 
comrades were treated to a healthy dose of Libby's special charm, and word began 
to spread.
Libby noticed the change almost immediately. When she and Susannah took their 
daily constitutional around the quadrangle, pushing Michael in his perambulator, 
the friendly greetings they received included Libby as well. At the slightest 
encouragement, the soldiers would stop and visit a moment, always ready with a 
friendly word and a welcoming smile. For the first time, Libby began to feel 
that she was being accepted at Fort Apache.
Caroline and Elaine maintained a polite distance, of course, but Libby wasn't 
troubled by their aloofness. They weren't the sort of women with whom she would 
have enjoyed an association back east, so she had no reason to bemoan the loss 
of their friendship in Arizona. Caroline was particularly disapproving of 
Libby's teaching efforts, but since Colonel Dunlevy supported the project, 
Caroline confined her censure to reproving looks.
Both Caroline and Elaine made it a point to visit the hospital at least once a 
day to bolster the spirits of the men, and though they were greeted politely, 
the reception they received was a far cry from the warm smiles that lit up the 
room when Libby walked in. Libby knew it was petty, but she took a great deal of 
pleasure from the distinction the men made between the aloof officers’ wives and 
the doctor's sister.
By the end of the first week, Case was ambulatory; by the end of the second, 
Meade was ready to release him from the hospital with the admonition that it 
would be several weeks before he was fit to return to duty. Jedidiah had little 
trouble persuading Case to complete his recuperation at his ranch on the western 
boundary of the White Mountain Reservation. On Saturday morning, Libby and Meade 
stood on their porch watching as Jedidiah's supply wagon rumbled across the 
parade ground and disappeared from view.
Meade noticed that Case, on the wagon seat beside Jedidiah, didn't turn back 
once to look at the woman who'd devoted herself to nursing him back to health. 
He knew Libby must have noticed it, too.
“Are you all right?” he asked, looking down at her.
Libby pushed away from the post she'd been leaning on and glanced up at him 
curiously. Her eyes were dry, and she looked not the least bit distressed. “Why 
wouldn't I be?"
“I thought you might have trouble letting him go."
Libby smiled patiently. “Jedidiah will take good care of him, and Case certainly 
isn't going to do anything foolish to delay his recovery. Besides, he was 
getting restless from being confined indoors for so long."
Meade shook his head, a little amazed. How simple she made it sound; since 
leaving was what was best for Case, that was what Libby wanted for him. If there 
was another woman in the world who was this supportive and understanding, Meade 
had yet to find her. If he ever did, he hoped he'd have the good sense to marry 
her on the spot. For Libby's sake, though, he hoped Case Longstreet didn't 
harbor similar sentiments.
Now that the scout was gone, at least temporarily, Meade knew there were things 
he had to tell Libby—things he'd been putting off out of dread, things she had a 
right to know.
Libby was watching the emotions play across his face as he wrestled with the 
subject he'd been avoiding ever since his return. “Are you ready to talk about 
it now?” she asked.
Meade was surprised, but he knew he shouldn't be. “I'll have to, eventually. It 
might as well be now,” he replied wearily.
It was too hot to go indoors, so Libby sat in her chair on the porch stirring 
the air with the small, sturdy fan that Tessa had taught her to weave out of 
grama grass. It was a minute or more before Meade sat next to her.
“How much have you heard about how Case was wounded?” he asked, not looking at 
her.
“I heard that he saved your life."
Meade frowned. “Did he tell you that?"
“No. Case said very little about the ambush,” she replied. “Lieutenant Watson 
told me about it one night while I was sitting up with him. He didn't go into 
details, but I know about the trap that was set up and sprung."
“Then you know that Case saved a lot of lives, not just mine."
“You don't seem very pleased about it,” she commented mildly, trying to keep any 
trace of sarcasm from her voice.
“What do you expect?” her brother snapped. “He was a bona fide hero that night, 
and I almost got him killed.” He rubbed his hands over his face and leaned 
forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “God, so much of it is just a blur."
Libby placed a comforting hand on his arm. “You don't have to talk about it if 
you don't want to, Meade."
“But you deserve to know. God knows I don't want you to idealize Longstreet any 
more than you already have, but you have a right to know how he risked his life 
to save your brother.” He laughed humorlessly. “That's what he was doing, you 
know—savingyour brother. I'm here today only because Case is in love with you."
“Is that what's eating you alive?"
He shook his head. “I don't know."
“Yes, you do. You don't want to feel beholden to him because you're afraid he'll 
mistake your gratitude for friendship—or worse, consent."
Meade stood and walked to the edge of the porch. “Maybe so."
“Tell me what happened,” she said after a moment.
He started talking, staring out at the parade ground, but Libby knew he wasn't 
seeing any of the activity there. He described the trap the Chiricahua had set 
up, and the chaos that resulted when the first shots were fired.
“By the time the shooting started, Crook and the soldiers in camp were ready, 
thanks to Case's warning, but the men guarding the phony curing ceremony were 
completely unprepared,” he told her bleakly. “Case's uncle tried to warn 
Forsythe, but it didn't do any good. The major either couldn't understand the 
scout or just didn't believe him. There were fifty soldiers standing around like 
ducks on a pond. They were the easiest targets imaginable.
“Fortunately Case had ordered his scouts to circle the area, and we managed to 
catch the renegades in a cross fire that sent them running for their lives.” He 
shook his head. “I don't even want to think about how bad it might have been if 
those scouts hadn't outflanked the Chiricahua."
“How did Case get wounded?” she asked.
Meade turned to her, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he leaned against 
the post. “I thought the fighting was over. Case and I were with Crook and a 
small contingent of cavalrymen who had worked their way toward the prisoners’ 
encampment. We returned the renegade's fire, and then all of a sudden the 
shooting stopped. Case ordered me to stay down while he went off to reconnoiter, 
but I could hear wounded men screaming for help, so like an idiot, I stood up 
and started toward them. I heard a couple of shots, but I didn't realize I was 
the target until an arrow went whizzing past my head."
Meade wanted more than anything not to have to look at Libby just then, but 
somewhere he found the courage to hold her gaze steadily. “I froze. I was just 
standing there, out in the open. I didn't even have the good sense to drop to 
the ground."
A short, bitter laugh bubbled up in his throat. “I guess the Chiricahua thought 
anyone that stupid deserved to die, because they opened fire full bore. Then all 
of a sudden Case was there, knocking me to the ground. We rolled through the 
dirt and managed to crawl into cover behind a cluster of rocks. It wasn't until 
the firing stopped again that I realized he'd been shot twice because of my 
stupidity."
Libby was glad to know the details, but it was nearly impossible for her to 
imagine what might have happened to her brother if Case hadn't intervened. 
Biting back tears, she stood and wrapped her arms around Meade. “Remind me to 
thank him for keeping you safe."
“I should do that myself one of these days,” he said hoarsely, returning her 
comforting hug. “Oh, I told him he was a fool to risk his life that way. And 
when I administered the ether so I could operate on him I muttered something 
about doing my best to return the favor ... but I never really thanked him."
She looked up at him. “That's between you and your conscience, Meade. The longer 
you wait, the harder it'll be."
“I know. But I just feel like such a fool, Libby. He suffered so much pain 
because of me, and you know the worst part? He doesn't look at me with 
resentment, or even pity. He just watches me with those damned unreadable Apache 
eyes."
Libby smiled. “They're unreadable only because you don't know what to look for. 
I've seen him watch you with the other patients, and what I see in his eyes is 
respect."
Meade shook his head. “You're seeing what you want to see, Libby. He couldn't 
possibly have an ounce of respect for me."
“You're judging yourself too harshly, Meade. You're a doctor, not a soldier, for 
crying out loud. And that was your first battle,” she reminded him. “When Case 
looks at you, he isn't seeing the man who froze; he's seeing the man who left 
his defensive position because there was someone in pain who needed him. He's 
seeing the man who stood in a field tent all night, up to his elbows in blood, 
giving everything he had to save as many lives as he could."
Meade needed very much to see the love and respect that were shining in her 
eyes. “Did Lieutenant Watson tell you that, too?"
“He didn't have to,” Libby replied. “I know my brother."
“Thanks, little sister.” He pulled her into his arms again. “You know, I once 
told Case you are the best part of me.” He dropped a kiss on her silky hair. “I 
didn't know then how right I was."
Libby had no trouble keeping busy while Case was away. Most of Meade's other 
patients were returning to duty or being sent home in the convoys that routinely 
brought supplies to Fort Apache. But Libby still had English lessons to occupy 
her two days a week, and she had fallen woefully behind in her housework. She 
doted on little Michael, and her daily walks with Susannah became the highlight 
of her existence because of the warm, friendly greetings she received from the 
soldiers.
One man in particular, the adorable little Lieutenant Watson, whom Libby had 
helped nurse back to health, made it his personal mission in life to see that 
Miss Libby had anything she wanted or needed. In a casual conversation one day 
he learned that Libby had never ridden a horse; naturally he offered to teach 
her, and she didn't hesitate to take him up on it.
Susannah, an accomplished horsewoman, was only too happy to lend Libby her 
sidesaddle, a riding habit, and a few pieces of advice that proved quite 
helpful. Lieutenant Watson knew all there was to know about horses, but the 
special problems created by a sidesaddle were beyond the realm of his expertise. 
After several lessons, Libby decided that she'd rather use the McClellan saddle 
the cavalrymen used, but she'd already scandalized Fort Apache enough as it was. 
And besides, Watson was quick to inform her that the McClellan had been designed 
for the comfort of the horse, not the rider, so she wasn't missing anything.
Though she was not an instinctive horsewoman, she gamely persevered, and the 
audience of soldiers who gathered to offer their encouragement grew daily. Libby 
enjoyed the challenge and the exercise, but her greatest pleasure was the 
camaraderie her efforts engendered. It was wonderful to feel that she belonged 
somewhere.
Meade suspected that sense of belonging was responsible for the little changes 
he saw in his sister. For as long as he could remember, Libby had possessed all 
the subtlety of a battering ram. He knew it was only a defense against her 
feelings of inadequacy, but that was beginning to change. She was as direct and 
outspoken as ever, but she displayed a new confidence in herself that was 
unmistakable—at least to Meade.
He knew, of course, that her feelings for Case Longstreet could have been 
responsible for the change, but he preferred to ascribe it to her sense of 
belonging. Thinking that made it easier for him to sleep at night. He respected 
Case, and sometimes he even wished he could get to know him better, because he 
suspected that they could probably become good friends. He was obviously a man 
of great strength, honor, and courage. But nothing was going to change the fact 
that he was an Apache or diminish the hardships Libby would suffer if she 
pursued a relationship with Case.
One thing Meade had realized, though, was that fighting with her or ordering her 
to forget about Case Longstreet would do about as much good as wearing a piece 
of cheesecloth in a sandstorm. All he could do at the moment was wait around and 
be ready to pick up the pieces when Libby was shattered by the emotions she 
couldn't seem—or didn't want—to control.
That became much more difficult when Case returned after two weeks on Jedidiah's 
ranch. He seemed as healthy as ever and ready to return to duty. A few days 
earlier, though, Colonel Dunlevy had received word that Crook and the cavalry 
were on their way back to Fort Apache, so there was nothing for Case to do but 
wait. He spoke to Libby only briefly when Meade checked him over at the 
hospital; then he disappeared for several days.
When Meade asked Libby if she knew where he had gone, she informed him that Case 
was spending some time with his grandfather. She seemed not at all resentful of 
the fact that he hadn't hurried to her side the moment he returned to the fort. 
The quiet nature of their relationship was completely beyond Meade's 
comprehension. Unfortunately, he understood only too well the look of love that 
sparkled in her eyes every time she saw him.
That look was very much in evidence on ration day when Case returned. Meade had 
been standing in the doorway of the hospital watching Libby and her Apache 
students. Tessa hadn't shown up for the lesson for some reason, and Libby had 
found the going rough without her. Rather than allow herself to become 
frustrated and curt, she dismissed the boys earlier than usual, then turned a 
surly look on her brother.
“If you laugh, so help me, I'll lace your supper with cayenne pepper tonight."
“What are we having?"
“Leg of mutton and lemon tarts."
He held up his right hand solemnly. “I won't laugh, I swear. Although I must say 
I was particularly impressed by your valiant effort to explain the difference 
between ‘look’ and ‘see.'” With his forefingers and thumbs, he formed two 
circles and brought them to his eyes as he'd seen Libby do during the lesson. 
“I'm sure this helped a lot."
Libby swatted his arm and laughed. “You'll regret that when you sit down to eat 
tonight."
Meade laughed, too, but when he looked over Libby's head and saw Case 
approaching, his laughter faded. “I believe we have a guest."
His expression told Libby all she had to know. Her face was glowing with 
anticipation even before she turned and saw him. Mustering all the restraint she 
possessed, she stepped to the edge of the porch. “If you've come to collect 
Tessa to escort her home from her lesson, I'm afraid you're out of luck. She 
didn't come today."
“I know. She's preparing for an important ceremony.” Case managed to tear his 
gaze away from Libby to look at Meade. “Good afternoon, Captain."
“Case. How are you feeling?"
“I'm well."
“Good.” Meade considered insisting that he come into the hospital to verify 
that, but since his only valid reason for doing so would have been to keep Case 
and Libby apart a while longer, he restrained himself. “Well, if you'll excuse 
me, I have some paperwork to do.” He stepped toward the hospital, but Case 
stopped him.
“If you have a moment, Captain, there is something I'd like to ask you,” he 
said, his features composed into that unreadable look Meade hated so much.
Libby looked back and forth between the two men she loved. Meade was hesitating, 
and she almost laughed when she realized that he was afraid Case was going to 
ask for his sister's hand in marriage. “Of course he has a moment, Case,” she 
said, grabbing Meade's arm and all but dragging him to the edge of the porch. 
“Don't you, Meade?” she asked pointedly.
“Of course,” he answered reluctantly.
“Shall I step inside while you talk?” she offered.
Case looked at her, and Libby could see from the bright twinkle in his eyes that 
he, too, had guessed Meade's thoughts. “No, Libby. This concerns you as well."
Libby felt Meade's arm tense beneath her fingers, but she said nothing.
“Tomorrow Tessa is going to become White-painted Woman,” Case told them. “A 
ceremony will mark her ascent into womanhood. There will be dancing and a great 
feast.” He looked at Libby. “She has requested that you attend."
Libby was deeply touched. “I would love to."
Case looked at Meade. “And naturally you're invited as well, Captain. I'm sure 
you'll want to be certain Libby is properly chaperoned."
Meade cleared his throat. “That's very considerate of you, Case. Has this been 
cleared with Colonel Dunlevy?"
“He knows of the ceremony and has made no objections."
“Well, then...” Meade looked down at Libby. There was no way he could have 
persuaded her not to go, so he didn't even try. “Where is the ceremony being 
held, and what time should we be there?"
“I'll come for you at eight tomorrow morning."
Libby couldn't have been happier. “We'll be ready."
“Good.” With one last, lingering look, he turned and walked away.
“Thank you, Meade,” Libby said sincerely.
He tried not to be moved by her happiness. “What choice did I have?"
“You could have let me go alone,” she replied with wide-eyed innocence.
Meade disengaged his arm from hers and headed for the hospital. “As I said, what 
choice did I have?” he muttered irritably, and the delightful sound of Libby's 
laughter followed him all the way inside.
Twenty-one
The maiden ceremony was as beautiful and reverent as the war dance had been 
savage and frightening. Tessa wore the most exquisite garment Libby had ever 
seen—a buckskin dress with delicate fringe, ornate beadwork, and tiny tin cones 
that jingled airily when she moved. Her black hair hung nearly to her waist, 
with two white eagle feathers braided into the back and an iridescent shell 
dangling on her forehead.
While a shaman sang blessing songs, Tessa performed the rituals that sealed her 
bond with White-painted Woman, one of the Apaches’ most important deities; in so 
doing, she assured her people and herself of health and prosperity. It was a 
display of optimism that Libby found most poignant.
Under an open tipi-shaped arbor, Tessa danced on a buckskin carpet. With a 
beautifully decorated cane, she kept time with the drumbeat, the fringe on her 
skirt swirling around her feet.
“This song tells of the Creation and the part White-painted Woman played in it,” 
Case told his two guests.
“How many songs are there?” Libby asked without looking away from the beautiful 
young dancer. Her two escorts flanked her like tall, solemn sentries, making her 
feel very small but well protected.
“Dozens,” Case replied. “But the ceremony itself has only nine parts that 
continue throughout the day and into the night. For the next four days, though, 
my cousin will be revered as we would revere White-painted Woman, and she can be 
called by no other name."
“Four days?” Libby glanced up at him.
“Yes. During that time it is believed she has the power to cure."
She grinned up at her brother. “Pay attention, Meade. You may learn something."
He laughed out of obligation, but it was clear he wasn't enjoying himself. As 
Case had expected, Libby was utterly captivated by the proceedings; Meade, on 
the other hand, was doing his best not to appear nervous at being surrounded by 
Case's people. The ceremony was being held a considerable distance from the 
fort, and no other officers had elected to attend. Case had done his best to put 
Meade at ease, but he knew that only time would convince the doctor that he had 
nothing to fear.
After each phase of the ceremony, the drums stopped, and during those resting 
periods Case introduced Libby to members of his family she hadn't met yet. Since 
the Nah-ih-es ceremony was a time for celebration among friends, both of Case's 
grandfathers were there along with relatives from all sides of Case's family. 
Some greeted her with varying degrees of suspicion, while others were openly 
friendly.
The things she had learned about Apache customs from Tessa kept Libby from 
making too many social blunders, and Meade took his cues from his sister's 
behavior. By late morning, he had relaxed a little and was actually beginning to 
enjoy himself.
The fourth ritual—"Cane set out, she runs around it"—commenced with Tessa's 
decorated cane being planted upright about twenty-five feet east of the arbor. 
The drums began a new rhythm, and Tessa ran toward the cane, circled it, and 
returned. Some of the women encouraged her with shrill whooping sounds, while 
other women ran behind her.
“She will do this four times, representing the four stages of life,” Case 
informed his guests. “Each time the cane will be placed farther away from the 
arbor. When she has finished, she will own her life, and it will be a long and 
happy one."
“Why do the other women run, too?” Libby asked, her face wreathed in a glorious 
smile.
“So that they may share in her long life and good fortune."
“That's—” Whatever she'd intended to say flew out of her mind when she turned 
back to the ceremony and realized that Tessa's mother was standing directly in 
front of her looking very stern and solemn.
"Dee-dah nejeunee, itsa nuest-che shee,"she said firmly.
Libby frowned up at Case. “What did she say? Does she want me to leave? Have I 
done something wrong?"
Case shook his head and smiled reassuringly. “No, you've done nothing wrong. In 
fact, you've just been accorded a great honor. She says that because you are her 
daughter's good friend, you must come, too."
Libby was surprised and delighted. “And do what?"
“Run with the other women.” He nodded to Tessa's mother, and she grabbed Libby's 
hand.
"Nuest-che shee,"she repeated. Come here.
Before Libby could say yea or nay, the woman was dragging her into the circle of 
attendants who surrounded the arbor. When the third cycle began, Tessa's mother 
gave Libby a push, and after a quick glance back at Case and Meade, Libby joined 
in. Laughing with delight, she ran with the other women who were chasing 
White-painted Woman. Then she waited for the fourth cycle and ran again.
“Does this disturb you?” Case asked Meade.
Meade glowered at him. “What do you think?"
“I think your sister is happy today,” he replied quietly, not flinching from 
Meade's fierce gaze.
“For how long?"
Case shrugged. “Who can say? Sometimes one day of happiness is all we are given 
in this life."
Meade's hands clenched into tight fists, and he had to make a concerted effort 
to relax them. “I want more for Libby than that. So should you."
He turned back to the ceremony, and Case let the conversation drop. Meade was 
right; Libby deserved more than Case could give her. While he was staying at 
Jedidiah's ranch, he had told himself a hundred times that he should find a way 
to release Libby from the unspoken bond that seemed to be pulling them closer 
together with every passing day. He couldn't seem to do it, though. She was too 
much a part of him. For years, she had been the softer side of his tormented 
soul; he could no more tear her out of his heart now than he could have severed 
a limb from his own body.
From across the ceremonial ground, he watched her laughing with his people, at 
ease and comfortable despite the barriers of language and culture that separated 
them. She reminded him of a beautiful, delicate flower that had opened its 
blossoms to a soft shower of rain. She drank in every moment of the experience, 
and when it was over, he knew that she would have grown in some way.
She was remarkable, and she washis woman. No matter how hard he tried, he could 
think of her in no other way.
When the drums finally stopped, Libby returned to her escorts, her face flushed 
and glowing. Laughing, she adjusted her shepherdess hat, then laced one arm 
through Meade's and the other through Case's, binding the three of them 
together. “I will now have a long and happy life,” she decreed.
Her head barely came to their shoulders, and she didn't see the dark look Meade 
gave Case as he said, “Of course you will. I'll accept nothing but the best for 
my darling Libby."
Case caught the look, but refused to acknowledge it. “It's time to eat now,” he 
said, gesturing to the baskets of food that had been placed in a line from the 
east of the arbor.
Knowing there was to be feasting, Libby had dipped into her household savings 
and purchased a large quantity of dried peaches at the sutler's store. She had 
soaked them in honey and cinnamon overnight and contributed several jars of the 
concoction to the feast. Tessa had loved the sweet treat when Libby made it for 
her and Susannah, but since White-painted Woman was fed separately from the 
others, she wouldn't have a chance to sample it again. Libby was anxious to see 
what her family and friends thought of it, though.
“There is no formality in this part of the ceremony,” Case told them as they 
strolled toward the food. “It's every man for himself.” He smiled down at Libby. 
“Should I jump in and get something for you, or would you prefer to fend for 
yourself?"
The crowd was a little intimidating, but Libby was willing to risk it. Before 
she had the opportunity, though, several men approached Case and spoke to him in 
tones that indicated concern. Case answered, and the men left.
“What is it?” Meade asked.
“Two soldiers are coming from the direction of Fort Apache. They're riding 
hard."
In the heat of early July, a man pushed his horse to its limits only if there 
was an emergency or he wanted a dead horse. “Something must be wrong,” Meade 
said. Concerned, he took Libby's arm and the three of them hurried away from the 
ceremonial ground. A telltale cloud of dust was rising in the southeast, and 
they stopped, waiting for the riders to arrive.
It was only a matter of minutes before Lieutenant Wexler, Dunlevy's adjutant, 
reined in his horse, dismounted quickly, and offered Meade a crisp salute.
“What's wrong, Lieutenant?” he asked, returning the salute.
“Forgive the intrusion, sir, but there's been an accident at the fort,” he said, 
trying to pretend he wasn't winded by his breakneck ride. “Some of the men were 
trying to saddle-break that new herd of horses we received Friday, and Private 
MacDermott was thrown. The horse trampled him pretty bad. He's unconscious, and 
he can hardly breathe, sir."
Meade nodded and glanced up at the private who'd accompanied Wexler. “You men 
rest your mounts. I'll be ready to go as soon as I saddle the horses. Come on, 
Libby.” He took hold of her arm and ushered her toward the remuda where their 
horses were hobbled.
Rather than challenge Meade in front of the soldiers, she allowed him to drag 
her away, but as soon as they were out of earshot, she gently disengaged her arm 
from Meade's grip. “Is there any reason why you'd need me at the hospital?” she 
asked, hurrying along beside him. Case, on the other hand, had no trouble 
keeping up with Meade's long strides.
“No, but—” He realized where she was leading and stopped in midstride. “Libby, 
you can't stay here."
She turned to face him. “Why not? I'm in no danger here. Surely you realize 
that."
“It's not a question of danger.” he snapped. He glanced at Case, hoping the 
scout would support his decision, but he had gone ahead to the remuda. Meade 
looked uncomfortable and lowered his voice. “It's a matter of propriety."
“Case will see that I get home safely."
“No.” He stalked off toward the horses.
She darted after him. “I am not leaving this ceremony."
“And I'm not arguing about it."
“I'm a grown woman, Meade! This is my decision to make."
“Longstreet, will you talk some sense into her?” Meade said harshly as they came 
to the remuda. “She's determined to stay."
Case was already tightening the cinch on Meade's horse. He didn't want Libby to 
leave, but he didn't want Tessa's special day to be the cause of an argument 
between Libby and her brother. “Perhaps you should go,” he told her quietly, 
handing the horse's reins to Meade.
She looked up at him, and the fire left her eyes. “I want to stay with you,” she 
replied softly. “Please assure my pigheaded brother that you'll get me home 
safely."
Case wasn't sure what to do. Libby had placed him firmly between the devil and 
the deep blue sea, as Jedidiah used to say. “If the captain agrees that you may 
stay, I will be happy to escort you home."
That wasn't the answer Libby had been hoping for, but it made her realize how 
wrong she had been to pit the men against each other. “I'm sorry,” she whispered 
to him, then turned to her brother and took his hands. “Meade, please. Let me 
have this time with Case and his people. General Crook is due back any day now, 
and for all we know, he might drag Case away on another campaign. I might not 
have this chance again. Please don't fight me on this."
Meade knew that, for Libby's sake, he ought to insist that she return with him, 
and he also knew that she would eventually forgive him if he dragged her back. 
But she was right about one thing. It was her decision to make. If there were 
consequences to be dealt with later, she would deal with them.
What was it Longstreet had said earlier? “Sometimes all we get is one day of 
happiness.” If this was meant to be Libby's day, he couldn't bring himself to 
deny it to her.
Heaving a world-weary sigh, he looked at Case. “Will you have her home by 
nightfall?"
“But there is a dance toni—” Libby started to interject, but Case cut her off.
“Yes,” he replied. “I'll have her home by the time the bugle sounds retreat."
Meade mounted his gray stallion and glared down at Case. “I'll hold you to that, 
Longstreet.” He glanced at Libby, then rode off to join his escort party.
Standing side by side, with not even their hands touching, Case and Libby 
watched the soldiers disappear.
“Your friends at the fort will not understand this, Libby,” he cautioned her 
quietly.
“Myfriends will understand. The others don't matter.” She looked up at him and 
smiled. “Shall we go see if there's any food left?"
He smiled ruefully. “Your brother has had a difficult life, controlling you."
Her chin jutted out pugnaciously. “You think you could do any better?"
His gaze grew very tender. “I would not even try,cida'ké. The wind cannot be 
tamed. Come.” He motioned toward the ceremonial ground. “We must eat before the 
next ritual begins."
The afternoon passed much too swiftly for Libby, and the daytime ceremonies 
ended much too soon. There were still several hours of daylight left when 
White-painted Woman shook out the buckskin carpet and threw it out of the arbor 
to the east. Then she threw a blanket toward each of the other three compass 
points to ensure that she would always have plenty of blankets and her camp 
would always be clean.
More feasting followed, but Tessa disappeared into the little wickiup where she 
had stayed between rituals, and Case hated having to tell Libby that nothing 
more was going to happen until dark. The men drifted off to challenge one 
another to games of hoops and poles, and the women began preparing more food.
“We should start back now,” Case said reluctantly. At a slow but steady pace, it 
would take them an hour to reach the fort, which would get Libby home nearly 
three hours before the curfew at sunset.
Libby performed the same calculation, and decided that there was no reason to 
waste so much time. “I'd rather have you show me where you grew up, the places 
where you played and hunted."
His smile was patience personified. “Libby, you could go a hundred miles in 
every direction and still not see all the places I knew as a boy."
“Then show me a place near here that was special to you.” She remembered 
something he'd once told her about his parents. “I know. You can show me the 
valley where your father placed the courting stones for your mother. Is it far 
from here?"
“No. It will take us only a little out of our way."
“Then you'll show me?” she asked hopefully.
“There will be no flowers in the valley at this time of the year,” he warned 
her.
“I have an excellent imagination. Come.” She took his hand and headed toward 
their horses.
He hesitated only a moment, wondering what her brother would think of this 
deviation from their agreement. But his woman was smiling at him expectantly, 
filling him with a joy he had no will to deny. Wearing a smile of happiness that 
matched Libby's, he saddled her horse, slid an Apache blanket-saddle onto his 
own, and guided her to Cottonwoods Joining.
“It's beautiful,” Libby said, surveying the little valley as she leaned back 
against the trunk of a cottonwood. The tree provided delightful shade, and Libby 
had happily removed her shepherdess hat and tossed it to one side. On her left 
ran a stream that would soon be nothing but a dry creek bed; on her right Case 
was sitting Apache-style, watching her.
“You are seeing with your heart, not your eyes,” he teased her. “Only in the 
season of Little Eagles is this valley beautiful."
“But I can imagine how it looks carpeted with flowers...” She sighed wistfully. 
“Where did your father place the courting stones?"
He frowned. It was something he had never thought to ask, and now it was 
something he could never know. “I'm not sure. Near the top of that hill, I 
imagine, so that he could watch her from the underbrush."
She studied the hillside, trying to visualize an event that had taken place 
before she was born. “Did they have a long courtship?"
“No,” he replied, realizing that Libby had never heard the legend of how his 
parents met and fell in love. “Their families had been at war with each other 
for many years. At my father's urging, they met near here to talk of peace, but 
the elders could reach no agreement.” He went on to describe the first meeting 
of Willow and Gray Wolf, their long rides through the countryside, and the 
disapproval they had to face. As he talked, his face took on an expression of 
sweet sadness, as though the story was both cherished and painful.
Libby couldn't help but think of her own situation with Case. The disapproval 
they faced was no less formidable, and perhaps even more so. “But they married 
despite the opposition,” she said, unable to hide the hope that was beginning to 
be the foundation on which her life was built.
Case nodded. “They married and lived happily for many years."
Libby smiled. “Is the Inday wedding ceremony as beautiful as the White-painted 
Woman ritual?"
“No. There is very little ceremony. A woman comes to the man she has chosen and 
spends the night in his wickiup. The family of the husband must pay for the 
bride with gifts, which are delivered to the girl's father. Sometimes this is 
done before the wedding night, sometimes after, but once gifts are exchanged, 
the marriage is made."
Libby was surprised. “It's as simple as that?"
Case looked into her eyes and wished he could allow himself to become lost in 
their warm depths. “Committing your life, your happiness, and your love to 
another person is never simple,cida'ké."
Libby held his tender gaze, wishing she could read his thoughts. He gave so much 
when he looked at her, but always there was something he held back. “You know, 
don't you, that if you asked it, I would make that commitment to you now ... 
this minute."
“I cannot ask it, Libby."
She had known how he would answer, but it wasn't what she wanted to hear. 
“Today? Or ever?"
He shook his head. “I don't know."
Libby swallowed hard and looked away. “Gato?"
“Yes.Cida'ké ...?” He waited until her eyes met his again. “The necklace Gato 
took from my mother's throat was one my father gave her on the day their 
marriage was sealed. It had beads of silver, nuggets of turquoise, and a carved 
medallion like this one.” He reached beneath the open collar of his shirt and 
showed her his simple Thunderbird emblem. “When he placed it around her throat, 
the spirit of the Thunder Eagle flew overhead and blessed them. That day two 
eagle feathers hung from the medallion, and through the years, one was added for 
every child my parents bore."
He replaced the medallion beneath his shirt. “I have been told by those who have 
seen Gato that he still wears the necklace. Only two feathers remain. One is 
mine, the other is that of my sister, Morning Star. As long as Gato wears the 
necklace, he possesses our souls.” He reached out and touched Libby's face. “And 
as long as he possesses my soul, I have nothing to give you."
Tears filled Libby's eyes, and she turned her face into his hand and pressed her 
lips to his palm. “Nothing I can say will heal your hatred, will it?"
“I have told you before that I exist for no other reason.” He cupped her face in 
his hand and forced her to look at him. “But you are the only gentle part of me, 
Libby,” he whispered.
“That's not true,” she said, grasping his hand fiercely. “There is a kindness in 
you, Case Longstreet—a gentleness that has nothing to do with hatred or revenge, 
or with me."
“Libby, what you saw the night of the war dance—that is me. To take revenge 
without a second thought, to show no mercy to an enemy, to kill with cunning and 
guile—that is what it means to be Apache. That is what I am, and not even your 
love for me can change that."
“Two sides of the same coin,” she murmured, remembering the conclusions she'd 
come to during Case's absence.
“What does that mean?"
She regarded him sadly. “It means I must accept you for what you are, not what I 
would wish you to be."
He frowned in frustration. If he could have been different for this woman, he 
would have tried, but that was not possible. “Can you do that?"
Libby wanted to accept him as he was, and she thought that she had. But when he 
talked of killing and hatred in such a cold, flat voice, when he placed his need 
for revenge above his love for her...
He would do what he had to do. He believed in a destiny that was unchangeable. 
Libby knew she could accept that. She found it more difficult to embrace the 
knowledge that if he ever came to believe she had no place in his destiny, he 
would leave her in true Apache fashion. He would walk away without ever looking 
back.
Twenty-two
“We should go now, or your brother will begin to worry,” Case said, rising in 
one graceful motion.
Libby hated to leave the little valley, but Case was right. It would be wrong to 
worry Meade. And besides, there didn't seem to be anything else to say. She 
offered him her hands, and he pulled her to her feet. The movement brought them 
close together, and though they both knew they should back away, neither of them 
did.
She stared up at him with dark, expressive eyes, inviting Case to look into her 
heart and see everything she was feeling. Love, sadness, hope, and desire were 
all there, shimmering just beneath the surface.
Case recognized the emotions, for they matched his own, but he dared not act on 
them until he had more to offer her than the passionate fire that consumed him. 
He couldn't let her see the need that swelled in him when he thought of her; she 
mustn't be touched by the hunger that threatened to overwhelm him every time he 
looked at her. He ached to hold her, to make her truly his woman in the ultimate 
sense of belonging; but such an act would be a betrayal of everything he was as 
a man and everything he believed as an Apache.
He stepped back, just as Libby had known he would. And she knew why. She tried 
to resent his sense of honor, but she couldn't; it was one of the things she 
loved about him. She couldn't help fearing, though, that it was also what would 
keep her from having a life with him.
They resumed their journey to the fort, but had covered less than half the 
distance when Case noticed a rider coming from the northeast on a path that 
seemed likely to intersect theirs. The rider was Apache, but that was all Libby 
could tell.
“Do you know who it is?” she asked, wondering if there was a reason to be 
concerned.
Case studied the indistinct form for a moment. “It's my uncle, Angry Coyote,” he 
replied finally, changing course to intercept the rider. “General Crook has 
returned. Come."
Libby followed him, trying not to think of the consequences of Crook's return. 
There was no telling what mission he'd send Case on next, but she knew she could 
count on it being dangerous.
When they met Angry Coyote on the trail, he paid little heed to Libby. The 
scouts spoke to each other in Apache while Libby sweltered in the sun, watching 
Case's face grow colder every time his uncle spoke. Crook's name was mentioned 
several times, and Gato's, as well. From Angry Coyote's manner, Libby surmised 
that Crook had sent Case's uncle looking for him.
That supposition was confirmed when Angry Coyote abruptly departed. “Crook has 
asked for me,” Case told her. “When my uncle did not find me at the ceremonial 
camp, he followed our trail."
“What else did he tell you?” Libby asked, dreading the answer.
Case's face was like a mask of cold, sculpted bronze. “The scouts tracked Gato 
and his braves to the Dragoon Mountains. He has taken refuge on the Chiricahua 
reservation with Cochise."
Libby held her breath. “What will you do?"
Case looked toward the White Mountains on the eastern horizon. His quest had 
begun there, but would end in the mountains to the south. “I have no more 
visions to guide me, Libby. The death of Forsythe was the last one.” He looked 
at her. “I must go after Gato now."
“I forbid it!” Crook said, slapping his desk as he jumped to his feet. Although 
Case was considerably taller, the general allowed no one to intimidate or 
dominate him. “You cannot resign, Longstreet. You have a contract with the 
Army."
Case studied Crook impassively. The moment he and Libby returned to the fort, 
Case had been summoned to headquarters. It had saved him the trouble of making 
an appointment. “And we had an understanding, you and I,” Case said. “When you 
came to me three years ago and asked for my help, I told you I was seeking only 
one man. I agreed to scout for you on the condition that when the time came for 
me to face Gato, you would not interfere."
Crook remembered that agreement. He'd never broken a promise to an Apache 
before, and he didn't want to have to do so now. “But things have changed since 
then, Case. With the exception of a few incorrigible renegades like Gato, all 
the Apaches in Arizona and New Mexico are settled onto reservations. We're as 
close as we've ever been to the end of this abominable war, and I can't risk 
having the delicate fabric of this peace ripped apart by one man's obsession 
with revenge."
“You credit me with too much power, General."
“Not at all. You've been with me in every battle. You've acted as a translator 
at every powwow and treaty negotiation I've undertaken. There's not a tribe of 
Apaches in this territory that doesn't know you or know of you. Like it or not, 
Case, you're as much a symbol of the authority of the Army of the United States 
as I am. If you set one foot on the Chiricahua reservation with the intent of 
committing mayhem on one of Cochise's people, you could very well be giving that 
old fox the excuse he needs to initiate a full-scale war."
Case wasn't certain Crook was right. Cochise was more dedicated to keeping the 
white man's peace than any other Apache leader Case knew, but there was no 
denying the possibility existed. The old chief had become a pacifist in his 
waning years, but he had forced the Blue Coats to accept peace on his terms, not 
theirs. And he was still an Apache. “May I point out to you, sir, that you've 
been complaining about your inability to touch Cochise for nearly two years. 
Wouldn't a full-scale war be easier to suppress than these hit-or-miss 
skirmishes with raiding parties?"
Crook paced behind his desk, his hands clasped behind his back. It was several 
moments before he spoke. “Case, I'm not a political man. I don't like the 
intrigue and the posturing. I've gotten where I am simply because my methods get 
results.” He stopped pacing and looked at the scout. “But I'm also smart enough 
not to commit political suicide. I haven't exactly been circumspect about 
voicing my objections to that treaty General Howard made with Cochise. If I let 
you go after Gato, my detractors are going to claim that this was my way of 
maneuvering Cochise into breaking the treaty.
“Now, I don't expect you to give two figs about the ups and downs of my career, 
but I don't have to tell you what could happen to your people on this 
reservation if I'm replaced of stripped of my influence."
Finally the general had made a point that Case had to respect. There were men, 
both military and civilian, who had become wealthy by misappropriating funds and 
supplies that were meant for the Apaches. Case knew for a fact that Crook had 
never been guilty of that kind of dishonesty. The Indians in his charge received 
not only his respect but also the full rations they had been promised when they 
agreed to settle on the reservations. Without Crook to protect them, the White 
Mountain Apache might soon be starving.
Case couldn't allow his revenge to bring harm to his people. Since Major 
Forsythe's death, Case had felt somewhat disoriented. His resolve was as strong 
as ever, but there were no more signposts to show him the way to his objective. 
The Thunder Eagle had brought him this far; the rest of the journey was his to 
make alone.
The time was his to choose as well, and he wanted it to be now. But Crook's 
arguments were persuasive. The chances were slim that the repercussions the 
general feared would come to pass, but Case couldn't take the chance.
“Very well, General,” he said finally. “I withdraw my resignation."
Crook returned to his chair, greatly relieved. “I'm grateful, Case. And I'm not 
unmindful of the agreement you and I had. In fact, I may be able to help you 
confront Gato.” He gestured to a chair and waited until Case was seated. “You 
see, I want that renegade as much as you do. I lost a lot of good men because of 
his treachery, but it's just barely possible that his retreat to Cochise's 
stronghold was the biggest mistake he could have made. I want to turn that 
mistake to my advantage."
“What do you have in mind?"
The man the Chiricahuas called Gray Fox smiled. “Tomorrow, I want you to start 
for the Dragoon Mountains to arrange a meeting between me and Cochise."
Case wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Crook had just talked himout of going to 
the Dragoons. “To what end, sir?"
“I want you to show him the arrows we collected after the ambush. That's proof 
enough that Gato was responsible. If Cochise is as honorable as he pretends to 
be, he'll have no choice but to turn Gato over to me."
Case smiled. Crook's plan had merit. Cochise repeatedly denied accusations that 
the renegades terrorizing the area around his reservation were his braves. He 
claimed that his people were all living peacefully according to the treaty, and 
no one had been able to prove otherwise. However, if he was confronted with 
proof of Gato's treachery, he would have to turn the renegade over to the army 
or risk being accused of violating the treaty. Then he could be forced to leave 
his stronghold and resettle his people on less desirable reservation land.
“Very well. I'll meet with Cochise."
Crook looked at him gravely. “You realize, of course, that since you'll be 
traveling under my flag, you can't take any personal action against Gato."
“I know that."
“And you also know that Cochise might have you killed and your body disposed of 
in such a manner that we'd never know what happened to you."
Case nodded. “Yes."
Crook wove his fingers together and looked down at his desk. “If we're 
successful in getting our hands on Gato, I'll find a way to let you have him, 
Case. It will be just the two of you, man to man.” He looked up. “But I'm not 
doing you any favors by sending you on this assignment."
Case stood. “I know that, too, sir."
He rode into the Dragoon Mountains wearing only his breechclout and moccasins, 
and carrying a standard bearing Crook's flag—two gold stars on a field of red. 
The strap of a courier pouch slashed a dark line across his chest, but far more 
noticeable were the two scars on his torso—one still angry and red, the other 
faded. Both were physical proof of Gato's treachery. Case wanted them plainly in 
view when he met with Cochise.
He followed the mountain trails, letting instinct guide him. He knew he was 
being watched. Eventually someone would confront him, ask his purpose, and 
either try to kill him or guide him to Cochise. His rifle was resting in its 
sheath on his blanket-saddle, and a bowie knife was strapped to his waist. He 
made an easy target, but he was counting on Cochise's sense of honor to keep him 
alive.
Though he was alert to every sound and sign, Case was having difficulty 
concentrating on the mission Crook had sent him to perform. He wanted to think 
about Cochise, plan what to say to persuade the chief to surrender Gato to the 
soldiers who were camped just beyond the boundaries of the reservation. Those 
thoughts wouldn't come, though. Libby kept intruding. The memory of their 
parting had been echoing through his mind for a week now. The scene played over 
and over, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.
He had gone to her that night after his meeting with Crook because he had known 
he couldn't leave without seeing her. He had marched onto the porch, not caring 
who saw him or what they thought. Meade had been there, but after a few 
uncomfortable moments, he had reluctantly gone next door, using the excuse that 
he needed to check on his patients. With Libby standing near the unlit hearth 
and Case standing near the door, he had explained Crook's plan.
“This is dangerous, isn't it?” she asked quietly, her hands clasped in front of 
her, half hidden by the folds of her muslin tea gown. Her hair was down, flowing 
around her shoulders as Case had never seen it before. The golden glow of 
lamplight made her seem more fragile than she was, and though she looked 
completely composed, Case wasn't fooled. Her hands were folded together so 
tightly that they had turned white.
He had never lied to her before, and he couldn't do so now. “It could be 
dangerous, yes."
“You won't be able to act against Gato, but what if he decides to kill you? He 
could arrange an ambush—"
Case shook his head, cutting her off. “I don't believe he'll do that. Setting a 
trap for the army was a great tactical victory that earned him the respect of 
his men. Ambushing one man who rides under a flag of truce would bring him 
dishonor. He would not risk having his men turn on him."
Libby's chin came up. “And if he decides to fight you face to face?"
“I would like nothing better than for him to give me no other choice."
She moved toward him. “I won't ask you not to go.” She managed a small 
self-deprecating smile. “Because it wouldn't make any difference if I did."
“It would make it much harder for me to leave you, Libby."
“Well, that's something, anyway.” She reached out and took his hands. “I guess 
the only thing that really matters is that you come back."
He raised her hands and pressed one, then the other, against his lips. “If I am 
meant to return, I will.” It was as close to a promise as he could give her.
She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Her hands tightened 
on his, and she stretched up, placed a soft kiss on his lips, then retreated. 
Her love and concern moved Case beyond words, beyond thought. That afternoon she 
had wanted him to take her into his arms and show her that he loved her. He had 
wanted the same thing, but his reasons had been selfish. Now, though, Libby 
truly needed the reassurance of his embrace, and he could not deny her—or 
himself—that comfort.
“Do you know that the Apache do not kiss?” he asked softly.
“I'm sorry,” she said, fighting a flush of embarrassment. “You kissed me once 
before and—"
He brushed her lips with his fingertips, silencing her. “Of all the white man's 
customs I have learned, it is the one I like the best.” Slowly he lowered his 
mouth to hers, and Libby's lips parted breathlessly. The sweet simplicity of his 
kiss unleashed her tears and a wave of desperate longing. His arms went around 
her waist, and he pulled her close. One hand tangled in her hair, and Libby 
arched up as sweetness blossomed into passion. The kiss deepened, intensified by 
urgency. Her hands dug into his shoulders, and she clung to the precious moment, 
relishing the feel of her breasts crushed against his chest, savoring the 
strength of his arms and the gentle caress of his hands. An ache of physical 
need consumed her, bringing undreamed of sensations to life, and she glimpsed 
for the first time what belonging to someone in every sense of the word truly 
meant.
Case was no less moved by the kiss. All of the fire he had been suppressing 
surged to the surface, carrying him beyond the place where it was safe for him 
to go. He lost himself in the kiss, and in the touch and feel of Libby's body 
against his. The blossoming of her passion swept reason aside.
But he was who he was. In that moment he could have forgotten Gato. He could 
have severed himself from his vow of revenge. He could have made Libby his woman 
without remorse or regret for what loving her would cost him. But there was more 
at stake than his own needs. Libby deserved more than a moment of breathless 
passion; she deserved a man who could come to her whole. She deserved a man who 
had fulfilled his destiny and who had the strength to fight a world that would 
condemn them.
Leaving her that night was the hardest thing he'd ever done. But she had not 
left him. As always, she was with him everywhere he went, only now he had the 
memory of their shared desires to haunt him. For the first time in eleven years, 
he was impatient for his quest to come to an end.
It was late afternoon before a welcoming party of four Chiricahua braves on 
horseback finally confronted him. Case had been conscious of the fact that they 
had been tracking him for hours, so he was not surprised when they suddenly 
appeared in front of him, blocking his path. He recognized their leader as 
Little Face, one of Cochise's clansmen.
“I have words your chief must hear,” Case said when Little Face demanded to know 
why he was trespassing on Chiricahua land.
The brave studied Crook's flag contemptuously. “You speak for Gray Fox?"
“I do."
“Then come.” Little Face gave a signal to the other braves, and they surged 
forward, flanking Case's horse. Not another word was spoken as they led him to 
Cochise's encampment.
As he approached thenant'an's wickiup, the old chief came slowly out of the 
dwelling. His shoulders were stooped with age, and he looked a hundred years 
older than he had when Case first saw him nearly ten years earlier. In one 
decade a fearsome warrior had become a tired, sick old man. Case noticed, 
though, that he still carried himself with the same nobility of spirit that had 
impressed every white man who'd ever met him and lived to tell the tale.
Case dismounted and planted the flag. There was only a slight breeze to stir it. 
“I come to you in peace.” Though Cochise knew English, Case chose to address him 
in their own language.
The old chief studied his face. “I know you,” he said after a long moment. “We 
met long ago, before the days of the Gray Fox, when you were little more than a 
boy. You are the White Mountain Apache who bears two names."
“Your memory is good,” Case replied, flattered that the great man had remembered 
him. “My people call me He Chases the Thunder."
“And the white man calls you Longstreet.” Cochise gestured to the flag. “Since 
you come in the name of Gray Fox, I will call you Longstreet, too.” He turned to 
his wickiup and sat in front of the door. Case needed no other invitation to 
join him. He settled across from the chief, and two other braves—one old, one 
young—took their places by Cochise. “What has Gray Fox to say to me?"
“I bring a message from the soldier chief.” He reached into his pouch, extracted 
five broken arrows, and handed them to Cochise. “Do you recognize these?"
Cochise studied them thoroughly, passing them back and forth to the men flanking 
him. Finally, the men placed the arrows on the ground between Case and Cochise. 
“Maybe."
“On a night before the last full moon, a band of Chiricahuas attacked a camp of 
soldiers near the Santa Elena Mountains.” He picked up the arrows. “These and 
many more like them were left in the bodies of the soldiers."
“That attack was not of my doing,” Cochise said calmly. “My people live here 
peacefully. We no longer make war on the Blue Coats."
“These arrows prove otherwise. They belong to the brave known as Gato and to 
those who follow him. The Gray Fox followed Gato here, to your mountains, but 
because he respects the treaty you made with Howard, he could not follow Gato 
beyond the boundaries of your land."
The old chief's face gave away none of his thoughts. “The Gray Fox is as wise as 
he is powerful."
“And he is also angry,” Case said. “The warriors he commands are like family to 
him. They count on him for protection, and when one of them dies, he is expected 
to avenge that death."
“My people did not kill his soldiers. He should not look to me for revenge."
“You have allowed Gato to live in your mountains. As long as he enjoys your 
protection, he is one of your people and you must bear the burden of the crimes 
he commits."
“I have not said that Gato is here,” Cochise said shrewdly.
Obviously age had nothing to dull his wits, Case realized. “But Gray Fox knows 
that Gatois here. For you to deny it would bring shame to a life that has been 
filled with honor."
The chief was silent for several moments. Then he gave an almost imperceptible 
nod, and the young brave on his right stood and disappeared behind the wickiup. 
Gato was being summoned to the meeting. “What does Gray Fox want of me?” Cochise 
said finally.
“You must send him Gato and his followers, the ones who attacked the soldiers,” 
Case replied. Though outwardly his demeanor didn't change, he became acutely 
aware of everything going on around him. If Gato was coming, Case had to be 
ready for anything. “Gray Fox is waiting by the river. If your braves bring him 
the renegades, he will go in peace. If not, he will know that your treaty with 
Howard has turned to dust."
This was the speech Case and Crook had agreed upon. It was meant to give only 
the implication of a threat. If Cochise didn't accede to the demands, Case was 
to press him for a meeting with Crook, who would make the threat more specific.
If Cochise was concerned by the implied threat, though, he gave no indication of 
it. “I cannot give him to you."
“Why not? Long ago Gato was rejected by your people because he practiced dark 
witchcraft. Why do you now protect him?"
“Once, in the days when I was making war on the Blue Coats, before I brought my 
people to these mountains, Gato saved me from a trap that had been set by the 
horse soldiers. For that, I owe him my life."
“Do you owe him the lives of all your people, too?” Case asked sternly. “If you 
continue to protect him, those who trust you will suffer for his treachery."
Cochise considered the words, but did not comment on them. Instead, he gestured 
toward the arrows. “How do I know the proof of guilt you bring me is not false?"
“What reason would Gray Fox have to lie?"
Cochise cocked his head to one side as he studied Case's face. Then he allowed 
his eyes to move purposefully to the old scar on his shoulder and the fresh one 
on his abdomen. “When I met you many years ago, you were with a white man. 
Together you searched for Gato, and you spoke openly of your terrible hatred for 
him. He is the reason you bear two names, is he not?"
“He is,” Case said coldly.
“Maybe you come to me now to trick me into helping you wreak revenge."
“If that was my purpose, I would not hide behind the flag of the Gray Fox as 
Gato is hiding behind you. I will have my revenge, but today is not the day."
Case sensed Gato's approach even before the renegade and several of his braves 
appeared in the clearing. Obviously he had been waiting nearby, which meant that 
Cochise had guessed the reason for Case's visit long before he arrived in camp. 
It meant, too, that Cochise had known about Gato's attack on the soldiers. Case 
had suspected as much, and now he was certain of it.
Those jumps of logic barely registered on his consciousness, though. They were 
insignificant compared to the overwhelming surge of hatred that flooded Case the 
moment Gato actually appeared. He looked exactly the way Case remembered him. 
Time had not changed him in any detail. He was still tall and strong; his 
expression was still the personification of arrogance and evil. And at his 
throat...
Case saw the necklace and wondered desperately how he was going to control his 
rage. Like Gato, it had changed little with time, but what had once been a 
beautiful symbol of love on his mother's throat was now an obscene exhibition of 
contempt and conceit. Two feathers still remained, but they were not as Case 
remembered them. For so many years the power of the necklace and his mother's 
love for her family had kept them like new, but now they were worn and frayed. 
Like Case, they had lost the thing that should have kept them whole.
Case rose slowly and faced the man who had been the center of his existence for 
too many years.
Gato approached him, his expression arrogant. “Longstreet, the Apache with two 
names who worked so hard to make sure Gato knew them both. At last you have 
found me,” he said casually. “I had begun to worry that your words were like the 
air—hot, but full of nothing."
“Is that why you ran from me for so many years?” Case replied, unable to keep 
his voice from betraying his hatred.
Gato laughed. “If you had truly wanted to find me, you would not have failed so 
many times. You wanted only to frighten me, but Gato cannot be frightened, 
Longstreet.” He grabbed the medallion and held it out contemptuously. “Not as 
long as I have the thing you desire most in the world. Your hatred will betray 
you, and you will fail, as you failed the day I took this from your mother."
Blind rage surged through Case's veins, and had it not been for the calming hand 
that took his arm, he might have killed Gato then and there—or died trying. 
Through a red haze of anger, he looked at the hand, then at Cochise. Case had no 
idea when the chief had risen and moved to his side.
“You told me revenge was not your purpose, or did you lie?” he asked quietly.
Case stiffened his jaw, desperately trying to bring his hatred under control. “I 
did not lie."
“Then sit, and I will tell you what I have decided.” Cochise returned to his 
place, then looked at Gato. “Come and sit beside me.” Gato started to move, 
confident of his position of superiority until Cochise said quietly, “For the 
last time."
For just a moment the renegade's eyes betrayed a degree of uncertainty that 
neared the proportions of panic, but he quickly controlled it. He sat, but Case 
noticed that some of the edge had been taken off his arrogance.
When Case was seated as well. Cochise picked up the arrows and showed them to 
Gato. “Longstreet has brought these, and a message from the Gray Fox. I must 
give you to the soldiers or the treaty will be undone."
“Surely the great Cochise does not fear the Gray Fox!” Gato exclaimed, clearly 
hoping to shame the old chief.
“I fear what will happen to my people when I am gone,” he said reflectively, as 
though looking toward a faraway place. “I have been at war most of my life. I do 
not wish that fate for my grandchildren."
“But you—"
Cochise raised his hand, and Gato fell silent. “Hear me. The time of my death is 
coming soon. I have seen it, and I am ready. There is only one thing I can leave 
behind when I go from this world, and that is peace for my people.” He looked at 
Gato. “But there are many like you, and like Geronimo and Nolgee, who hoped that 
I would fail. When I am gone, there are others, like my son, Taza, who will try 
to hold the peace for which I have worked so hard. If I break faith with the 
treaty, I will make it impossible for Taza to hold our people together. The Gray 
Fox will cut off our rations and chase us out of the mountains. I cannot allow 
that to happen,” he said gravely, then looked at Case. “But I cannot renege on 
my debt to Gato."
“You are a great and wise chief,” Case replied. “But you must do one or the 
other."
Cochise shook his head. “No. There is always a third choice. You, Longstreet, 
will stay here through two nights. You will eat my food and keep me company. I 
will tell you stories of the battles I have won"—he grinned sadly—"and I will 
tell you lies about the ones I lost."
His smile faded as he looked with regret at the man who had once saved his life. 
“And you, Gato, will take your people tonight and leave my mountains, never to 
return. By the time Longstreet tells the Gray Fox of my decision, you will have 
had time to vanish. He cannot pursue you if he does not know where you have 
gone, and he cannot punish my people if you are no longer here."
Gato was plainly astonished. He had never dreamed anything like this could 
happen. “You have lost your wits, old man! And your courage!” he shouted, 
jumping to his feet.
Thenant'an stood and silenced the renegade with one piercing glance. “Cochise 
has spoken. If you are here at the rising of the second sun, I will take you to 
Gray Fox myself.” He turned and watched as Case rose. “I offer you friendship, 
Longstreet, but if you try to leave before the appointed time, I will have my 
braves kill you."
“I understand,” Case said, his eyes shining with respect. Crook wasn't going to 
be happy about the outcome, but Cochise had resolved a difficult situation 
without compromising his honor. “I will be happy to eat your food and honored to 
listen to your stories."
"Enju."Without looking at Gato, he slipped inside his wickiup.
Case turned to the renegade. “You have little time, my enemy. You should hurry."
Gato lifted his chin belligerently. “I am not afraid. Gray Fox will never find 
me."
“But I will,” Case replied evenly. “The time has come for one of us to die."
“You are right, Longstreet,” Gato sneered. “But you need not come looking for 
me. I will find you and make you pay for turning Cochise against me. Count your 
days, for they are few in number."
He whirled, and Case watched as Gato and his braves hurried out of camp. The 
moment they were gone, the cry of an eagle reached Case's ears. He looked up, 
but there was no bird, only a second cry, and a shadow that passed over Case's 
face, then disappeared.
The spirit of the eagle was with him once more.
Twenty-three
“Cochise is dead,” Case told the general, his voice flat and colorless. His 
enforced holiday as the old chief's “guest” had ended that morning, and he'd 
ridden hard all day to reach the field headquarters.
Crook came to his feet behind the makeshift desk. “When? What happened?"
“Today, just after dawn,” Case replied. “His family was with him. He passed from 
this world quietly."
The general sat as he digested the news, his expression somber. “Is that why you 
were gone so long? Were you able to get an audience with him, or was he too 
sick?"
“We met,” Case told him, then went on to explain what had happened. He described 
his meeting with Cochise and the old chieftain's final act as leader of the 
Chiricahua. He told him how Gato and his band of forty followers had left the 
mountains that first night.
Case didn't tell Crook about the hours he had spent with the sick old man, 
listening to stories while Cochise's voice grew weaker as his time to die grew 
nearer. He had been a fearless warrior and a great man; Case wasn't sure Crook 
or any white man could understand how honored he felt to have shared the 
chieftain's final days.
Crook listened to Case's narrative, then shook his head in amazement. “We always 
did underestimate that wily old fox,” he said quietly. “With Cochise dead, will 
the Chiricahua allow Gato to return?"
“No,” Case said with absolute conviction. “Taza is now the chief of the 
Chiricahua. He is not the brilliant leader his father was, and he may have 
trouble holding his people together, but he will honor Cochise's decision."
Crook sighed heavily. “Then we've lost Gato."
“No, sir, we have not,” Case corrected him with a bloodless smile. “Gato blames 
me for what happened, and he has sworn revenge. He will come for me, and I will 
be ready."
The look on Case's face was chilling, and the general repressed a shudder. “He 
won't fight fair,” he warned him.
“But he will fight. After all these years, nothing else matters to me.” And it 
was true. Seeing Gato had changed Case. The soft emotions that had so recently 
seized control of his heart had now been devoured by hatred, leaving room for 
nothing else.
Not even Libby.
The chicanery Crook anticipated came sooner than he or Case expected. After a 
brief, fruitless search for Gato, Crook had decided to return to Fort Apache to 
formulate a new strategy. They had been on the trail only four days when a dozen 
ragged, exhausted Chiricahua approached under a flag of truce.
Case recognized the leader of the small band as one of the braves who'd been 
present on the day of his meeting with Cochise. The brave, Gusalá, readily 
admitted to having been a member of Gato's band, but he swore that he had broken 
faith with the renegade. His family was tired of being on the warpath. They had 
hoped to live out their days in peace with Cochise, but Gato's banishment had 
denied them that respite. Now they wanted to go with Crook to the White Mountain 
Reservation and live out their days as good Indians.
Crook had heard similar speeches so many times that he would have had trouble 
believing Gusalá even if he hadn't known about Gato's desire for revenge against 
Case. Under normal circumstances he would have offered these Chiricahua the same 
deal he'd offered the war-weary followers of Alchinay: Bring me the head of your 
leader, and I will allow you to stay.
But since he was certain this was another of Gato's tricks, Crook knew that 
sending them away under those circumstances wouldn't have done any good. They 
would simply return to Gato and report their failure to dupe the Blue Coats. 
Gato would then be forced to formulate another plan. At least now the opening 
gambit had been made; Crook and Case had agreed that they should pretend to be 
fooled so that they could see where the game was headed.
Crook's only overt concession to caution was to inform Gusalá that he would be 
placed in the guardhouse the moment they reached Fort Apache, promising to 
release him only if his people behaved themselves and made no trouble. The 
others would be given a plot of land near the fort where Crook could keep his 
eye on them.
Alert for any sign of Gato, Cavalry Company B resumed its journey home. Their 
arrival was met with the usual fanfare; everyone turned out, hoping for the best 
but fearing the worst as they scanned the returning troops for the faces of 
friends and loved ones.
Libby was no different from the others. She heard the four notes of the 
attention call being blown on the bugle and hurried outside. Down the quadrangle 
she saw Susannah standing under the ramada, her eyes glued to her husband; to 
Libby's right, Meade was just stepping out of the hospital. With guidons flying, 
the arriving cavalry company lined up in a double column and came to attention 
until Captain Robertson dismissed them.
Libby looked for Case and finally saw him riding next to a small group of Apache 
captives. Her heart sank when he rode past the hospital toward the guardhouse 
without looking at her. She waited expectantly while one Apache brave was 
incarcerated.
“Is that Gato?” Meade asked, stepping to her side.
“I don't know.” She looked up at him. “Can you find out? Maybe this whole 
nightmare is over."
Meade wanted to tell her that as long as she was in love with Case Longstreet, 
the nightmare couldn't possibly end, but he held his tongue. “I'll go over to 
headquarters and see what I can find out,” he replied, stepping off the porch.
“Thank you.” She returned her attention to the captives and to Case, but he 
seemed totally oblivious to her. With the assistance of two cavalrymen, he took 
the Apaches to the quartermaster's, obtained rations for them, and then, after a 
brief conversation, began escorting them out of the quadrangle.
He passed Libby again, and this time he did stop, but only for a moment. His 
eyes met hers, but his face didn't soften with the expression of love that made 
her weak with longing. The man looking at her with cold, lifeless eyes was 
someone she didn't recognize.
The shock immobilized her, and before she could even think of crossing the 
parade ground to go to him, he had moved on with the Apaches in tow, like a 
shepherd tending his flock. Certain he would come back soon, she waited on the 
porch, watching for any sign of him.
Meade came back a half hour later to report what little he'd learned about 
Cochise's death and Gato's banishment. “Crook isn't saying much more than that, 
but he is warning everyone to use extreme caution where these Chiricahua are 
concerned. Apparently he thinks it's another one of Gato's tricks."
“Did Case see Gato?” Libby asked anxiously.
“I have no idea."
She looked out over the parade ground. “He'll come tell me about it as soon as 
he has a chance,” she replied with strained optimism.
But one hour passed, then two, and Case didn't come. Libby waited all evening, 
alert to every sound in the quadrangle, but nothing out of the ordinary 
happened. She tried to read, but couldn't focus on the words. She tried sewing, 
but succeeded only in turning her fingers into pin cushions. She paced the 
floor, conscious of the way Meade watched her with concern when he thought she 
wasn't looking at him.
At ten o'clock she finally accepted the fact that Case wasn't coming and told 
Meade she was turning in for the night. She wasn't sleepy, but she would have 
done anything to escape her brother's scrutiny. Case's name wasn't mentioned, 
but as she stepped to the door of her room, she looked at Meade and said curtly, 
“Obviously Crook had some pressing duties for him."
“I'm sure you're right,” he replied. He watched her go, puzzled by her 
agitation. Weeks ago, when Case returned from Jedidiah's, he had made no attempt 
to see her right away, and Libby had accepted it with an equanimity Meade found 
remarkable. What had happened to change her so much?
Of course, this situation was different. Case hadn't been returning from a 
hazardous assignment then. Was it only the thought of the danger he'd been in 
that was making Libby so desperate to see him, or had something about their 
relationship changed without Meade's knowledge? Libby certainly didn't confide 
in him these days. They existed peacefully only so long as he kept his 
disapproval of her relationship with Case to himself.
By the following afternoon, when the scout still had not put in an appearance, 
Libby was beside herself. At her insistence, Meade asked a few discreet 
questions of David Robertson and learned that, to the captain's knowledge, Case 
had been given no special assignments. He had come into the fort once to confer 
with Crook and visit Gusalá in the guardhouse, but as far as anyone knew, he was 
spending most of his time with his people or at his camp outside the fort.
Though personally Meade was delighted that Case was keeping his distance, it 
hurt him to see Libby so upset.
“Something has happened—I know it,” she said when he related what David had told 
him. “I have to see him, Meade."
“If he wants to see you, Libby, he'll come. You two have certainly passed the 
point of needing to meet covertly."
Libby ignored the mild sarcasm in his voice. “You don't understand what getting 
revenge against Gato means to Case. It's an obsession. But something is 
different about him now—I can feel it. Something happened when he met with 
Cochise, and I have to know what it was. I have to know what he's thinking and 
feeling."
“Maybe it's better that you don't know, Libby."
“I don't believe that."
Meade shrugged. “Obviously Case does."
She swallowed hard, hating the idea of asking her brother for a favor that had 
anything to do with Case. She didn't see any other choice, though. “I need you 
to find him, Meade. I can't go—Crook has issued orders that no women are to set 
foot outside the fort without permission and a military escort. Please go talk 
to him for me and tell him I have to see him."
“Damn it, Libby—” He looked down at the floor and rubbed his forehead with one 
hand. “Don't you think he knows you want to see him?"
“Then at least find out why he hasn't come!” She grabbed his arm and forced him 
to look at her. “Please."
Meade had never denied Libby anything, and it hadn't been a hardship on him 
because her wants had always been so simple. She had never asked for fancy gowns 
because she knew their resources had been limited, and such things hadn't really 
mattered to her, anyway. She had never demanded he provide her with a houseful 
of servants, as a lady of quality deserved; instead, she had made do with one 
maid to help her with the demanding job of keeping their home. Her requests had 
been for small things, and Meade had been happy to give them to her because she 
gave him so much in return.
But this was something he simply could not do for her. He'd spent most of his 
life taking care of Libby, protecting her, trying to keep her safe and happy. He 
couldn't do something now that he believed with all his heart was wrong. Meade 
knew that even though she hadn't said it outright, the real reason she wanted 
him to go to the scout was that she was afraid Case had stopped loving her. He 
hoped to God it was true, and that Libby would eventually realize that her 
infatuation with the Apache had been a will-o'-the-wisp.
Though it tore at his heart, he had to deny her this for her own good. “I'm 
sorry, Libby. I can't. If Case wants to see you, he'll come.” His refusal did 
more than surprise Libby. It filled her with intense disillusionment. Meade 
turned away and headed back to the hospital, unable to bear the look of pain in 
her eyes. He stopped at the door, though, with one piece of sad, parting advice. 
“And if he doesn't come, Libby ... if he can cause you this much anguish without 
giving you a second thought, maybe you should face the possibility that he's 
really not the man you wanted to believe he was."
Libby didn't like to admit that her brother had become heartless and 
intractable, but the proof was right in front of her. “Maybe I should face the 
possibility that you're not, either,” she said with wrenching sadness.
Meade turned without another word and went back to the hospital.
With only routine cases to attend to, Meade had too much time to think that 
afternoon. None of his thoughts were pleasant. He cursed himself for bringing 
Libby to Fort Apache. He cursed Libby for the streak of curiosity in her nature 
that had prompted her to pursue an acquaintance with the scout. He cursed Case 
Longstreet for the bizarre Apache beliefs combined with civilized behavior that 
had so entranced Libby.
Meade wanted to approve of the relationship. Truly he did. Like Libby, he 
believed there was too much intolerance in the world, too much hatred bred by 
ignorance and greed. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Case was a decent 
man. He was possessed of enough courage for any ten men, and his intelligence 
was unquestionable. He wore honor like a badge. When he looked at Libby, the 
tenderness in his gaze was heartrending, even to a man like Meade, who didn't 
really believe in love.
If Case hadn't been an Apache, Meade would have blessed the relationship in an 
instant. Knowing that made Meade sick to his stomach. He had always prided 
himself on judging people by what they were and how they behaved, not by their 
station in life. But too many people in the world lacked a similar tolerance. If 
Libby followed her heart blindly and—God forbid—married Case Longstreet, her 
life would become a living hell. The hatred and alienation she would suffer 
because of Case would soon turn her love into bitterness and recrimination. The 
sweet, loving Libby he knew would eventually dry up and blow away.
No matter what it cost him, Meade couldn't allow that to happen. He'd taken on 
the responsibility of protecting Libby long before their father died. He 
couldn't shirk his duty now. He'd been hoping she would come to her senses, but 
that clearly wasn't going to happen.
Meade tried to keep busy, but there was just too little to do. His operating 
room was spotless. His only patient—a snakebite victim—was sleeping peacefully. 
Finally he ended up in the storeroom checking supplies against an inventory 
sheet one of his orderlies had prepared.
When he heard the door to the infirmary creak as it was opened and closed, he 
sent up a hopeful prayer that an interesting case was coming his way. He hurried 
out of the storeroom and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a very healthy 
looking Apache standing just inside the door. He recognized him as the scout 
known as Angry Coyote, Case Longstreet's uncle. As Meade recalled, the Apache 
spoke a little English.
“May I help you? Do you need a doctor?” he asked.
“You come,” the Apache said sternly.
Through careful observation, Meade had learned that the more uncomfortable an 
Apache was with a situation, the more fierce he became. For that reason, he took 
no offense at Angry Coyote's brusque order. Clearly, he didn't like being in the 
white man's hospital. “Come where?"
“Longstreet want you. He say you come. Now. I take.” With that, he turned and 
slipped out the door.
Meade hesitated, surprised by the summons. What on earth could Case want with 
him? The most obvious possibility was that he had been injured and needed a 
doctor. But if that was so, why hadn't his people brought him to the hospital?
It made no sense, but Meade knew he couldn't refuse to go. And in a way, he 
really wanted to see Longstreet. It was time he took a stand.
After a brief word with one of his orderlies, he collected a medical kit from 
his office and followed Angry Coyote outside. Two horses were waiting, Case's 
uncle was already mounted ... and Libby was standing on the porch.
“What's happening, Meade? Has someone been hurt?” she questioned him anxiously. 
“I asked Angry Coyote, but he won't say anything to me."
“I don't know what's going on,” he replied. “Apparently Case wants to talk to 
me."
“Why?"
Meade unhitched the horse and tucked his medical kit in the saddlebag. “I have 
no idea."
“Will you—” She stopped abruptly. Pride wouldn't allow her to beg Meade a second 
time to find out why Case hadn't come to her. “Never mind."
Meade knew what she'd been going to say, and why she'd stopped. “I'll ask him, 
Libby,” he promised.
She managed a smile. “Thank you."
“Don't thank me,” he told her bluntly. He mounted hastily and looked down at 
her. “What I want to hear Case say and what you want to hear are two very 
different things."
Case saw Meade and Angry Coyote coming moments after they rode out of the fort, 
but he made no move to prepare to greet him. His rifle—cleaned, loaded, and 
ready for use—was folded in a blanket beside him. With buckskin he had purchased 
from a cousin, he had sewn a new pair of moccasins; tonight he would pay a 
medicine man to bless them with pollen and prayers that would make them more 
durable. Gathered around him were the utensils he needed to repair his arrows, 
and he had already restrung his bow with sinew. He had reinforced the stitching 
of his rawhide-covered war-club and was sharpening his bowie knife with a 
whetstone.
All was in readiness for war. His battle with Gato was a game of wits now, but 
soon the renegade would make his move, and He Chases the Thunder would be 
prepared.
As Meade rode up, Angry Coyote veered off, allowing the doctor to complete the 
journey alone. Case did not vary his movements or acknowledge his presence by so 
much as a glance. Meade dismounted and strode toward him, medical kit in hand. 
Case continued honing the blade of his knife.
Puzzled by the Apache's failure to acknowledge him, Meade stood there 
uncertainly for a moment. The knife in Case's hand looked vicious; so did the 
man sharpening it. When Case finally looked up at him, Meade realized Libby had 
been right. This was not the Case Longstreet they knew.
“Sit,” he ordered bluntly.
Curbing his temper, Meade did as he was told. Rudeness was easier to take from 
someone like Angry Coyote than from a man like Case, who knew better. “Your 
uncle said you wanted to see me?"
“There are things you need to know, for Libby's sake."
“About what?"
“About Gato. Crook has warned everyone that we suspect a trick, hasn't he?"
“Yes. But what's that got to do with Libby?"
“Maybe nothing, maybe a great deal if Gato should learn that she is important to 
me."
Meade's frown turned into a deep scowl. “Are you saying that Libby could be in 
danger?"
Case returned to sharpening the blade. “I don't know. All I can be sure of is 
that Gato will come for me. He blames me because Cochise banished him from the 
reservation."
Meade was incensed. “Damn it, Longstreet! I don't know much about this grudge 
between you and Gato, but I'll be damned if I'll let some ridiculous Apache 
mumbo jumbo bring harm to my sister!"
Case looked at him, his face chillingly impassive. “That is why you must tell 
her to stay away from me. The Chiricahua we brought back here are spies. They 
watch everything I do. If I go to Libby, they might suspect something."
“Does Crook agree with you that Libby might be in danger?"
“I don't think he's considered it. He doesn't know Gato as I do."
“Then we have to tell him. I want Libby protected."
Case shook his head. “She is safe as long she stays away from me and does not 
leave the fort. If we put a guard on her, it will only draw the Chiricahuas’ 
attention to her. They might begin to wonder why."
“Let them wonder!” Meade exclaimed. “What difference does it make?"
Case controlled his irritation, reminding himself that Meade knew virtually 
nothing about the Apache mind. “The Chiricahua are already moving among my 
people, asking questions. They want to know if the rations are good and 
plentiful. Is Crook a man of his word? Will he deal fairly with them?"
Those sounded like harmless enough questions to Meade, but he kept silent, 
waiting for Case to make his point.
“Soon their questions will change, though. In a few days they will begin asking 
how many soldiers are stationed at the fort, how many Apache scouts are employed 
there. And the questions will then turn to me. They will subtly learn all they 
can about my life and my family, and they will report it to Gato."
“You think Gato is somewhere on the reservation?"
Case nodded. “If not now, he soon will be. This land is riddled with canyons and 
caves. There are many places where he can hide with a small group of his 
braves."
“Then Crook should increase his patrols,” Meade declared hotly.
“No. That would be useless. Soldiers could look for months and never find a 
trace of Gato, even if he was right under their noses."
Meade's jaw stiffened. “You have a very low opinion of the army that employs 
you."
Case sighed deeply. “Soldiers cannot find what they have not been trained a 
lifetime to look for. Crook has assigned the Apache scouts to comb the area for 
Gato. We are the only ones who have a chance of spotting him without alerting 
him to the fact that we are looking."
That was some consolation to Meade. “But what about Libby?"
“My people have been warned about Gato. They will not tell the Chiricahua 
anything about me,” Case assured him. “If I stay away from Libby, they should 
never suspect a thing.” He looked down, and for the first time Meade caught a 
brief glimpse of the man who was in love with his sister. “Tell her to be 
patient. When it is over, I will come to her."
“What if she doesn't believe me?” Meade asked. “She might think I'm lying just 
to keep you apart."
The question surprised and saddened Case. He hadn't realized that the wedge he'd 
driven between Libby and her brother had gone that deep. “Libby would never 
believe you could lie to her."
Meade rocked back, unable to believe he'd even suggested such a thing. Case was 
right. The fact that he even considered the possibility was an indication of 
just how much his relationship with Libby had deteriorated. “I'll keep her 
away,” he promised. “But there's something I want you to tell me."
That didn't sound like a question to Case, and he saw no reason to answer. The 
White Eyes had an absurd need for reassurance when they were speaking to 
someone. They expected one to nod and murmur approvingly so they could be 
certain that they were being listened to. The Apache had no such expectations. 
As long as a man was speaking and his companion did not leave, it was assumed 
the companion was listening.
Case had long ago adapted his behavior to make the White Eyes more comfortable, 
but he felt no need to offer such assurances now. In order to prepare for Gato, 
he had put aside every part of himself that had ever accepted the white man's 
ways.
When it became obvious Case wasn't going to ask what Meade wanted, the doctor 
leaned forward intently. “I want to know what you meant when you said you would 
come to Libby once all this is over."
“I meant exactly what I said."
“Come to her and do what?” Meade challenged. “Surely you've thought about the 
future—do you expect my sister to share it with you? Presuming you survive this 
business with Gato, of course."
It was a fair question. Case had given it no thought since his confrontation 
with Gato, but the deep feelings he had for Libby made his answer instinctive, 
as natural as breathing. “When this is ended, I will bring you the bride price 
and ask your permission to marry her."
“Bride price?” Meade was astonished. “You expect tobuy my sister?"
“I want to spend my life with her."
“Where? On the reservation? Will you put her in buckskins and force her to carry 
water for miles? Cook over an open fire? Collect rations from the fort twice a 
week?"
“No,” Case replied calmly. “Libby could no more live among my people than I 
can."
“Then what do you plan to do?"
“General Crook has paid me well for my services these last three years. I have 
saved money. It's always been my plan to buy a ranch someday. I will take Libby 
there."
“You can't own property, Longstreet. Or have you forgotten you're an Apache with 
no legal rights?” Meade said, hating the sarcasm he heard in his own voice.
Case's expression didn't change. “I have not forgotten. The property will be 
purchased by Jedidiah Longstreet."
“Have you talked this over with him? He doesn't approve of your relationship 
with Libby any more than I do, you know."
“He will do as I ask. There is government land around his property, but no one 
will buy it because it borders the reservation. Jedidiah and I will join our 
lands and raise cattle together. It's a dream we have spoken of many times,” 
Case told him. “He will be happy to have Libby share in that dream."
Meade stood up, frustrated and disgusted. It sounded so reasonable, but it was 
all so wrong. “You're a fool, Longstreet."
Case looked up at him. “Your sister does not think so."
Well, that was certainly true. “What if I don't accept this ... bride price you 
mentioned?"
Case had no choice but to consider the consequences if Meade refused to sanction 
their marriage. “If you force her to choose between us, you will lose her."
“I know that.” It was the most painful admission he'd ever made in his life. 
“But no matter what it costs me, I can't stand by and watch you destroy her. 
You've got her so besotted that she doesn't know what's best for her anymore."
“But you do?"
“Do you really have to ask that question?” Meade asked bitterly. “Can you 
honestly say that marrying you, living as an outcast, is the best thing that 
could ever happen to my sister?"
No, Case realized. He couldn't say that. He wanted Libby. Until a few moments 
ago she had been the quiet center of the maelstrom raging inside him—set aside, 
but never forgotten. She was the light he wanted to walk into when his dark 
quest ended. Nothing could ever be better for Case than loving Libby and 
spending his life with her.
But that did not mean he was what was best for Libby. He would be asking her to 
live a harsh life, to be shunned by her society and to raise children who might 
never be accepted by her own people. In his heart he believed that his love for 
her could make up for all those things, but his reason told him Libby Ashford 
would be better off without him.
Case studied Meade carefully, feeling no malice toward him. He was only 
protecting someone he loved. But Case knew that if Libby was forced to make a 
choice, she would marry him with or without Meade's approval. The loss of her 
brother would destroy her, though. By marrying Case, she would be giving up so 
much; he wasn't sure he could ask her to give up the man who had been the center 
of her existence for so many years as well.
Case realized that his only hope for a life with Libby was to trust that somehow 
this man would come to realize they were meant to be together. And there was 
very little chance of that.
For the first time since he'd met Case Longstreet, Meade could read the thoughts 
behind the inscrutable Apache's eyes. Even before Case spoke, he knew he'd won. 
There was no joy in the victory, though.
“I love your sister,” Case told him. “Somewhere in this world there is a man who 
could give her more of the things you white men seem to think are so important, 
but nowhere is there anyone who would love her more than I. I love her enough, 
in fact, to do this for her.” He stood and faced Meade squarely. “If you do not 
agree to the marriage, I will not take Libby as my wife."
“If I refuse to give my consent, Libby will never forgive me,” Meade pointed 
out. “We will both have lost her."
Case shook his head. “She will never hear the reason from me,” he promised.
Meade believed him. So why didn't he feel better? Why wasn't he happy? “I am 
truly sorry, Case."
“I know."
Meade returned to his horse, but turned back before he mounted. “I'll keep Libby 
away from you until this thing with Gato is over. If she doesn't see you for a 
while, maybe your parting will be easier."
“Now it is you who are being foolish, Doctor,” Case said softly. “Nothing is 
going to make it easier."
Twenty-four
“Apparently Gato holds Case responsible for his being banished from Cochise's 
reservation,” Meade told Libby as soon as he returned. She'd been wearing a path 
on the boards of the porch with her pacing, and Meade ushered her inside, 
reassuring her that everything was all right. “Case thinks Gato's planning some 
sort of a showdown, and he doesn't want you caught in the middle."
He saw no reason to tell Libby that Case was actively worried about her safety. 
Meade would see that she was protected, so there was no reason to compound her 
worry about Case with a fear for her own life.
“He is all right, then?” she asked, only slightly relieved by Meade's 
explanation.
“He has changed, Libby. You were right about that,” he told her. “There's a ... 
deliberateness about him that's very disturbing."
“Meeting Gato must have brought back some terrible memories for him.” Saddened 
by what Case must have gone through, and what he was still facing, Libby sat in 
her grandmother's rocker and leaned her head back. “I wish I could take the pain 
away."
“But you can't,” Meade said firmly. “He asked that you stay away from him."
She looked at her brother, hesitating a moment before asking, “Was that his only 
message for me?"
Reluctantly he told her, “He did say he'd come to see you once this is over."
“That's all?"
“Yes.” He didn't look away from her as he told the lie, but the only way he 
could control the guilt was by telling himself this was for her own good.
Libby accepted Meade's word at face value. She hadn't really expected anything 
more. Case would never have asked Meade to relay a message of an intimate 
nature, and she couldn't see Meade saying, “Oh, by the way, Libby, Case said to 
tell you how much he loves you."
She was disappointed, though. Memories of her last parting from Case were 
haunting her. She had experienced her first taste of passion, and she wanted to 
know that incomparable joy again. But there was more to loving someone than 
aching to feel the strength of his arms and to know the thrill of having his 
lips pressed to hers. There was a communion of spirit that went beyond the 
physical.
Libby and Case had that, and she clung to the knowledge. What made it hard, 
though, was the coldness she'd seen in his eyes. Just as Case had spent too many 
years living only for revenge, Libby had spent too much of her life feeling 
inadequate, as though she wasn't really worthy of being loved. As hard as she 
tried to fight them, doubts began creeping in.
As the next week passed, she grew more restless every day. Tessa was still 
coming to Susannah's several hours a day, but when Libby questioned her about 
Case, the girl couldn't tell her very much: Case had warned his people to be on 
the lookout for Gato, so now two of Tessa's brothers, instead of just one, 
escorted her to the fort and back. Several scouts, relatives of Case, had 
offered to make their camps alongside his, but he had declined their help. He 
wanted nothing to deter Gato from seeking him out.
He spent most of his days combing the hills and canyons near the fort, looking 
for any sign that Gato and his followers might have slipped onto the 
reservation, but if he had found such a sign, Libby knew nothing about it. She 
did learn that he had visited the post on two occasions, staying only long 
enough to meet briefly with Crook and spend a few moments with Gusalá.
The Chiricahua captive was also allowed visits from his family, and Libby had 
heard that the guards often found his wife outside the guardhouse, speaking to 
her husband through the barred window of his cell. Libby thought it ironic that 
a prisoner of war played host to more guests than she did.
It was a great relief to her when Jedidiah Longstreet arrived. She assumed that 
if anyone could talk Case into taking more precautions against the threat posed 
by Gato, it was his mentor. Her assumption was totally in error. Jedidiah's only 
contribution to making Case safer was to set up camp alongside him, overriding 
his objections by reminding him that he, too, had a stake in seeing that Gato 
paid for what he had done eleven years ago.
Jedidiah came to the fort no more frequently than Case, but Libby did get to 
speak to him briefly one afternoon as he came out of the sutler's store with 
supplies. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to assuage her growing apprehension. 
After only a few moments of conversation, she realized that his need for revenge 
was nearly as strong as Case's. She watched him go, feeling more discouraged 
than ever.
Meade had only routine cases in the hospital, so there was nothing to keep Libby 
busy there, and her English lessons consumed only two mornings a week. She 
tended her flower box diligently, but it did nothing to cheer her. As everyone 
had tried to warn her, the plants were not surviving. No matter how often she 
watered them or how much fertilizer she gave them, they withered before her eyes 
in the intense Arizona heat.
Her one and only comfort was her friendship with Susanhah and the hours they 
spent playing with Michael, watching him grow more alert and active every day. 
He, at least, was proof thatsome things could thrive in this hostile 
environment.
“Libby, that's the fourth time you've gone to that window.” Susannah said 
patiently without looking up from her needlework. “There's nothing to see but a 
few thunderheads in the sky and a river of mud on the parade ground."
“Well, you'd think Case would at least have enough sense to seek shelter from 
this storm,” she snapped, shifting the baby from one arm to the other and 
stroking his back. He'd started to cry when the storm struck, and Libby had been 
successful in calming him. Unfortunately the process hadn't worked in reverse.
Susannah chuckled. “Liberty Ashford, of all the outrageous things I've heard you 
say, that is the most nonsensical. The Apaches have survived rainstorms for 
hundreds of years without benefit of our log cabins."
Libby managed to smile at her own folly. “I'm sorry. It's just that I can't bear 
the thought of him sitting out there like a Clay pigeon in a trap shoot."
“Is that really what's bothering you?"
“Of course it is,” she replied a little too quickly, turning to the window 
again.
Susannah glanced up at her, then looked back at her embroidery. “You're not 
upset that Case still hasn't made any effort to see you?"
“Of course it bothers me,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I've accepted his need 
for revenge."
“Just as you've accepted his Apache heritage?"
Libby turned to her. “Yes."
“And nothing is going to keep you away from him, is it?"
There was a challenging note in her voice that irritated Libby. “You're 
beginning to sound more like my brother every day, Susannah. If I'd wanted to 
listen to criticism of Case, I could have stayed home."
“I'm sorry, Libby. I just find it all so difficult to understand. I know you're 
in love with Case, and you've almost convinced me that he's in love with you, 
but—"
“Hedoes love me, Susannah. I know it."
“Then why hasn't he come to see you to set your mind at rest? Isn't that the 
least he could do for the woman he supposedly loves?"
Rocking Michael to and fro, Libby resumed her vigil at the same window. She 
didn't want to admit that she'd thought the same thing a hundred times or more. 
Had it not been for that one cold, lifeless look he had given her on the day he 
returned, she might never have suffered the doubts that were going through her 
head. But he had looked at her with the eyes of a stranger, and she couldn't 
wipe that memory from her mind, no matter how hard she tried.
“He's doing what he has to do,” she said after a moment, ending the 
conversation.
Private Samuel Reynolds leaned negligently against the wall of the guardhouse, 
eyeing Case Longstreet with ill-concealed malignance as the scout spoke in 
hushed tones to Gusalá. Since the Chiricahua had been incarcerated at the fort, 
it galled Reynolds every time he pulled guard duty. When Longstreet showed up, 
it only made his irritation worse. The black eye and the cut lip Reynolds had 
received the night he had attacked the scout had long since healed, but he could 
still taste the blood every time he saw the Apache.
Why Longstreet had the run of the fort and the complete trust of General Crook 
was a mystery to him. If Reynolds had his way, every Indian in the territory 
would be hanged. But privates in the army seldom had their way about anything, 
so he kept his mouth shut and fumed while Longstreet talked to the renegade in 
that gibberish heathen language of theirs.
Fortunately it wasn't a long conversation. Longstreet finally turned away from 
the prisoner and started toward the door. The arrogant set of his shoulders and 
the unreadable look on his face nettled Reynolds.
“He tell you anything you want to know?” he asked snidely.
Case barely spared the private a second glance. He wasn't about to tell him that 
Gusalá was still denying any knowledge of Gato's plans or whereabouts. “Enough,” 
he replied as he stepped out of the guardhouse.
“Goddam Apache bastard,” Reynolds muttered under his breath. He followed Case to 
the door and watched him move down the quadrangle toward Crook's headquarters. 
One of these days, somebody was going to teach Longstreet a lesson about looking 
down his nose at his betters, and Reynolds wanted to be the one to do the 
teaching.
He was about to step back to his post in the anteroom, but as he cast a quick 
glance over the parade ground, he saw Libby Ashford standing on the porch 
outside her quarters. Obviously she'd been tending her ridiculous flower bed; 
she was wearing gloves and holding a tin watering can. Reynolds could tell even 
from a distance that flowers were the last thing on her mind, though. She was 
standing at the edge of the porch watching Longstreet.
Now, there was a pair that really made his blood boil. But he was happy to see 
that at least the Apache had come to his senses. Longstreet seemed to be keeping 
his eyes straight ahead, ignoring the woman who watched him with such obvious 
adoration.
“Something wrong, Private?"
Reynolds glanced at Lieutenant Watson, the officer of the guard, who'd somehow 
managed to sneak up on him. Watson was one of the most easygoing officers at 
Fort Apache, so the private saw no reason to snap to attention. It wasn't 
required on guard duty, but some officers demanded a lot more pomp than others.
Reynolds spit a wad of chewing tobacco into the dirt. “Nothin’ wrong, sir. I was 
just wishin’ the ground would open up and swallow that high-and-mighty bastard, 
Longstreet. Be doin’ us all a favor, I'd say."
“That's enough, Private,” Watson said without much force behind the order. He 
gestured toward the anteroom. “I believe your post is inside, isn't it?"
“Yes, sir.” Reynolds stepped back to his post opposite Gusalá's cell, and Watson 
followed him inside to make his routine inspection. “'Course, you know, sir, 
there is one good thing?"
“What's that, Private?” the lieutenant said absently as he looked over Gusalá's 
cell, trying to ignore the hard stare the Apache fixed on him.
“Seems like the romance has cooled."
“Romance?"
“Between Miss Libby and Longstreet. I guess he got the message that we ain't 
gonna put up with no filthy heathen soilin’ one of our women. Can you ‘magine 
the nerve of that..."
Watson turned on his heel and glared at him with such intensity that Reynolds 
took an involuntary step back. “That is enough, Private! You will refer to the 
lady only as Miss Ashford, and you will get your mind out of the gutter!"
“Sorry, sir,” he muttered, realizing his mistake. He'd forgotten that Watson was 
one of the men Libby had nursed back to health after the Chiricahua ambush. “I 
just meant—that is, the whole camp knows how she feels about Longstreet. And how 
he feels about her."
“Miss Ashford's private life is none of your business, and if I ever hear you 
speak another disparaging word about her, you'll be occupying that empty cell 
next to Gusalá."
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I didn't mean no disrespect to the lady. It's all 
Longstreet's fault, of course. He's the one—"
“Don't push it, Reynolds,” Watson barked, heading for the door.
“Yes, sir,” Reynolds said meekly. He turned and saw that Gusalá's black Apache 
eyes were watching him. “What the hell are you looking at?” he growled, then 
cursed himself for having wasted his breath. Gusalá didn't understand a word of 
English.
At least that was what Gato wanted everyone to believe.
The rocky spires rose out of the valley floor, casting long shadows that reached 
the base of a great cliff. From a distance, the cliff looked smooth, like the 
unbroken surface of a quiet river. Up close, though, there were fissures in the 
rocks—some no wider than a man's hand, others as wide as a man's shoulders, and 
one broad enough for a horse to pass through. Like a tunnel to the sky, the 
widest fissure wound through the mesa until finally it opened into a red canyon 
riddled with caves. Unless the sun was directly overhead, the canyon was always 
shadowed and cool. The space was not large, and it was a dangerous place to be, 
for there was no escape route, but it suited Gato's purpose well. As long as he 
lit no fires, he and his braves could hide in the caves indefinitely.
This was the place he had chosen to meet the Apache with two names. If the news 
Hacké'tisé had brought him tonight was good, the meeting might be very soon.
“The Blue Coats still speak freely in front of Gusalá. They have not yet 
realized he understands much of what they say,” Hacké'tisé told his leader, 
proud of his own part in relaying messages between Gusalá's wife and Gato. On 
ration days, when the soldiers were busier and there were more Apaches for them 
to watch, Hacké'tisé took a place at the head of the rations line. The number on 
the neck tag he had been assigned was marked off by one of the soldiers, and as 
soon as he took his rations back to his camp, he slipped away. He kept to the 
rocks, and when that was not possible, he covered his tracks carefully so that 
he could not be followed to the red canyon.
In that fashion, everything Gusalá had heard in the two weeks of his confinement 
had reached Gato's ears.
Gato listened to Hacké'tisé's recitation of what had been learned in the last 
three days. His expression was dispassionate, but his mind was churning. He 
hatched plots and rejected them without betraying any of the frustration he was 
feeling.
“Is there more about the white woman?” he asked when the messenger went off on a 
tangent about Longstreet's cousin, a young girl who came to the fort daily. For 
a time Gato had thought he might be able to use the girl, but she had two 
brothers who stayed with her constantly. His braves would never be able to get 
close enough to kill them quietly, and any other way of disposing of them would 
sound an alarm among her people or the soldiers. Gato wanted his revenge to be 
private, so he had discarded thoughts of abducting the girl in order to lure 
Longstreet to the red canyon.
The white woman he had heard about, though, was more promising. On the day they 
had arrived at the fort, Gusalá's wife had seen a look pass between Longstreet 
and a beautiful white woman. The woman's face had been that of one in love, but 
the Apache with two names had looked at her with no emotion. It had been learned 
that she was the sister of the white medicine man, and on ration days she taught 
English to several young braves from Longstreet's clan. Once two old women had 
been overheard as they spoke of the white woman with great respect. Longstreet's 
name was mentioned, and they had clucked sadly about something that was 
“hopeless."
The thought that his enemy might have foolishly fallen in love with a white 
woman brought Gato great pleasure. Longstreet had given too much of himself to 
the white man; it would be delicious justice if he had condemned himself to the 
pain of wanting—but never having—a woman from the white man's world. But while 
Gato enjoyed thinking of that interpretation of the scant facts, he did not 
truly believe that even Longstreet could be so foolhardy.
Still, he was not ready to give up hope that the woman might be of use to him. 
He waited expectantly for the messenger to answer his question.
Hacké'tisé hid his disappointment at not being able to tell his narrative in his 
own way. “There is much about the white woman, Ahsh'ford,” he assured him. “Two 
soldiers argued about her. Gusalá did not understand all their words, but he now 
believes that Longstreet has been close to her. One of the soldiers spoke 
against her, mentioning the name of the scout as well. The other became very 
angry. He spoke of Ahsh'ford with much respect, and the first man looked 
ashamed."
Gato could barely contain his excitement, but there was no outward display of 
it. “What do you know of her? Where does she live? Is she often alone?"
Hacké'tisé picked up a pointed rock and drew a large square in the dirt. Gato 
already knew the design of the fort—every building and its purpose as well as 
every nook and cranny where a man might slip in and out unseen. He knew how many 
guards patrolled the post at night and when their shifts changed.
Inside the big square, the messenger drew a smaller one indicating the hospital. 
“Here is her home. The white medicine man lives with her."
“Where are the windows and doors?"
The messenger showed him.
“And only one man lives there?"
Hacké'tisé nodded. “Sometimes another soldier comes, but he leaves before it is 
night."
Gato thought a moment, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “So, 
Longstreet ... perhaps I have found something that means more to you than this.” 
With malicious glee, he fingered the medallion of the Thunder Eagle necklace. 
“Something to make you do foolish things,” he whispered to himself, then 
laughed.
The ugly sound echoed off the walls of the red canyon and was lost in the 
darkness settling above.
Twenty-five
“You look lovely,” Meade told Libby as she stepped into the parlor. The party 
they were supposed to attend required that Meade wear his dress uniform, but it 
had taken no little persuasion to get Libby to change into something formal. In 
fact, it had taken quite a bit just to get her to agree to attend, and Meade 
could tell from her expression that she was having second thoughts.
His assumption was correct. Libby had put on the same gown she'd worn to the 
welcoming party the week she arrived at Fort Apache, but she was no longer the 
same woman. The time that had passed since then, measured in days, wasn't long, 
but Libby felt she had aged a lifetime in just a few short months; tonight in 
particular she felt a hundred years old. It had been three days since Case had 
walked past her on the parade ground without even looking in her direction. She 
was sure he'd had a good reason, but she couldn't begin to imagine what it was. 
The waiting and uncertainty were taking a toll, and the last thing she felt like 
doing was attending a party.
“I don't feel up to this, Meade,” she told him wearily as she opened the fan 
that matched the blue foulard of her dress. “It's too hot for crinolines, and I 
don't think I can smile at Caroline all evening while she gloats over her 
husband's promotion."
Meade gave her an encouraging smile. “I thought you'd be delighted to attend 
your nemesis's going-away party."
“Hardly. I already have plenty of snide remarks to remember her by."
“Well, you can add a few more to your collection. It's only one night, after 
all."
Meade's forced good cheer was beginning to grate on Libby's jangled nerves. 
She'd agreed to attend the party for his sake, but considering the toll these 
last few weeks had taken on her, going to the party was probably the worst thing 
she could do for her brother. Her nerves were so taut that one ugly remark about 
Case would be all the provocation she needed to push someone into the punch 
bowl.
It just wasn't worth the strain. She never should have agreed to go. “I'm sorry, 
Meade. Truly I am,” she said as she started back to her room. “I thought I could 
bluff my way through it, but I can't. You go on without me and convey my 
apologies and good wishes to Caroline."
“Now, wait a minute, Libby,” Meade said, taking several steps toward her. “You 
have to go."
She stopped. “I don'thave to do anything, Meade,” she said with slow 
deliberation.
“You sound like a petulant child."
“Well, I'm not. I'm a grown woman who simply doesn't feel like being a hypocrite 
tonight. You know people will discuss Case and this business with Gato—and not 
in favorable terms. I don't want to have to smile and pretend their disparaging 
remarks don't bother me."
Meade didn't want to argue with her, but her comment was too revealing to pass 
up. “Are you finally admitting that you can't handle the controversy your 
relationship with Case has caused?"
Libby gritted her teeth and stared down at the floor. She'd managed to live in 
peace with her brother since Case's return only by walking on eggshells. She did 
her best to keep her anxieties hidden; he pretended not to notice that her 
nerves were frayed to the breaking point. “All I'm admitting is that I can't 
handle a party tonight. Case's life is in danger, and mine is in limbo. I don't 
feel like pretending otherwise."
“It's not going to get better, Libby."
“It will be better once Case is out of danger."
“You're being naive, Libby,” Meade said with more rancor than he'd intended. “If 
you pursue this relationship with Case, disparaging remarks will be the least of 
your worries."
Libby put up her hands as though to ward him off. “I don't want to listen to 
this, Meade."
“Well, maybe it's time you did."
“Just stop it!” She turned and fled into her room, but Meade pursued her. He 
couldn't bear what this ill-fated relationship was doing to his sister, and he 
couldn't keep quiet about it any longer.
“I won't stop, Libby, until you face a few cold, hard facts."
“Meade, don't,” she pleaded. “Don't force us both to say things we won't be able 
to forget or forgive."
“Since when is the truth unforgivable?"
“Since you began trying to impose your own interpretation of it on me. That's 
when.” With a sweep of her skirts, she sat at her makeshift vanity table and 
began removing the ribbons from her upswept hair. “Do you really believe I 
haven't thought about how hard a life with Case would be? I'm not the little 
dunce you seem to think I've become. I know it won't be easy. My God, how could 
Inot know it?” she said bitterly, her voice broken with emotion. “My own 
brother—the kindest, most generous and understanding person I've ever 
known—can't even accept the man I love. Do you think I expect anyone else to?"
Meade heard her description of him and gritted his teeth against the hot tears 
that suddenly pressed his eyes. He no longer possessed the traits she ascribed 
to him. This godforsaken place called Arizona had wrung them out of him. He had 
become narrow-minded and small. He had proved himself a coward in battle, and 
the things he had seen and done had forced him to close off his emotions so that 
the next time he was forced to amputate a man's limb or dig an arrow from a 
festering wound he would feel no more than his ether-numbed patient.
He'd arrived at Fort Apache feeling mightily superior to his predecessor, who 
had lived in squalor and left only empty liquor bottles as his legacy. He no 
longer felt superior. He understood the forces that had driven that doctor to 
drink, and Meade was terrified of walking down the same road. He hadn't resorted 
to the bottle yet, but he could fight his own guilt for just so long, and then 
... who could say?
The only thing in Meade's life that hadn't been tainted and twisted by grim 
reality was Libby. She was still the shining center of his existence. Her hope 
and idealism were still intact, and Meade didn't think he could survive watching 
them get ground out of her little by little until there was nothing left but 
pain and disillusionment.
He'd voluntarily joined the army and brought her along with him, and now he was 
terrified that this harsh land would eventually destroy him. He couldn't let it 
destroy Libby, too. That was why he'd forced Case into the deceitful bargain 
they'd made, and it was why he had to make Libby understand how wrong she was to 
believe she loved him.
He looked at her reflection in the little mirror over the vanity. The sun had 
turned her skin to a pale gold. She looked tired and drawn, but she was still 
incredibly beautiful. He had to see that she stayed that way.
Libby knew Meade was still behind her; she could see his reflection in the 
mirror. He looked so sad that it nearly broke her heart, but she knew he hadn't 
given up. He was collecting his thoughts, preparing his arguments. Fighting her 
anguish at his disapproval, she steeled herself against whatever he was planning 
to throw at her.
What he said, though, was something she couldn't possibly have anticipated.
“The Crenshaws are leaving for Santa Fe on Monday with a full infantry company 
as escort. It will probably be the best-protected caravan leaving Fort Apache in 
the next six months.” He paused for a moment. “I want you to be on it, Libby."
Her eyes darted up to his in the reflection of the mirror, and a handful of 
hairpins clattered onto the vanity. “You can't be serious."
“I am."
“I won't go."
“Then I'll have Colonel Dunlevy revoke your permission to stay here. You'll be 
forced to leave."
Libby couldn't believe what she was hearing, but she didn't doubt for a moment 
that Meade would make good on his threat. “Don't do this to me, Meade. Don't do 
it tous," she begged, her voice tremulous.
“I'm sending you back east, Libby. That's final.” He turned to leave.
Libby twisted around on the stool. “Case won't let this happen, Meade!"
He stopped at the door. “Longstreet doesn't have any say about it."
“You're wrong!” she insisted, too frightened to be angry. “I'll go to him—"
“You can't leave the fort,” he reminded her.
“Then I'll find Jedidiah. He'll be at the party tonight. I'll tell him what 
you're planning, and he'll bring Case to me."
Meade shook his head. “Case can't stop me."
“He can if we're married!"
Meade took a deep breath and looked away from her. He knew Case wouldn't marry 
her without his approval, and Libby was never supposed to know the reason why. 
He'd hated making that bargain with the scout, but most of all he'd been 
sickened by his willingness to deceive Libby. If he was going to break her 
heart, the least he could do for her was give her the truth. “Longstreet won't 
marry you, Libby."
“Yes, he will. He loves me!"
He nodded. “Yes, he does. Very much. That's what makes this whole thing so 
damned tragic. He's a brave, honorable man who loves you so much that he's 
willing to give you up for your own sake."
That had always been Libby's worst fear, but she'd never expressed it to 
anyone—not Meade, Susannah, or even Case. “How do you know that?” she asked 
hoarsely.
“He told me,” Meade admitted reluctantly.
Libby came to her feet. “When?"
“After he returned from the meeting with Cochise. That day he sent for me, I 
asked him what he envisioned for the future, and he told me he wanted to marry 
you. He wants to go into ranching with Jedidiah, and he wants you to be a part 
of that."
Libby's heart expanded with joy, but it was short-lived. “Then why did you say 
he was giving me up for my own good?” she asked, hardly able to breathe.
Meade's face and voice were absolutely emotionless as he confessed, “I told him 
that I'd never endorse the relationship. I made him realize that marriage to him 
is not in your best interest.” He'd gone this far, and Libby was never going to 
forgive him, anyway. He knew he had to tell her the rest of it. “I also 
manipulated him into promising that you'd never know I was responsible for his 
rejection of you."
Libby's face drained of color. “How could you do that to me?"
“It's for your own good, Libby. You can't see what this relationship is going to 
do to you, but I can."
“You see nothing!” she cried, moving to him. “I love him, Meade. He's inside my 
heart and my head. I can't make him go away. And I don't want to! What I feel 
for him is too precious.” She looked up at him imploringly, tears glistening in 
her eyes. “Can't you understand that?"
“No, I can't, Libby,” he replied sadly. “The kind of love youthink you feel is 
nothing but a mirage. It doesn't exist."
She took a step back. “That's it, isn't it, Meade? This isn't about Case and me. 
It's about you ... and our parents. You're so disillusioned by their failure 
that you can't believe it's possible for two people to have something more than 
what they had."
Meade didn't want to explore the possibility that she might be right. “Take your 
head out of the clouds, Libby, and—"
“And you take your head out of the sand!” she exclaimed. “I'm not afraid of 
life, Meade. I'm not afraid of loving someone and risking the pain that can 
cause. Don't inflict your fear on me!"
“This isn't about fear, Libby! It's about reality!"
“No!” she said harshly. “It's about love, Meade. It's about what I feel for Case 
and what he feels for me. That's reality!"
“What about your children?” he asked hotly. “How can you condemn your half-breed 
children to live with that reality you think is so precious? What about the hate 
and ridicule they'll suffer because of you?"
Libby had thought about that often, but she had no clear-cut answer to give 
Meade. “If Case and I have children, we'll give them all the love and security 
you and I were denied by our parents.” Twin tears slipped down her cheeks. “And 
I hope to God we can teach them that there can be a better world than this. Oh, 
please, Meade...” She placed her hands on his chest. “Help me. I want you to be 
a part of my life."
He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, pressing his cheek against her 
hair. “I can't, Libby,” he whispered, his voice broken with emotion. “I just 
can't. I'm sorry.” He set her away from him abruptly and hurried out the door.
Bereft, and more frightened than she'd ever been in her life, Libby collapsed on 
the bed. Her sobs were the wrenching, uncontrollable convulsions of a woman 
whose world had just been shattered into a thousand irretrievable pieces.
“I'm sending Libby back to live with relatives in the East,” Meade told 
Jedidiah. A harvest moon bathed the Crenshaws’ porch in silvery light, but Meade 
saw nothing romantic about the situation. He'd made a brief appearance at the 
party, staying only long enough to draw Jedidiah outside. “I know Case doesn't 
want to see Libby right now, but I promised her that I'd arrange a meeting 
between them before she leaves. I'm hoping you'll help me make that happen. It's 
the only way I'm going to keep her from doing something stupid, like running off 
to find him herself."
Jedidiah looked out over the quiet parade ground. Someone was playing a guitar 
in the enlisted men's quarters across the way, and every now and then a burst of 
raucous laughter split the night, but other than that, Fort Apache was silent 
and bleak. “I find it hard to believe that Libby is giving up without a fight."
Meade chuckled bitterly. “Oh, she hasn't given up. She's holding on to the hope 
that Case will find a solution—maybe by forcing me to change my-mind or by 
beating me into submission."
“Libby wouldn't want that, and you know it.” Jedidiah hadn't realized until just 
that minute how much self-loathing his new friend was carrying around.
“Don't be so sure. My Libby is a fighter. After I told her she was leaving she 
cried for a while. Then she pulled herself together and came at me with both 
barrels."
Jedidiah paused thoughtfully. “Have you considered giving her what she wants?"
“I tried that, remember? I stood back and kept my mouth shut during Case's 
recuperation, praying that she'd eventually come to her senses. Obviously it 
didn't work."
“That's not what I mean,” he replied, turning to face his companion.
Meade digested the look on Jedidiah's face. “You mean let them get married? 
Watch Libby ruin her life?"
Jedidiah shrugged. “Who are we to say that's what would happen?"
Meade frowned. “I thought you were as opposed to this as I am."
“I was for a while, when I thought Libby was just a bored white, woman whose 
fancy had been piqued by an exotic, forbidden Apache,” he admitted. “But that's 
not the way it is. To tell you the truth, Meade, I was afraid Case would never 
be able to love anyone the way he loves Libby. He's been so consumed by hatred 
that I didn't think there was room for that kind of emotion. But he does love 
her"—he glanced up at the moon hanging low on the horizon—"and I know what that 
feels like."
And I don't,Meade thought bleakly, remembering Libby's indictment of him. He 
pushed the thought aside and concentrated on his purpose. “Will you help me 
arrange a meeting? I know Case is worried that Gato might learn about Libby, but 
maybe he could sneak into the fort one night...?” He left the question hanging.
“I'm sure he'll take some action."
Jedidiah spoke cautiously, but Meade understood his meaning and shook his head. 
“He won't spirit her away and marry her,” Meade said flatly. Then he explained 
the bargain he and Case had made.
Jedidiah shook his head sadly. “Isn't it amazing that one woman can be loved so 
much and still be made so unhappy? And all in the name of what someone else 
thinks is best for her."
Meade didn't want to hear the older man's philosophizing. “Just arrange the 
meeting, Jedidiah,” he said shortly as he stepped off the porch and started down 
the quadrangle toward the hospital.
The lights in his quarters were out when he arrived.
Frowning, Meade hurried across the porch and opened the door. “Libby?” No 
answer. He'd been gone less than half an hour. Surely she wouldn't have gone to 
bed without hearing what Jedidiah had to say.
The horrible thought that she'd struck out on her own to find Case sent Meade 
flying to the lamp on the mantel. He lit it quickly, adjusting the flame as he 
rushed to the door of his sister's room.
“Libby? Lib—” His voice failed him when he saw the overturned vanity table. The 
scattered ribbons, bows, and pins hardly registered. He didn't notice the broken 
mirror or spilled pots of face cream. Blood roared in his ears when he realized 
in that moment that Case's worst fear had just come true.
"Libby!"He whirled and saw the Apache only a split second before the Chiricahua 
war club crashed onto his skull.
Patience had become Case's friend. Eleven years of following the eagle's 
signposts and preparing himself for Gato were now paying off. The calm he felt 
was forced, but real nonetheless. He was ready, and the waiting was 
insignificant.
Every day he and a handful of scouts scoured the canyons and valleys on foot, 
searching for some sign of Gato. They covered the area methodically, one section 
at a time, working in a clockwise circle around the reservation. So far they had 
seen nothing, but Case was not fooled. He knew his enemy was near and the time 
was almost at hand. The eagle had shown him no more visions, but Case's 
certainty came from within. It was as potent as any dream his guiding spirit had 
ever brought to him.
Exercising the caution that had been heightened by his awareness of Gato, Case 
stealthily made his way back to his camp, letting the shadows created by the 
full moon conceal his progress. He had separated himself from the other 
returning scouts a few minutes earlier, when only the steep hill at the rear of 
his wickiup stood between him and his camp.
At the top of the hill he surveyed the area and was surprised to realize 
Jedidiah was not in camp. Normally he spent his days among Case's family, 
keeping a watchful eye out for any sign that Gato might be planning something 
that involved them. He always returned by nightfall, though, and was usually 
waiting for Case with a pot of coffee and a hearty meal on the fire.
There was no fire tonight. Case was concerned for a moment, until he remembered 
that Jedidiah had been invited to a party at the fort. When he came back, he 
would have news about Libby, and that would be welcome indeed. Tonight Case 
would turn the tables and have dinner waiting for Jedidiah. He would ask his 
friend how she had looked, what she had worn. Jedidiah would tell him if her 
eyes still sparkled with love and tenderness when she spoke of him.
Letting the thought of Libby drift over him like a cool breeze, Case continued 
his careful descent, circling around to approach the camp from the front. He was 
still a dozen yards away when he spotted the footprints.
Every day before he left his camp, Case swept the area with a branch of sage to 
keep a fine layer of dirt loose on the hard soil and to obliterate his own 
prints. These new footprints had been made by someone who had arrived after Case 
left.
With his breathing controlled and steady, he squatted beside the impressions, 
which appeared to lead directly to his wickiup. The prints were not Jedidiah's, 
nor were they from the round-toed, hard-soled shoes worn by the soldiers. These 
had been made by moccasins, but not the kind sewn by the White Mountain Apaches. 
The stitching left a different kind of mark—like the impression Case had seen in 
the mud eleven years ago on the day of his parents’ death.
A Chiricahua moccasin had made that print.
Surely Gato would not be so foolhardy as to leave a trail this clear, Case 
thought, but he knew better than to take foolish chances.
Keeping low, he doubled back, slipping up the hill a little way, then back down 
again, directly behind his wickiup. The blanket-flap door faced east, but at the 
back of his dwelling he had devised a cleverly disguised escape route—a trapdoor 
of woven yucca and buckskin that was indistinguishable from the other parts of 
the circular walls.
With his knife drawn, Case crept silently toward that secret door. As he 
crouched beside it, he heard no sound coming from inside, and when he threw the 
escape route open, he saw that the wickiup was empty.
He stepped back and moved through the camp, checking his sweat lodge and 
Jedidiah's lean-to, which protruded from the side of his wagon. His mule and 
horse were stabled at the fort for safekeeping, so there were no other 
structures that could hide an assassin.
Puzzled, he looked in the direction of the Chiricahua encampment. It was too far 
away to be seen, but he looked anyway, wondering if one of the “captives” had 
paid him a visit and found him not at home. The footprints did not come from 
that direction, though; they led directly from the fort.
With his eyes focused on the ground, he covered the area again and found the set 
of footprints leading away from the wickiup. The ground in front of the door was 
scuffed, and clear prints showed the direction the visitor left in. Someone 
wanted Case to know he had been here.
He returned to the front of the wickiup, prepared to search it more thoroughly, 
when the steady clip-clop of a horse alerted him to the approach of company. He 
looked toward the fort and recognized Jedidiah. Sheathing his knife, he jogged 
out to meet him.
As Jedidiah neared, he realized something was wrong. Case's movements were tense 
and deliberate, even for him. Jedidiah cursed himself for having stayed at the 
party after his disturbing conversation with Meade, but he'd known it would be 
an hour or more before Case returned, so he hadn't seen any reason to rush back 
to their camp.
“What's happened?” he asked as he slipped off his horse. “Is something wrong in 
camp?"
Case told him what he'd discovered as they walked slowly toward his wickiup.
“They made no effort to hide the prints?” Jedidiah asked, as puzzled as Case.
“No."
“You searched the wickiup?"
“Not thoroughly,” Case replied. “I was about to do that when you rode up."
Jedidiah harrumphed. “You don't suppose someone left you a little surprise in 
there? Like a nest of rattlers?"
Case repressed a shudder. To an Apache, snakes were the most dangerous kind of 
evil. No Inday would willingly touch one, but Gato might believe that his 
witchcraft was strong enough to protect him. Case had no such beliefs.
“You want me to do it?” Jedidiah asked, reading his thoughts.
He shook his head. “If there is a trap inside, it is meant for me. I will look."
“Well, at least light a fire first,” he advised. “You're going to need more 
light—and a good long stick with a flame at the end wouldn't hurt, either."
While Case kept watch, Jedidiah prepared a small campfire, then handed his 
surrogate son a lengthy torch. Case had only a minimal knowledge of the ritual 
prayer that was sung to give a man snake power. He had never paid a shaman to 
teach him, but as he approached the wickiup, he wished he had taken the time to 
learn. Expecting the worst, he threw back the blanket flap of the wickiup.
What he saw hanging in the opening, swinging wildly back and forth, made his 
dread of snakes pale by comparison.
Twenty-six
When case froze, Jedidiah looked over his shoulder and stared at the doorway in 
astonishment. Firelight glittered off the silver beads and made the cobweblike 
veins in the turquoise sparkle like gold. “The necklace?"
Case reached out and stilled the swinging pendant. His hand caressed the stones 
lightly, reverently, but there was no joy in him as fingers traveled down, 
brushing the medallion, then lower, to the tiny disk from which the eagle 
feathers had hung. The two feathers that represented Case and his sister were 
gone. In their place was a lock of long, dark, silky hair.
Gato cannot be frightened, Longstreet ... as long as I have the thing you desire 
most in the world.The words flashed through Case's mind like uncontrollable 
stabs of lightning. He remembered too clearly the way Gato had held the 
medallion out to him, sneering contemptuously.
The thing you desire most...
Libby.
Blinded by fear and rage, Case untied the necklace.
“I don't understand,” Jedidiah said. “Why would he leave you the necklace?"
With the medallion crushed into his palm, Case rose and held out his hand. The 
lock of hair tumbled down the back of his hand. “Gato has taken Libby. That's 
why the tracks are so clear. He wants me to follow."
Jedidiah couldn't believe it. “Now, wait a minute, Case. There's no proof that 
that's Libby's hair. How the devil could Gato had known about her?"
“He knows,” Case said with certainty as he headed for Jedidiah's horse.
“Where are you going?"
“To find her."
Jedidiah struggled to keep up with him. “At least go to the fort first! For all 
you know, she could be sound asleep. If Libby had been kidnapped, Meade would 
have raised an alarm that could have been heard for miles."
“Not if he's dead,” Case replied.
“At least check it out,” Jedidiah insisted.
Case paused. If Gato intended to harm Libby, Case was already too late, but that 
seemed unlikely. Gato would want Libby alive, to use as a pawn to manipulate 
Case into doing something foolish. If that was Gato's plan, a few minutes more 
weren't going to make any difference. It would be better to go into battle with 
all the facts.
Case tossed the horse's reins to Jedidiah. “Ride in calmly, sound no alarm. I'll 
enter the fort through the opening beside the hospital."
He turned and started running at the brisk, steady pace that enabled Apache 
warriors to travel miles without stopping. Jedidiah mounted quickly and set off 
for the fort, keeping his pace unhurried, as Case had instructed. He didn't need 
to be told that if Libby had indeed been abducted, sounding an alarm was the 
worst thing they could do for her. Sending a contingent of soldiers to follow 
the trail Gato had left would be signing Libby's death warrant.
He nodded politely to the sentries at the main entrance and tipped his hat to 
the guard walking his prescribed route. Crook had doubled the guard mount when 
he incarcerated Gusalá, but there was no way that all of the little outlets 
between the buildings could be protected at once. If Gato had been daring enough 
to make the attempt, it wouldn't have been too hard for him to sneak into the 
fort without being seen.
The proof of that came when Jedidiah sauntered onto the porch of the hospital 
just as a lamp was lit inside. He knocked, and seconds later the door opened. 
Case was already hurrying back across the room by the time Jedidiah stepped onto 
the threshold and saw Meade lying on the floor outside Libby's bedroom, bound, 
gagged, and apparently unconscious.
“Close the door and check the rest of the house,” Case snapped as he knelt 
beside Libby's brother.
While Jedidiah did as he was told, Case removed the rags that had been stuffed 
into Meade's mouth, then carefully turned the doctor's head to inspect the dark, 
abraded circle on his temple. It was the wound made by a war club.
“There was a struggle in Libby's bedroom,” Jedidiah told Case when he returned 
to the parlor. “But there's no blood. She was alive when she left here."
Case didn't react to the news. “Get me some water. I have to wake him up.” If 
Gato had left Meade alive, he must have a reason, and Case wanted to know what 
it was.
By the time Jedidiah returned with a basin of water from the barrel by the 
kitchen door, Case had Meade's hands and feet untied. “The back door is 
unbarred,” Jedidiah said, kneeling beside Case. “Looks like they came in through 
the little window in the kitchen and went out through the door."
Case began bathing Meade's face, resisting the overwhelming temptation to dump 
the whole basin of water on him at one time. He had counted on the doctor to 
keep Libby safe, but Meade had failed. Case wanted to blame him for that; that 
would have made it so much easier for him to accept what had happened and deal 
with it rationally. But Meade was not at fault. Case knew the blame rested 
firmly on his own head. For that reason he kept his movements gentle as he 
brought Meade back to consciousness.
It was only a matter of moments before the doctor's eyes fluttered open. He 
looked up at Case, his expression blank and puzzled as he tried to figure out 
why the Apache scout was hovering over him, then the memory of Libby's abduction 
flooded back to him. He sat up with a jerk, then grabbed his head, wincing 
against the pain.
“It would be better if you didn't move for a while,” Case told him, edging back. 
“Just tell me what happened to Libby. How long ago did they take her?"
“I don't know. An Apache stunned me with a club and tied me up. I must have lost 
consciousness right after they left,” he said irritably as he tried to stand. 
The room swam, and he eased back to a sitting position. “They were waiting for 
me in the dark when I returned from speaking to Jedidiah."
Case looked at his friend. He knew nothing about a conversation between them and 
couldn't have cared less what was said. “How long ago was that?"
“About an hour and three-quarters,” Jedidiah supplied.
Case looked at Meade again. “Why did they leave you alive?"
“Gato had a message for you,” he replied venomously. “His English wasn't too 
good, but he managed to make himself clear. He said you're to come alone. If you 
bring any ‘horse soldiers,’ Libby will be killed."
The hard, cold expression on Case's face didn't change. “Did he say where?"
“He made a circle with his hands, like this"—he demonstrated—"then pointed to 
the northeast and said something that sounded like ‘red canyon.’ Do you know 
what he meant?"
There were a dozen red canyons in that section of the reservation, but only one 
that was completely enclosed as Meade had indicated. “Yes.” Case stood and 
looked at Jedidiah. “Stay with the doctor. If I am not back with Libby by 
morning, tell Crook to send a company to Snake Canyon."
“Now, wait just a goddam minute,” Meade ordered harshly, wincing against the 
throbbing in his temple as he stood. “You're not going after her alone. Gato 
will kill you on sight, and then God knows what he'll do to Libby—if she's not 
already dead!"
“If I take soldiers with me, he will kill her anyway. He would see us coming 
from miles away."
“Not a whole company of soldiers,” Meade corrected. “Just me."
“No.” Case shook his head adamantly. “You're in no condition to travel. You 
would slow me down."
Meade's concern for Libby tangled with the guilt he felt over having allowed her 
to be taken from his own house, and that, in turn, compounded the humiliation he 
still felt for having nearly gotten Case killed. All the emotions twisted 
together and became a blinding anger directed against Case. “That's not really 
what you're thinking,” he accused. “You're thinking that I wouldn't be any good 
to you even if I did come along."
Case held his temper. He wanted to be off in search of Libby, not arguing with 
her brother. “You can't travel like an Apache."
“You mean I can't fight like a man,” Meade growled.
Case neither confirmed nor denied the supposition. “I must do this alone."
He turned to leave, but Meade grabbed his arm and whirled him around. “This is 
all your fault, Longstreet. Do you hear me,all of it! My sister is going to die 
because of some ridiculous Apache vendetta! Well, you've got your showdown now, 
but you're crazy if you think I'm going to leave Libby's fate in the hands of a 
man who cares more about revenge than about my sister!"
The indictment cut Case to the bone. He'd spent most of his life savoring the 
thought of revenge without realizing the price he would be forced to pay for it. 
It was much too high. “You cannot stop me,” he said defiantly.
“I can try,” Meade said, his voice low and dangerous.
“Stop it, both of you!” Jedidiah commanded, stepping between them. “Stop arguing 
and think about what's important."
“Libby is the only thing that's important,” Case replied, stepping back.
“Well, that's one thing we agree on, at least,” Meade said.
“Then let me go after her."
Meade shook his head. “If you leave without me, I'll go to Crook and tell him 
what's happened. A cavalry company will be no more than twenty minutes behind 
you."
“You would be killing Libby,” Case warned, not certain if Meade was bluffing.
“Then take me with you."
Case glared at him a moment. “We can travel only part of the way on horseback. 
If you go, you will cover the last miles on foot, Apache-fashion. Otherwise, 
Gato will see us coming."
Meade nodded, ignoring the pain in his head. “All right."
“If you fall behind, I will leave you,” Case warned.
“Don't worry. I'll keep up."
“Then get your rifle and revolver.” He turned to Jedidiah. “And you, old 
friend..."
Jedidiah knew better than to insist on going along. He was too old to run across 
the high desert at night. And besides, someone had to stay behind to pick up the 
pieces once this endless night was over. “Take my horse with you. The rifle is 
loaded, and there's ammunition in the saddlebags.” He grabbed Case's shoulders 
and hugged him close for just a moment. “Take care, my son."
Case wrapped his arms around the older man. “I will come back,Ci nah-kee tà." My 
second father.
Jedidiah cleared his throat and stepped back just as Meade returned. Gone was 
the restrictive uniform coat he'd worn to the Crenshaws’ party. In its place was 
an unadorned blue-black army blouse that would allow him to blend into the 
night.
"Enju,"Case murmured. “Wait here while I go to the stable and get my own horse. 
No one will question me as they would you. Jedidiah will lead this horse around 
to the back door for you. Meet me there."
“How do I know you won't leave without me?” Meade asked.
Case shook his head in disgust. “When will you White Eyes learn that the word of 
an Apache means something?"
He brushed past Meade contemptuously as he headed for the back door.
Hidden by the black shadows of the rugged mesa, Case studied the wall of rock 
above him. At his side, Meade was leaning against the wall, struggling to 
control his breathing. Case knew the pain in his head and in his chest had to be 
enormous, yet the doctor had said nothing during the torturous journey to the 
mesa that hid Snake Canyon inside its belly.
They had ridden only a few miles before they began traveling on foot. Through 
open terrain where they might have been spotted by a lookout atop the mesa, they 
crawled. When there were hills and ridges to conceal them, they ran.
“Now ... what?” Meade gasped hoarsely, irritated that he was the only one who 
appeared to be out of breath.
They were on the eastern side of the mesa, almost directly opposite the narrow, 
winding entrance that had earned the canyon its name. “Above us is an entrance 
to a cave,” Case replied, never raising his voice above a whisper. “It winds 
through the rock until it reaches the canyon, maybe forty feet above the floor. 
From there you should be able to see everything that happens below."
“Me?” Meade questioned, looking up. All he saw were jutting rocks. “Where will 
you be?"
“I'll circle the mesa and enter through the passage. It's what Gato will expect 
of me."
“What makes you think this cave won't be guarded?"
“Gato was not raised in this part of the desert. He doesn't know it as I do."
Meade still wasn't convinced. “That may be true, but if he's been hiding in 
there for weeks, he's had plenty of time to explore."
“The opening is hard to see from the floor of the canyon, and the rock wall 
below it is as smooth as glass. My people say that many thousands of years ago, 
in the time when only the Mountain Spirits walked here, a river ran freely 
through the cave and tumbled down the wall inside."
“A waterfall?"
Case nodded. “Yes. There are many caves inside, but this is the only one that 
goes all the way through the rock. Even if Gato knows it is there, his men 
cannot climb up to it, and he would not suspect that it contains a passage 
leading outside."
“How long is it?"
“A quarter of a mile, maybe more,” Case answered. “You will have to crawl part 
of the way, but there is only one tunnel, so you cannot become lost. Come. I'll 
take you to it; then I'll come back down and circle the mesa while you get into 
position.” Slinging Jedidiah's rifle over his shoulder, he found a handhold and 
began to climb. When he had secure footing on a plateau above Meade, he crouched 
and extended his hand, but the doctor ignored it. With his rifle slung, he found 
his own handhold and followed Case up.
The long climb was made more difficult by their need for stealth, but finally 
they emerged onto a recessed plateau. Crouching, Meade followed Case as he 
ducked under a low overhang.
“Through there,” Case told him, pointing into the darkness. “Crawl into the cave 
in a straight line. You should reach the back wall after only twenty feet. 
Follow the wall, moving to your right. You will know you're in the tunnel when 
you can extend your hands and touch both sides. You can stand then, but keep one 
hand up so that you will know when the ceiling begins to lower."
“Like playing blindman's buff,” Meade muttered, peering into the pitch 
blackness.
Case didn't know that game, but the image was clear enough. “Even if you move 
slowly and carefully, you should reach the canyon long before I do."
Meade settled back on his haunches and looked at Case. The moonlight created 
strange shadows, but still provided enough light for him to see the harsh lines 
of the Apache's face. “Tell me what I can expect when you arrive,” he 
instructed.
“I will shame Gato into fighting me."
“Then what?"
“After I have killed him, I will take Libby and leave."
He made it sound so simple. Meade knew it was anything but. “Assuming Gato 
doesn't shoot you down the moment he sees you, and assuming you win, what the 
devil makes you think his men are going to allow you to waltz out of there with 
Libby?"
Case ignored the sarcasm, reminding himself that this was a white man who 
understood nothing about the Apache mind “This is a fight between Gato and me. 
His men will not interfere; by doing so they would lose all honor. If I defeat 
their leader fairly, they will have no choice but to let me go."
“And if Gato kills you?"
The question hung in darkness, and when Case finally answered, his reply chilled 
Meade far more than the eerie silence or the lifelessness of Case's voice. “If I 
die, you must kill Libby."
"What?"he exclaimed. “I can't kill my sister!"
Case fixed him with a hard glare. “Then you will watch her die a horrible, 
painful death."
Meade looked down at his hands and discovered they were trembling, but the 
emotion that made him quake was rage, not fear. “If we get out of this alive, 
Longstreet, you're going to answer to me for what you've made Libby suffer."
“A man answers only to himself, Doctor. Think about that before you judge me.” 
Case placed his rifle on the ground between them and started to remove the 
cartridge bandolier from across his chest, but Meade grabbed his arm.
“What the hell does that mean?"
Case looked at him, his face expressionless. “It means that you must deal with 
your own guilt, just as I must deal with mine."
“My guilt?” Meade questioned, though he knew very well what the Apache meant.
“For your behavior in battle and for allowing Gato to take Libby,” Case replied. 
“If you forgive yourself for these things, you will find it more difficult to 
hate me.” He handed over the bandolier. “You will need these more than I."
He moved down the ledge, and Meade turned to watch him go, wondering if he was 
right about forgiving himself. Was he allowing his own guilt over his treatment 
of Case to color his decisions? The guilt was there, of course, but he didn't 
see how it could be responsible for his determination to keep Case and Libby 
apart. “Longstreet."
Case stopped and looked back at him, waiting.
“I'm sending Libby away when this is over,” he said into the darkness.
Another moment of silence fell between them. “We all do what we must,” Case 
replied quietly, then turned and disappeared down the cliff.
Juggling both rifles, Meade edged into the black cave and began crawling.
Hugging her knees to her chest, Libby huddled by the fire. The two Chiricahua 
braves flanking her seemed to know that she was too terrified to move, for they 
had paid little attention to her since removing her gag and the binding on her 
wrists shortly after entering the ghostly canyon. Gato had given a flurry of 
orders, and his men had rushed to obey. Some climbed the steep cliffs and hid 
among the rocks. Others were positioned on either side of the entrance. Libby 
had counted ten braves, including Gato.
The men had built a fire in the center of the huge canyon floor, and shoved 
Libby down beside it. She didn't believe it was a gesture of consideration 
because the canyon was so cold, though. From the way Gato had positioned her, 
she suspected he wanted Case to see her clearly the moment he arrived.
Libby dreaded that moment, but at the same time she was terrified it wouldn't 
happen. She didn't want to die, but she couldn't bear the thought of Case dying, 
either. She could only pray that when he came, he'd have some plan that would 
enable both of them to escape with their lives. But Gato appeared to be holding 
all the cards, and she had very little faith in that outcome. All she knew for 
certain was that Casewould come.
The wait seemed endless. When they arrived, the moon had been barely visible 
over the eastern rim of the canyon; now it was almost directly overhead. It 
looked close enough to touch, and its iridescent glow bathed the entire circle 
in silver light. Libby thought about Case's quest and his belief in the guiding 
spirit of the Thunder Eagle. The setting could not have been more perfect if the 
eagle truly had chosen the time and place for the meeting of these bitter 
enemies.
Perhaps it was fated to be this way all along, Libby thought, then realized Case 
would be proud of her. She was finally starting to think like an Apache.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Gato sitting on a flat rock to her 
left. His legs were crossed, and he seemed to be deep in concentration. 
Occasionally Libby would hear the soft cry of some night creature, and Gato 
would raise his head and smile. Then he would return to his meditation. No one 
moved or made a sound, and the stillness reminded Libby of a tomb. That analogy 
brought her thoughts back full circle, and she wondered if she would go mad 
waiting, wondering, not knowing when or how she was meant to die.
When Case finally arrived, she cursed her impatience. His entrance was heralded 
by a cooing sound, like that of a dove, originating from somewhere far above 
them. Gato raised his head again, but this time he stood and turned his 
malicious smile on Libby.
“He come now.” Gato gestured to the braves on either side of Libby, and they 
rose. He gestured for her to rise, and when she stubbornly refused to obey the 
order, the braves pulled her roughly to her feet. She struggled against them 
briefly, until one of the braves showed her his knife. She stopped struggling, 
and after Gato murmured something in Apache, the braves released her. The knife 
stayed in view.
With quiet deliberation, Gato walked a little distance from the fire and waited. 
A moment later Case appeared in the mouth of the canyon. His eyes went first to 
Libby, then to Gato as he stopped a few yards beyond the portal.
“You have sent for me, and I am here,” he said in Apache. His voice echoed off 
the canyon walls.
Gato laughed. “Have you come for me or for the woman?"
Moving his hand slowly, Case reached into the buckskin pouch that hung from the 
belt of his breechclout. He heard a noise to his left, but Gato raised one hand 
and the brave who had sprung forward stopped. Case withdrew the Thunder Eagle 
necklace and held it up.
For eleven years it had stood for revenge, but the moment he had seen it hanging 
in his wickiup, he remembered the true meaning of the necklace his mother had 
worn for so many years. It was a symbol of love, not hate. That was what Libby 
had tried to tell him in his dream so many years ago; it was everything she 
believed in and all she had represented since she came into his life a few 
months ago.
Knowing he should have learned the lesson sooner, he tossed the necklace onto 
the ground between himself and Gato. “If I can have only one, I will take my 
woman."
Gato laughed again. “You will have neither, Longstreet!” He gestured to the 
braves behind him, and suddenly Libby found herself being dragged away from the 
fire toward two wooden poles near the north wall of the canyon.
When she began struggling against them, Case cried out to her. “Don't, Libby! 
Don't fight them! Trust me,cida ‘ké!"
“Case, please!” she cried, but had no idea what she was begging him for. She 
stopped struggling as he instructed, and the braves tied her hands with rawhide 
thongs that hung from the tops of the poles. By the time they finished, her arms 
were stretched above her head so far that only her toes touched the ground.
One of the braves stepped behind her, and Libby screamed when he grabbed her 
unbound hair, yanked her head back, and placed the blade of his knife at the 
edge of her scalp.
“Gato, no!” Case commanded. “You shame yourself! Your fight is with me, not the 
woman!"
"Yourwoman!"
“Yes!"
The renegade moved a few paces forward until he was standing almost on top of 
the Thunderbird necklace. “Then as my revenge I will make you watch her suffer 
and listen to her screams of agony before you die."
“You are no man.” Case spat on the ground to show his contempt. “You have run 
from me like a coward for almost a dozen harvests, and now the only way you can 
have revenge is by torturing a woman.” He raised his voice so that it rang into 
every corner of the canyon. “Your braves should turn on you so that they will 
not be tainted by your shame!"
“You cannot sway them,” Gato scoffed. “They owe their lives to me."
“And a fine life it has been, yes, Gato? Even Cochise could not bear to look at 
you."
“That was your doing!” the renegade roared.
“Yes,” Case agreed emphatically. “But do your men know why? Do they know that I 
seek revenge because you took gold from a white man to kill my parents?"
Two of Gato's braves looked at each other, surprised by Case's accusation, but 
the others did not react.
“What matters is thatyou pay,” Gato replied then looked to the braves on either 
side of the entrance. “Take him."
Four men sprang toward Case, and he tensed for their attack. To his left, 
though, he heard Libby cry out as her head was yanked back even harder. It was 
Gato's way of warning Case not to fight, and it worked. Case stood still as two 
of the men grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back.
He allowed himself to be taken toward a pair of poles opposite Libby. They were 
going to bind him and make him watch while they tortured her, and Case wasn't 
sure there was anything he could do to stop them.
Twenty-seven
Meade was lying on his stomach watching the grisly drama unfolding below him. 
He'd heard the angry exchange between Case and Gato, but even if he'd understood 
Apache, he wouldn't have comprehended much of what was being said. The echoes in 
the canyon had distorted even the words Case spoke to Libby almost beyond 
recognition.
Meade understood the meaning of the actions all too well, though. Case had done 
his best to goad Gato into hand-to-hand combat, and he had failed. He was being 
marched toward the posts, and once he was tied up, he would be able to do 
nothing but watch helplessly as the braves tortured Libby to death.
Unless Case had an ace up his sleeve that he'd neglected to tell Meade about, 
the scout had done all he could do. He'd marched fearlessly into a nest of 
vipers, but it was going to be up to Meade to get him and Libby out.
He'd made efficient use of his time while he waited for Case. His Colt .45 was 
loaded and lying within easy reach. Jedidiah's seven-shot Spencer was right 
beside it. His own Springfield carbine was in his hands, and the barrel was 
trained on the brave who was holding a knife to Libby's head. It could discharge 
only one shot at a time, but the shells were easy to load; and at this distance, 
it was far more accurate than the Spencer.
The bright harvest moon was a blessing. He had counted ten Apaches—seven on the 
canyon floor, three on cave ledges similar to Meade's hiding place. The ones in 
the caves had rifles, and the ones on the floor either carried rifles or kept 
them within easy reach.
All in all, Meade was in an excellent position to pick them off one at a 
time—providing they didn't move, return fire, or use Case and Libby for target 
practice.
The only other asset Meade could count was Case. Because he'd put up no 
resistance to the braves who had taken hold of him, they had neglected to 
confiscate his knife and the wicked-looking war club that hung from his belt. 
Meade knew from personal experience how much damage a weapon like that could do.
And he also knew his time was running out. In a matter of seconds Case would be 
tied up. He was speaking to Gato again, but the renegade seemed oblivious to 
whatever insults were being hurled at him. He laughed once. The ugly sound 
echoed off the canyon walls, and Meade knew he could wait no longer. Praying for 
the accuracy he knew he was capable of, he took aim at the Apache holding Libby. 
If he was so much as a hairbreadth off, he would probably kill his sister—but if 
he didn't shoot, she'd be better off dead. He was convinced of that now.
He controlled his breathing and ignored the moisture on his palms and the 
thundering pulse of his heart. He prayed to God that he wouldn't freeze again. 
He steadied his aim ... but just as he was prepared to squeeze the trigger the 
shrill cry of an eagle echoed through the canyon. The sound startled him, but 
more important, it startled the Chiricahua braves. The close quarters magnified 
the sound, making it seem twice as loud as any eagle had ever sounded—and twice 
as close. Alarmed, the Chiricahuas looked up, as did Meade, and saw the shadow 
of an enormous eagle soar across the harvest moon.
Chaos erupted below as the frightened, superstitious Chiricahuas called to their 
leader. The brave holding Libby's hair released her and moved toward Gato. The 
instant he did, Case took advantage of his captors’ surprise and broke free of 
them. His knife was unsheathed in an instant, and one brave was dead before the 
other realized what had happened.
Gato was waving his arms, trying to calm the men, and Meade joined the fray. His 
first shot dropped the brave closest to Libby, then he grabbed the Spencer and 
fired one shot after another as the startled Chiricahuas dove for cover and 
tried to determine where the shots were coming from. Each report of the rifle 
echoed deafeningly, providing a confusion Meade hadn't counted as one of his 
assets.
He saw Case dash across the canyon toward Libby, and when Chiricahua rifles 
began firing at him, Meade concentrated his own fire on the braves who had taken 
cover. He kept them ducking until Case reached Libby and sliced through her 
bonds. She fell into his arms like a rag doll, and Meade's heart stopped 
beating.
She was dead. He knew it. He had gambled that the braves would be so intent on 
firing at him that they would forget about Libby. He had been wrong.
Blinded by rage, he emitted a hoarse cry of pain as Case carried Libby to a 
cluster of boulders and took cover there himself. A second later he saw Case 
crawling toward a rifle that one of the felled braves had dropped.
Meade grabbed his Colt and began firing. The part of his mind that could still 
reason tried to count the number of Chiricahua renegades who were still alive. 
Case had killed two; Meade knew he had taken out at least three. But there were 
still three in the caves, and Gato had taken cover with one of his men behind 
some boulders on the south side of the canyon. They had all spotted the muzzle 
fire from Meade's weapons and now knew his location, but as long as Meade kept 
his head low, he was in comparatively little danger.
But that didn't matter. Libby was dead and Meade's life had lost all meaning.
When the Colt was empty, he quickly reloaded, but moments after he stopped 
firing, so did the Chiricahua. The echo of gunfire began to subside, until 
finally all was quiet.
Meade began reloading the rifles, grateful for a respite from the deafening 
roar. The silence made it easier to think, but thinking wasn't Meade's problem. 
Feeling was the problem. A fist was squeezing every drop of life out of his 
heart. Libby ... his Libby ... Case's Libby...
They had both failed her.
Meade nearly jumped when a Chiricahua voice shouted something unintelligible, 
breaking the unearthly silence. Another voice joined the first. Gato answered, 
and from his tone, Meade judged that the renegade wasn't happy with whatever his 
men had said. There were more angry shouts, and then Meade heard Case's deep 
voice. He said something, and one of the men in the caves answered; then a 
second voice from another cave replied.
Case spoke for a long time, and it took Meade a moment to realize it when the 
scout started speaking in English.
“Meade! Can you hear me?” he called up into the darkness. “Ashford!"
“Yes!"
“Gato's braves want to give up. They think you are the spirit of the Thunder 
Eagle, and they don't want to fight you. They say this is Gato's fight, not 
theirs, and it is not worth dying for. If you will let them leave without firing 
another shot, they will go in peace."
Even though Case spoke slowly, the echo made him hard to understand. Meade got 
the gist of it, though. “What about Gato?” he asked. “I won't let him leave 
alive! He's got to pay for what he did to Libby!"
“Gato is mine,” Case replied. “One of his own braves has disarmed him, and he's 
willing to exchange him for safe passage out of here."
Meade thought it over. He wanted Gato dead, and the only real way to ensure that 
was to let the others go. “All right. Tell them to come out in the open and 
throw their guns next to the fire. Then they can go."
Case repeated the message, and a few moments later a brave prodded an angry, 
defiant Gato toward the fire in the center of the canyon. Three figures silently 
emerged from their caves and quickly clambered down the rocky cliff. They 
deposited their rifles by the fire as instructed; two of them even added their 
bows and arrows.
Case met them in the center and picked up one of the rifles. A moment later the 
four braves were trotting out of the canyon, leaving Gato facing Case across the 
blazing campfire.
With the loaded carbine cradled in his hands, Meade stood. Gato and Case were 
staring at each other. If they were speaking, their voices were too low for 
Meade to hear. The fist squeezed his heart even tighter, and he raised the 
rifle, sighting it directly at Gato's head.
“Kill him, Case!” he shouted. “Kill the bastard now, or I will!"
“Meade?” Rubbing her chafed wrists, Libby stumbled out from behind the rocks 
where Case had ordered her to stay. The hatred in Meade's voice terrified her, 
and she'd already had enough terror to last a lifetime.
Meade looked away from Gato, not even conscious that he had lowered the rifle. 
“Libby?Libby?" The fist released his heart. “Oh, God,” he whispered and began 
desperately searching for a way down the canyon wall. But there was none. 
“Libby, are you all right?"
“I'm fine now,” she assured him. Then she moved slowly to Case. Her legs still 
felt wobbly, but they were better than they'd been when Case released her. A 
tremor of fear ran down her spine when she looked at Gato, but Case was her real 
concern. “What are you going to do now?” she asked quietly.
Case had been asking himself the same question. Eleven years ago he had sworn to 
his grandfather that he would slit the throat of this renegade. A year ago, even 
a day ago, he would have thrown away the rifle, unsheathed his knife, and 
demanded Gato do the same.
But that was before he realized there was something more important to him than 
revenge.
“Throw down your knife, Gato,” he said in Apache.
For the first time, the renegade's arrogance turned to fear. “You would kill me 
unarmed?"
“I will not kill you at all. I will let the Gray Fox hang you for the soldiers 
you killed at Santa Elena."
“No!” Gato shouted. “That is not the way for an Apache to die!” He unsheathed 
his knife and feinted toward Case.
Case pushed Libby back and cautiously circled the fire. “Put down the knife, 
Gato. Killing me will not spare your life. If I die, my friend above will shoot 
you."
“That is a better way to die!” Gato exclaimed, lurching toward Case again. His 
panic made him careless, and Case feinted to one side, bringing the butt of the 
rifle level with his shoulders. He extended his right arm sharply and clubbed 
Gato on the head. The renegade dropped like a stone.
Libby released the breath she'd been holding and glanced up at Meade. He was 
lowering his rifle. She looked at Case, who was standing over Gato's inert body.
“Is it over?” she whispered.
Case took a deep, cleansing breath and nodded. “It's over."
A sob welled up in Libby's throat, and Case opened his arms to her. She flew 
into them, and he pressed her close. He felt the warmth of her tears on his 
chest, and something inside his breast expanded until it burst, releasing the 
last ounce of hatred from his heart, leaving nothing but his love for Libby.
He looked up and saw Meade on the cliff ... watching them.
Dawn was just beginning to break as Fort Apache finally came into view. Libby 
was riding with Case, both of her legs draped over one of his, her cheek resting 
on his shoulder as he cradled her in his arms. She was so emotionally drained 
and physically exhausted that she had nearly fallen asleep twice, but the 
horse's movement over the uneven ground kept her awake. She didn't mind. The 
security of Case's arms was all she really needed. Meade had tried to get her to 
ride with him, but she refused. She could see in his eyes the hurt her rejection 
caused him, but he hadn't protested.
Gato had fought them every step of the way while they'd all been on foot, but 
when they reached the horses and tied the renegade on a long leash, he became 
too busy trying to keep pace with the horses to cause his captors much trouble. 
He was tethered to Meade's saddle, and Gato seemed to know that the white 
medicine man would like nothing better than to drag him over the rocky terrain.
They were still a half mile from the fort when two columns of cavalry rode out, 
their pace brisk.
“Looks like Jedidiah's done his job,” Meade commented.
Libby raised her head and saw the soldiers coming. She squinted into the 
distance, and when she realized that General Crook was with David Robertson and 
Jedidiah at the head of the columns, she straightened. Her dress was torn and 
filthy. Her face was smudged with dirt and streaked with tears. Her hair was a 
frightful, uneven mess thanks to the brutal trimming Gato had given one side of 
it.
But she really didn't care. She was alive, she was in Case's arms, and the 
nightmare was over. The soldiers could think whatever they wanted to think.
Mustering her pride, she squared her shoulders and waited for the cavalry to 
arrive. It took them a while to spot the small party headed toward the fort, but 
when they did, they corrected their course and rode at a gallop to intercept 
them.
“Lieutenant Simmons! Take charge of the prisoner,” David Robinson ordered as 
soon as both parties had faced off and stopped.
Crook looked them over and decided they were none the worse for wear. “Gato?” he 
questioned, eyeing the belligerent Chiricahua who was being led away.
“Yes, sir,” Case replied. “I promised him you would hang him for the ambush at 
Santa Elena."
Crook looked Case over speculatively, wondering why he'd allowed the renegade to 
live. “Curious,” he muttered, then edged his horse forward, fixing Case with a 
stern glare. “You I can do nothing about,” he told the scout. “If you want to go 
off half-cocked, chasing renegades in the middle of the night, that's your 
business.” He frowned at Meade. “You, on the other hand, I could have 
court-martialed for desertion. And you"—he looked at Libby, and his expression 
softened into a gentle smile—"are a very great lady who has suffered far too 
much."
Libby's eyes misted over. “Thank you, General."
His smile turned into an impish grin, and he leaned toward her conspiratorially. 
“So, tell me, Miss Ashford, has this little escapade changed your opinion of our 
noble Apache brethren?"
Libby knew he was referring to her encounter with Gato, but it was Case she 
looked at when she replied softly, “Not a bit, sir."
Crook studied the tender look that passed between his scout and the doctor's 
sister. “Somehow I suspected as much,” he muttered, then raised his voice to the 
troops. “Captain Robertson! Let's get Miss Ashford home, shall we? I expect the 
captain and Mr. Longstreet have quite a story to tell us."
David gave the orders, and the cavalry escorted them home. As they rode between 
the headquarters buildings, the bugler sounded attention, but it was a wasted 
gesture—everyone at Fort Apache was already out to meet them. David dismissed 
the troopers, and a crowd of anxious spectators surged toward Libby and Case.
Jedidiah, who hadn't waited for permission to dismount, was the first to reach 
them. With a smile that warmed Libby's heart, he raised his arms and plucked her 
off Case's lap, drawing her into a gruff embrace as soon as her feet touched the 
ground. She hugged him tightly. Then he released her as Susannah finally 
succeeded in fighting her way through the crowd.
“Oh, Libby,” Susannah murmured tearfully as they embraced. “I was so 
frightened."
Libby drew back and smiled through her own tears. “So was I."
Susannah mumbled something about the whole camp being roused long before dawn, 
but Libby was too exhausted to care how everyone had learned of her kidnapping. 
“Come on,” her friend urged. “Just let me get Michael out of his cradle, and 
we'll get you home and into a nice hot bath."
Like a mother hen, Susannah tried to usher her away, but Libby hung back, 
glancing up at Case as he slipped off his horse. His eyes caressed her tenderly, 
but when David Robertson approached him with orders that General Crook wanted to 
speak with him, Case was forced to turn away and Libby allowed herself to be led 
through the crowd.
Some of the soldiers who had been especially kind to her in the past were 
pressing around her, eager for reassurance that she was unharmed. Their concern 
touched Libby, but when she saw Elaine and Caroline fighting their way through 
the crowd, all her good feelings vanished.
“Libby dear, are you all right?” Elaine Dunlevy said with genuine concern.
“I'm fine, Elaine."
“I was just going to take her home,” Susannah informed the women. “She's 
exhausted."
“I can see that,” Elaine replied sympathetically as she reached out gingerly and 
touched Libby's partially shorn hair. “You poor dear. I can't even begin to 
imagine what you must have gone through."
Caroline was far less charitable. “Well, I hope this has finally brought you to 
your senses, Libby.” Her shrill voice carried farther than she might have liked, 
and a dead silence fell over the group. Caroline flushed under the scrutiny of 
so many disapproving eyes. “What I meant was ... well, surely you can see that 
your association with Longstreet—"
“Shut up, Caroline,” Elaine said succinctly, then placed a comforting arm around 
Libby's shoulder. “Come, dear. I'll help you get settled."
Astonished, Meade watched the exchange, barely able to believe his eyes and 
ears. While Susannah dashed into her quarters to get Michael, Elaine ushered 
Libby down the quadrangle. The men began to disperse, leaving a speechless 
Caroline Crenshaw standing alone and ignored.
No, not ignored, Meade realized. Shunned. Temporarily, at least, Libby Ashford 
was far more popular with the residents of Fort Apache than Caroline Crenshaw 
had ever been.
“Sort of makes you wonder, doesn't it?"
The voice startled Meade, and he turned to look at Jedidiah, wondering how long 
he'd been standing beside him. “Wonder about what?” he asked.
“If maybe you were wrong about these people accepting Libby and Case.” He looked 
pointedly at the matron who was shepherding Libby toward the hospital, then at 
Caroline Crenshaw, who had finally recovered her dignity and was flouncing off 
toward her own quarters. “Looks to me like the question has two sides. You're 
going to have to decide which one you want to be on."
The thought of aligning himself with a bigoted twit like Caroline infuriated 
Meade. “The only side I've ever been on is Libby's,” he snapped.
“Then maybe you should start considering what she wants to do with her life, and 
not what everyone else is going to think about it."
Fuming, Meade wanted nothing more than to tell Jedidiah the same thing Elaine 
had told Caroline, but good manners and the bond of friendship he felt for the 
aging rancher stopped him.
“Meade, Case and the general are waiting for you,” David Robertson called to 
him.
“Excuse me, Jedidiah,” he said as he stalked off toward the command post.
Wearing a rueful half smile, Jedidiah followed the captain at a more leisurely 
pace. Meade was wearing down. Jedidiah was sure of it. He wasn't there yet, but 
he was getting there.
Libby allowed herself to be petted and pampered because she was too weary to 
protest. While Elaine issued orders to Sergeant Brogan, overseeing the 
preparation of a hot bath, Susannah straightened Libby's bedroom. Her friend 
laid out a fresh nightdress, and as soon as Libby had bathed and washed her 
hair, Susannah brushed it for her until it was nearly dry. Elaine applied a 
soothing ointment to her chafed wrists, and within an hour Libby was in bed, 
sound asleep.
When she awoke, she had no idea how long she'd slept, but the heat and the slant 
of light in the room told her it was probably late afternoon. What was more 
important to her, though, was that Meade was there, sitting on the edge of her 
bed, studying her with the most unreadable expression she'd ever seen.
“My poor Meade,” she whispered drowsily, touching the bruise on his forehead 
with gentle fingertips. “Are you all right?"
He nodded. “I was going to ask you that."
“I'm fine,” she assured him as tears welled in her eyes. “Thank you for saving 
me."
“I'm just glad you're safe.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I love 
you, little sister."
A tear slipped down her temple. “I know. Please don't ever stop."
“I won't.” He kissed her hand again, then lowered it to the bed beside her. 
“Now, you get some more sleep. Doctor's orders."
“Don't worry. I plan to sleep until Tuesday."
He stood and smiled. “I'll see that her ladyship is not disturbed."
“But that means I'll miss the infantry escort on Monday,” she reminded him.
His smile faded. “I know.” He went to the door, but by the time he turned back 
to look at her, she was already asleep.
Meade moved through the parlor and founded Sergeant Brogan in the kitchen 
preparing supper. “Sergeant, would you be so kind as to see if you can locate 
Case Longstreet for me? I'll be waiting for him in my office."
“Yes, sir,” Brogan answered with a touch of uncertainty, wondering what was in 
store for the Apache scout now. The striker had overheard enough arguments in 
the house to know which way the wind had been blowing these last few months.
Right now, though, the captain didn't look particularly happy, or particularly 
angry, either. It was amazing the way a few hours in hell could change a man. 
Given the recent chain of events, Brogan didn't feel inclined to guess what kind 
of changes the doctor had undergone.
After removing a kettle of beans from the stove, he went off in search of 
Longstreet.
Meade waited in his office with his feet propped on the desk and one eye on his 
predecessor's half-empty whiskey bottle. It seemed to be looking at him, too, 
daring him to pick it up, take a swallow, and erase the memory of the last few 
months he'd spent in purgatory.
Then he thought about the night he'd survived. He thought about the tears Libby 
had shed when she made him promise to always love her. He remembered the way 
he'd tried to get her to ride with him this morning and how she had regretfully 
turned her back on him and sought refuge in Case's arms.
With a weary sigh, he reached for the whiskey, dropped his feet to the floor 
with a thud, and shoved the bottle into the farthest recesses of the desk 
drawer.
“Sergeant Brogan said you wanted to see me."
Meade closed the drawer and looked up at the enigmatic Apache he both detested 
and admired. “Have a seat."
Dreading the inevitable, Case sat in the chair opposite Meade's. At one time he 
had been able to read every thought on the doctor's face, but those days had 
passed. Case didn't have to be told why he'd been summoned, though, and he 
didn't see any point in beating around the bush. “Have you told Libby you're 
sending her away?"
Meade rubbed his hand over his face, wishing he'd been able to sleep this 
afternoon when he'd finally gotten away from General Crook. Unfortunately, sleep 
hadn't come to him. His energy was depleted, but his mind had been racing too 
fast to allow him any peace. Finally he'd realized that he wasn't going to get 
any peace until he'd settled a few things with this man.
“Actually, last night, before the ... kidnapping, I told Libby I was going to 
send her away,” he answered after a moment. “And you should know that I also 
told her about the deal I forced you into."
Case almost smiled. Maybe there was hope for this white man, after all. “What 
did she say?"
Meade shook his head. “It doesn't matter. I've already agreed to let her stay."
“Why?"
He looked down, unable to hold the Apache's intent gaze. “Last night when you 
cut Libby down, I thought she was dead. It made me realize that losing 
her—whether to death, or to you—would be the worst thing that could ever happen 
to me."
Case's face grew hard again. “I've already told you I won't marry her without 
your approval. I won't deprive her of someone she loves more than her own life."
Meade looked at him. “Neither will I."
Case took a moment to digest what Meade was telling him. “You are withdrawing 
your objections to our marriage?"
“No,” he said with an ironic laugh. “I still have plenty of objections. But I 
won't cut myself off from Libby just because I don't approve of the choice she's 
made—and it is her choice,” he added quickly. “She loves you, and as hard as 
that's going to make her life, she deserves a chance to find out if there really 
is a kind of love that's strong enough to survive anything.” He leaned back in 
his chair. “Personally, I don't think it exists, but I can't convince Libby of 
it."
Case did smile then. “If you keep trying, she'll spend the rest of her life 
attempting to prove you wrong."
Meade laughed, and this time there was weary but genuine humor in the sound. 
“How well you know her."
“I love her."
Meade stood and extended his hand. “Then don't ever give me a reason to regret 
this."
Case rose and took his hand. “After what you did last night, I wouldn't dare."
He smiled. “We did acquit ourselves rather nicely, didn't we?"
“You saved my life, and I thank you."
Meade tightened his grip on Case's hand. “Then I guess that makes us even."
Twenty-eight
“And the parlor will go here,” Libby said, pacing off the space between the 
imaginary dining room and the spacious parlor Case had promised to build her on 
the piece of land they had just purchased. She spread her arms. “We'll have a 
big window here, looking out over the river.” She turned to her brother, who was 
leaning negligently against one of the cottonwoods that had helped them choose 
the location of the house. “What do you think?"
“I think a big window is just going to let in a lot more dust,” he replied 
grumpily.
Libby shook her head. “Case has promised me glass-paned windows."
“This I'll have to see,” he muttered.
Laughing, Libby went to him and laced her arm through his. “Meade, if you think 
this is such a rotten idea, why did you put the ranch in your name and 
contribute half the money?"
He glanced away from her, unwilling to admit even to himself that he'd made the 
right decision in allowing Case to propose to Libby. He'd never seen her 
happier, and it irritated him almost as much as it pleased him. “It's an 
excellent investment,” he responded.
“Oh, Meade.” She sighed and placed her head on his shoulder. “You like Case, but 
you're just too stubborn to admit it. You'll come around one of these days, 
though."
He dropped a kiss on her forehead in the familiar way that meant so much to both 
of them. “As long as you're happy, that's all that matters."
“I am,” she assured him. Nothing had ever been truer. In the weeks since the 
ordeal with Gato, Libby's life had taken on a whole new meaning. Case had asked 
her to marry him, and Meade had given his blessing with the proviso that they be 
married by a minister. The Baptist minister in Bledsoe had refused when he 
learned that a white woman was marrying an Apache, but Jedidiah had found a 
clergyman at the Spanish mission in San Manuel who had been pleased to perform 
the rites.
Libby was now Mrs. Case Longstreet, and she could not imagine being happier.
Case had been amenable to the Christian ceremony because it was what Libby 
wanted, but he also wanted to follow the customs of his people. That was why 
Libby had dragged Meade out to the site of their proposed ranch house; with 
considerable reluctance, he had agreed to go through with whatever ceremony the 
Apaches demanded.
Libby had assured him it wasn't too complicated, and she hoped she wasn't lying. 
Case had briefly described it to her once, and as she understood it, the most 
important part of the occasion had already been taken care of, Jedidiah was 
staying with Meade at the fort, and every night Libby shared her husband's bed 
at Jedidiah's ranch. The joy and fulfillment she had found in his arms, and the 
delight she had taken in discovering her womanhood, had made Libby complete.
The only thing that could possibly make her happier was to know that she was 
completely accepted by Case's family. With luck, that would happen today.
“Libby?” Meade frowned as he looked into the distance. “What's that?"
She looked downriver and smiled. “It's Blue Bear and the rest of Case's clan. 
And there's Jedidiah, too."
Meade frowned. “Where's Case?"
“He's not expected to be here,” she replied, watching the procession.
“Well,I expect him to be here,” Meade snapped. “It's his wedding, for crying out 
loud."
“Actually, it's really the joining of my family to his,” she explained a little 
sheepishly.
He looked down at her. “You didn't tell me I was going to be marrying the 
Apaches, too."
She grinned. “For better or worse?"
He sighed and straightened as the procession drew near. Blue Bear appeared to be 
leading a horse, and several braves herding a dozen head of cattle veered off to 
the east. The women walking behind Blue Bear were carrying baskets and blankets. 
Obviously this was what Case had meant when he mentioned the “bride price.” Even 
Meade had to admit that it was an impressive display, considering the poverty in 
which these people were living.
Instinctively Meade stepped forward when Blue Bear and Jedidiah rode up and 
dismounted. The ancient Apache still moved with a dignified grace. He pointed 
from Jedidiah to Meade, grunted, and then fell silent.
“My friend, Meade,” Jedidiah began. It was clear that he was trying to remain 
serious, but every so often the rancher's eyes darted to Libby, and a smile 
crept across his face. “My good friend Blue Bear has asked me to speak for him, 
and I am happy to be able to grant his request. You have a sister who has found 
favor in the heart of Blue Bear's grandson, and so he brings you presents.
“The Apaches are not so rich as they once were, but if you find these gifts 
worthy of the sister of a great white medicine man such as yourself, Blue Bear 
would wish to join your family to his own. His people will be as yours, and your 
people will be his. You will stand together and help one another, as all 
families must."
Meade was a little amazed to realize that he felt touched by the beauty of 
Jedidiah's speech. He glanced at Libby, and was not entirely surprised to see 
tears in her eyes. He looked at Jedidiah, not sure how he was supposed to 
respond. “I have already given my consent to this marriage, but ... uh ... I 
agree?"
Libby knew she wasn't supposed to have any part in the ceremony, but she 
couldn't resist leaning toward her brother and whispering, “Your eloquence is 
truly awe-inspiring."
He threw her a disgusted glance, then returned his attention to Jedidiah. 
“Please tell Blue Bear that the gifts he has brought are more than adequate to 
pay for my sister.” He heard Libby gasp, but he ignored her. “And tell him, too, 
that I will be honored to accept his gifts ... and even more honored to call his 
grandson my brother.” He looked down at Libby and brushed a tear off her cheek. 
“Was that better?"
“It was wonderful,” she whispered, rising on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
Jedidiah translated the message, and at a signal from Blue Bear, the women came 
forward and deposited their baskets near Meade. The sound of a horse approaching 
drew everyone's attention, and the women began murmuring and smiling as they 
stepped back.
Wearing only his breechclout, moccasins, and the simple Thunderbird necklace he 
had worn for so many years, Case rode slowly past his family until he reached 
Blue Bear's side. He threw one leg over the neck of the horse, slipped to the 
ground, and approached Meade.
“My friend ... the gifts my family has brought are for you to do with as you 
please,” he said formally. “I wish to add a gift to the bride price, but it is 
only for your sister."
He looked down at Libby, stepped closer to her, and held up the Thunder Eagle 
necklace. Two beautiful, perfectly formed eagle feathers were suspended from 
it."Cida'ké, many years ago my father came to my mother as I come to you now. He 
said these words, and I would say them to you, for no words were ever spoken 
that had more love or meaning in them.” Raising the necklace, he placed it 
around her neck.
“Since the day I became a man, the Thunder Eagle has been my guiding spirit,” he 
said, quoting from the legend that had been told about his parents. “He has 
protected me from harm and given me strength against my enemies.” When the 
necklace was in place, he stepped back and lost himself in Libby's tear-filled 
eyes. “I give this necklace to you so that you will always know the protection 
of my spirit. So long as you wear it, my beloved, we can never be separated ... 
even by death."
Smiling through her tears, Libby pressed the medallion to her breast. “I love 
you,” she murmured.
“And I cherish you with all my heart."
She slipped her hand beneath the engraved disk and looked at it. The two frayed 
feathers that had once hung from the medallion had been found in her bedroom the 
morning after the kidnapping, but these were not the same ones. As Libby gently 
caressed the feathers that represented her life joined with Case's, her other 
hand reached out and stroked the single battered feather that now hung from the 
medallion on Case's chest.
“I would have been proud to wear your sister's feather next to my heart,” she 
told him quietly.
Case covered her hand with his own so that she could feel the steady throb of 
his heart. “It is next to my own now. If the Thunder Eagle wills it, my sister 
and I will be reunited some day."
He closed the distance between them and gathered her into his arms. His head 
dipped toward hers, but Libby pulled back a little. “Apaches don't kiss, 
remember?” she reminded him with a teasing, tearful smile. “What will your 
family think?"
“They will think as I do,” he said huskily, “that an Apache can learn a few good 
things from the White Eyes."
“And that the White Eyes should learn a few from the Apaches,” she whispered as 
Case's lips sealed the bond of love that transported them to a place where only 
the eagle soared.
EPILOGUE
New Mexico Territory, August 1874
The fire crackled, and the stars overhead sparkled like diamonds on black 
velvet. Hugging her knees to her chest, Skylar Templeton looked at the stars and 
tried to visualize the things the old Mescalero storyteller, Consayka, was 
describing. He had recited the legend a hundred times, but Skylar never tired of 
hearing it, because it called up visions that seemed almost like memories.
“It was a necklace of great beauty, with stones of turquoise and a shell carved 
with the image of the Thunder Eagle,” the ancient Apache said, relishing the 
delight on the faces gathered around him. Only a short distance away, the lights 
of the Rancho Verde spilled through the wrought-iron gates of the hacienda's 
walled gardens; but here by the fire, Consayka was re-creating a world very 
different from the one Anglos had built in this New Mexico valley.
Things changed so quickly that the old storyteller was afraid that before too 
many years, his people would forget the old ways, the old legends. That was why 
he was always happy when the young mistress of the hacienda slipped out of the 
house to listen to him. For her, he finished the story in his deepest voice, 
keeping his words so clear that they could not fail to touch the young girl's 
heart.
“The People were astonished that a brave would be so bold as to come to the 
ceremony, but when Gray Wolf placed the necklace around Willow's throat, the 
Thunder Eagle cast his shadow over them, and the People smiled."
Skylar looked across the fire at Consayka. “Thank you for the story,” she said.
He nodded. “I know it is your favorite."
“And mine!” one of the younger children exclaimed, making them all laugh.
“Skylar!” a voice called in the darkness, and Skylar turned just as her sister 
Rayna crouched down beside her, grabbing the sleeve of her robe. “Skylar, what 
are you doing out here? If Mother finds out we're not in bed, there'll be hell 
to pay!"
“Rayna! Your language!” Skylar rebuked mildly, knowing her sister wasn't really 
angry with her.
“Who cares about my language? It's my backside I'm worried about,” Rayna 
replied, tugging Skylar to her feet. “You know I'm the one who always gets 
punished."
Skylar giggled. “That's because you're the only one who misbehaves."
“No, I'm just the only one who gets caught! Now come on. Mother will be up to 
wish us good night in a few minutes, and if we're not in our room, I'll get the 
blame."
Like giggling thieves, the girls dashed to the garden. They were as different as 
night and day, these two sisters. They celebrated their birthday on the same 
day, but Skylar was quiet and shy; Rayna was bold and boisterous. Skylar was 
malleable; Rayna was stubborn. Skylar was timid; Rayna was absolutely fearless. 
Skylar had hair as black as jet; Rayna had inherited the corn-silk blond hair of 
both her parents.
They reached the gate and opened it carefully, wincing with each creak it made. 
They slipped through, hurried down the tiled path, and tiptoed across the 
veranda. Rayna glanced into the hall that led to the central courtyard, and when 
she was certain the coast was clear, she darted toward the stairs.
Behind her, Skylar paused a moment and looked back at the Apaches by the fire. 
She loved her sister, this house, and the devoted parents who had purchased a 
frightened little Apache girl from a trio of Mexican slavers and raised the 
child as their own.
Skylar could not imagine growing up with more love or security than she'd been 
given here, and yet she was drawn back time and again to the Indians who worked 
at Rancho Verde. They were her only link to a world she could barely remember, 
and to which she no longer belonged.
“Skylar!” Rayna whispered.
Taking one last look at the fire, Skylar Templeton raised the hem of her 
nightdress and dashed into the hacienda.




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