This book is a work of fiction. It is loosely based on the historical accounts and army journals of the men who were with the army column that came to the territory that would one day be Nebraska, in 1819.

General Atkinson, Colonel Morgan, Dr. Gale and Manual Lisa were real people who participated in that historical event.

HOWEVER, all other characters in this book are fictional and have no existence outside the extremely fertile imagination of the author. The conversations between the real people, mentioned above and any of the other book characters are also fiction. They did not occur.

The following are facts of the army column's trip. It did start from Plattsburg, New York and followed the route outlined. They did lose paddlewheel steamers to the Missouri and made the last of the journey in keelboats and on foot. There was a scandal surrounding the procurement of supplies for the soldiers and the Hudson Bay Company was suspected, but nothing was ever proven as to their involvement. They did suffer terribly during the winter and had a severe scurvy outbreak. The column numbered 1500 men, women and children. They lost almost a fourth of them that first winter.

Dr. Gale did stop the scurvy outbreak by using wild onions, supplied by the Omaha Indians, who were successful farmers and welcomed the travelers.

In the spring, the camp was nearly washed away in a sudden, flash flood on the Missouri. The camp, called Cantonment Missouri, was moved up onto the high bluff and the permanent fort, Fort Atkinson, was established there. The fort existed from 1819 to 1827. There was only one serious skirmish with the local natives and that was with the Arickaree, when they attacked fur traders coming out of the Yellowstone Valley. The fort is undergoing restoration right now.

None of the fictional characters have any relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not inspired by any individual, known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.

Chapter One

"O-O-OW!"

Corinna jabbed her scalded finger into her mouth, dropping the iron soup ladle back into the cauldron bubbling in the kitchen fireplace.

"Mercy," she exclaimed, examining the fast-swelling blister, "You'd think I'd learn by now not to grab that ladle with my bare hands, wouldn't you, Elsie?"

"I'd think so." The older woman waddled up to take a better look at the burn. She turned Corinna's hand first one way, then the other, carefully inspecting the damage. "You'd better stick that finger in the water bucket over there. I'll go out to the pantry, and get some of that fresh butter we churned yesterday. That'll fix it right up. Butter's wonderful for burns, you know."

Corinna nodded, sticking her throbbing finger into the cooling water. "Well, I've got to see to this soup. "The master will be down soon. You know how he likes his food on time."

"Aye, he is particular. I'll be right back. We'll just be servin' him tonight. The missus wants a tray upstairs-she's not feeling well."

"Humph!" Corinna snorted, shaking her still-throbbing hand. "I wouldn't feel good either, if I was married to such a shriveled-up, troll of a man. He's just skin and bones-with no heart at all."

Elsie laughed out loud. "Don't be saying that too loud. He might hear you. But you are right; he'd be a real toad to be married to. I'd take more than a few trays by myself, if he crept into my bed every night."

"Oh, ugh!" Corinna shuddered at the thought. She rolled her shoulders trying to physically shake off the unwelcome picture of Master Ohelring, anywhere near her bed. Elsie disappeared down the back hall. Corinna wrapped a kitchen towel around her aching hand. Grabbing the hot handle, she lifted with all her might, to move the kettle to the outer warming hook.

Master Ohelring stepped into the kitchen. A thin, half-smile twisted the ragged corner of his mouth.

"Well, well," the old man muttered, raising a bushy eyebrow, "the kitchen help is looking much better these days."

Corinna stiffened at the sound of his voice coming over her shoulder. She hadn't heard him come into the kitchen. She usually kept a safe distance between them.

"Cook is in the pantry, Master, if you'd like something," she said quickly, to let him know they weren't alone. She had her hands full. Leaning into the cooking fireplace was dangerous. The kettle would tip, if it weren't hung just right.

A vulgar laughed echoed in his throat. "I've seen the cook, my dear. I'd much rather feast my old eyes on you."

Master Ohelring's eyes narrowed into glinty slits, watching Corinna bend into the cavernous fireplace. Hearing his heels click on the tile floor, Corinna knew she had no way out. She couldn't move forward and he blocked her path to the rear. His bony fingers thrust out, gripping through the thin folds of her threadbare skirt. Corinna cringed, feeling his fingers dig into the back of her thigh.

His voice chilled her. "How nice! Just ripe for the picking, I'll wager."

He laughed a cold, expectant laugh, pulling up a handful of skirt. "It's time we got to know one another better, missy. Makes things friendlier, don't you think?"

Corinna bit her lip in silent rage, shivering at the gnarled hand squeezing harder on the back of her leg. She ignored the other hand pulling at her skirt, touching her so rudely. She gritted her teeth and set both feet firmly. The pot settled safely on its hook. With a handful of towel, she grabbed the ladle handle. She swung around toward Ohelring, taking it with her. The ladle and its boiling liquid landed full force on Ohelring's ear.

"A-A-Augh! Damnation! Damn you, girl!"

Stumbling backward, he continued to swear, clawing at the soup chunks sliding off his ear and into his shirt collar. A red lump puffed up on the side of his neck. He ripped open the collar. The soup continued its relentless burn down his neck.

"Well, don't just stand there! Help me! You've scalded me!"

Corinna stayed rooted to her spot, not lifting a finger to help him or ease his pain. He deserved every bit of it.

Elsie's voice echoed in the cavernous kitchen. "Good heavens, Master, what's happened here?"

Elsie stood staring in the hall doorway, butter dish in one hand, its damp covering cloth in the other.

"The girl's mad, I tell you. Turned on me with a soup ladle."

"My goodness. Here, sit down! Let me wipe that," said Elsie. Noticing Corinna adjust her skirt, she threw Corinna a questioning glance over Ohelring's balding head. Jaws clenched, Corinna shook her skirt once more and glared at him in return. Elsie nodded and handed Ohelring the damp towel. Holding it against his throbbing neck, Ohelring thundered in righteous indignation. "You've done your last duty here, girl. Leave my house."

"Yes, sir. I won't work here any more. I won't be manhandled by anyone, not even you."

"Go, then. Now!"

"No sir, not without my week's wages. You owe me that," said Corinna, amazed at her own boldness. Poverty gave her backbone.

"Ha! You think I'll pay you? Not Likely! Ouch! Careful, Cook." He winced. Shock no longer protected him from the burn's searing pain. Elsie tried vainly to dab cool, soothing butter onto the raw flesh, while Ohelring twisted away, still glaring at Corinna.

She glared right back. "Oh, you'll pay me all right! Or I'll go out the front, screamin' all the way. The mistress will come down then. She won't like you fooling with the kitchen girls. No, she won't!"

Corinna stood her ground. Ohelring sat back, staring at her. She was a sight, with her fists clenched, green eyes flashing, red hair billowing around her shoulders. Her errant mobcap lay at her feet.

"Look at her, Cook. She looks like a banshee! I tell you she's insane!"

"We wouldn't want to disturb the missus, Master," said Elsie, quietly, trying to soothe the furious man. "You know she's not feelin' well."

"Humph."

"You know how bad she gets sir, if she's upset!"

Ohelring nodded. "Very well."

He reached into his vest pocket, pulled out several coins and threw them to the floor. "Take that and be damned. Don't let me see you here again."

Corinna snatched up her mobcap and darted across the floor, grabbing the coins he'd thrown her way. The gold pieces were worth far more than her normal pay. She wasn't going to leave any.

"Don't worry," she shouted, grabbing her cloak from the peg rack by the door. "I'll never work here again."

She yanked open the oaken door and stepped outside, swirling the cloak around her. The heavy door slammed, further sounding the finality of the confrontation. Pulling up her hood, she gathered its folds close for shelter from the chilly mist. Bending her head, she plunged into the evening's dusk. The boarding house wasn't far.

She nodded slightly to the lamplighter, who tipped his hat in passing. The soft streetlights twinkled at his touch. She appreciated his efforts. Walking in total darkness didn't appeal to her at all. Philadelphia's streets weren't always safe for a young woman alone. Brigands and ruffians were everywhere these days. Head down, she hurried on, oblivious to those she passed. In her haste, she didn't notice the group coming toward her on the boardwalk.

"Wha . . .No!"

"What's this. . .

Corinna found herself off balance, feet nearly off the ground, locked in a stranger's embrace, staring up into the deepest brown eyes she'd ever seen. His grip sent shivers up her spine. Her heart pounded, while she struggled to be free from this handsome stranger.

A slow, broad smile reached all the way to the corners of his eyes. He gently released her from his grasp.

"I mean you no harm, young miss. You almost bowled me over in your head-long dash."

Her cheeks grew hot. She tore her eyes away from his intense stare. She forced her gaze down to his jacket, festooned with silver buttons and braid. She'd run into a soldier-an officer, from the looks of his uniform. He was handsome, but his tone was too solicitous, almost condescending. She'd have none of that.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir. I'm on my way home. You can't be too careful these days," she said a trifle sharply, gathering her cloak back around her, to escape his appraising looks.

"Yes," he agreed, smiling again. "You should be home. Young ladies shouldn't be about the night streets unescorted."

His tone had changed almost imperceptibly to insolent, teasing, almost laughing at her.

"I'm twenty-two, I'll have you know. More than old enough to be about my own business, if I choose."

Her hair tossed in the rising night breeze. She realized she still had her mobcap in her hands. Ladies never went about in public with uncovered hair. "Oh-What he must think of me . . ."

She glared at him, to cover the rising warmth still creeping up her neck, ignoring the continued pounding of her heart. She could almost feel his eyes taking in every detail of her face, her hair, everything. Their eyes met again and she shivered again. His gaze drilled deep into her as though he could see into her very soul. She wanted no man to see that much of her.

"If you'll excuse me, I don't generally stand on street corners talking to strangers. By your leave, gentlemen." She nodded her head to the small group of soldiers standing behind the officer she had run into. Yanking her mobcap over her curls, she stalked off into the evening shadows, praying not to hear footfalls behind her.

"Guess she told you, Captain Humbolt," said the sergeant. The men watched the pert redhead disappear into the evening mist. "Quite a feisty, tiny mite, ain't she."

Humbolt laughed out loud. "Yes, Sergeant Thomas, she is-and not impressed with soldiers at all."

"Want me to find out more about her for you, sir? I doubt she'd be hard to find," said Thomas.

"Thank you-no, Sergeant," said Humbolt. "We're not going to be here long. We've got a long march. We need to recruit a few more laundresses to fill in for the ones we couldn't get in Plattsburg. Then we'll be ready to move. Remember, we have to be in Pittsburgh by April 30."

"Very well, sir. Whatever you say. Come along, boys. Back to the public house. Tomorrow will come early enough."

Corinna could hear the soldiers tramping away into the distance. She rushed into the boarding house and breathed a great sigh of relief, once she shut the heavy door behind her.

"Goodness, child. What has happened?" said Mrs. Grady, her landlady, poking her head out of the dining room. "You look as though the devil himself chased you home."

"Oh, it's been a bad evening, ma'am. I'll tell you about it at supper, if I'm not too late."

"Of course not. But hurry, everyone else is here. I'm just layin' food on the table."

"I'll be right back down."

Corinna disappeared up the stairs to her small room to freshen up. Dishes were being passed when she returned to the big dining room. Boarders surrounded the dining tables as usual, but Artie, one of Corinna's closest friends, had saved her a place.

"Hello, dear," called Artie. "Come here. Do sit down, we're having a fine gossip about the soldiers tonight."

"Soldiers?" Corinna asked. Those demanding eyes still burned in her memory.

"The ones that are recruiting for laundresses," said Arabelle, another of Corinna's friends. "It says on the poster the Philadelphia 6th regiment is looking for laundresses to go with the column to the new Louisiana Purchase country. President Monroe wants to send another expedition, like Lewis and Clark. He wants to know what we bought for all that money."

"That must be why there were so many of them on the street tonight," said Corinna. "I ran into one of their officers on my way home. He nearly knocked me down."

"I'm not surprised. The whole regiment will come through sooner or later," said Artie. "They'll be marching west for weeks."

"What a Godforsaken place to go," exclaimed Clarrise, a fourth boarder. "You'd never catch me traveling into that wilderness. Who knows what savages you'd run into."

A shudder shook Clarisse to the bone.

"And there's nothing there," said Matilda, chiming in. "You'd be traveling in wagons and sleeping on the ground. Ugh."

"Oh, traveling with the army isn't all that bad," said Artie, reading the recruiting poster more closely. "I did laundry for the troops in my husband's company, during the last war. It's hard work, but you get paid regular. And if the whole 6th regiment is going, there'll be a fort there soon, you can count on that."

"And think of how many men will be there," exclaimed Arabelle, her eyes shining at the prospect. "Way more men than women. You should have made the acquaintance of some of the soldiers on your way home, Corinna. Our company would be especially prized. We're young and pretty."

She laughed a low, suggestive laugh, patting her hair and shrugging a shapely shoulder. Corinna's eyes widened, catching the meaning of Arabelle's comment.

"My, Arabelle, you do carry on." She couldn't stop the flush she could feel rising in her cheeks while she passed another of the food-laden bowls.

"I'm just saying, you could make much more than just your army pay, if you wanted to. Soldiers get lonely. They'll pay just to talk to you. Even more if you're 'familiar' with them-you know!"

Arabelle laughed again, smoothing the golden ringlets piled high on her head, batting her eyes.

"Arabelle!" Corinna shook her head. All Arabelle ever thought of was men.

"Well, that is true," said Artie, frowning in Arabelle's direction. "But you don't have to do anything more than laundry, if you don't want to. The real prize for doing laundry-if you can stand it-is the land."

Corinna snapped around to face Artie.

"Land? What's land got to do with doing laundry?"

"Why, it says right here. If you sign on, the government will give your own land in the new territory- 40 acres a year-200 acres if you stay five years. The longer you stay, the more land you get-anywhere you want out there. It's a bonus for serving."

"Even laundresses?"

"Even laundresses."

Arabelle snatched the poster from Artie. "Let me see that."

She peered at the poster, then announced. "And that ain't all. You can get out any time you want. All you have to do is marry one of them soldiers!"

She laughed that throaty laugh again. "Imagine that! I don't think I'd ever want out bad enough to get tied down to just one man. The more men, the more money, I always say."

"Arabelle!" Artie's icy tone cut through. "There are many ways to earn a decent living. You're talented. You could do lots of other things, besides be a 'gentlemen's companion'."

"Oh Artie. Don't be an old stick in the mud. I'm sure I could find other things to do, but they don't pay nearly as well."

Corinna stared down at her food-laden plate, thinking while the others chattered on. "I'm free to go. I have no position here. This may be my chance." She finally spoke up. "Artie, are you seriously considering the poster?"

"I might. I'm barely getting by here. I have no family left. Since Mr. Baxter was killed in the war. I'm just managing. It's not such a bad life. The new territory might be interesting."

"What about you, Arabelle? Would you go?"

Arabelle squinched up her face, curling a pouty lip, considering the question. "I'd have to think about it. According to that poster, you'd have to do laundry for seventeen men every week. I don't know if I'd want to work that hard. It would ruin my hands." She extended a be-ringed hand for all to admire, ignoring the fact it could stand a good scrub in the wash tub.

"We could go together," said Corinna. "We could help one another, then get our land in the same place."

"Why would you want to go, Corinna?" asked Clarisse. "You've got a position with Ohelring's. That's a beautiful home to work in."

"Well, the Master's not so nice. He grabbed my leg in the kitchen this evening. I bopped him with the soup ladle. Nearly scalded his ear off, I think."

"Oh my!" said Matilda. "You're lucky he didn't have you hauled in."

"I threatened to scream and raise a fuss." Corinna smiled at the recollection. "He was more afraid of having his missus find out than he was mad at me."

"Good for you, dear," said Artie.

"Well, you're out for sure, now," said Arabelle. "Once the word gets out, you'll not get work anywhere in that area."

"Well," said Artie, "Let's think about it overnight. We can talk at breakfast. That's a lot of laundry to do for empty frontier land. There's time to sign on tomorrow."

"You'd never catch me going out there," declared Matilda, handing around yet another dinner bowl. "Not ever."

Back in her room, Corinna lifted a tiny key from around her neck. Kneeling down, she unlocked the wooden travel trunk at the foot of her bed. Clutching the key's crimson ribbon, she raised the lid to gaze at the trunk's meager contents. These few things were all she had left of home and family, the few possessions she had left from their life in Ireland and Philadelphia.

She ran her fingers over her mother's bible, and the tiny shirt that once belonged to her little brother. Nothing but a memory remained of her blessed father. She caressed her only prized possession, a nightgown made of delicate Irish linen, carefully embroidered. She and her mother had stitched it, the first piece in her meager dowry. A few other practical things and small piles of well-worn clothing filled the trunk's spaces.

"There's naught but graves to hold me here," she whispered to no one but herself. "Perhaps I've a new life in the new Missouri Territory," she said aloud, rolling the name around, tasting the sound of its newness. "Maybe I will have the home father always dreamed of."

Taking out her everyday nightgown, she closed the trunk gently, locking it again and slipping the ribbon over her head once more. Changing quickly into the coarse, muslin shift, she slid into the cold bed, shivering until the stiff sheets warmed from her own body heat. She drifted off to sleep, dreaming of an Irish sod house, with fresh Irish linen, on beautiful black earth, deep in Louisiana Purchase Territory and of deep brown eyes that pierced her very soul.

Sergeant Thomas stood, fists jammed on his hipbones, surveying the scene. "This ain't gonna be easy, Cap'n. We got lots a company."

Humbolt nodded, staring down the long line of tables beside them. A sea of army blue, gray and green disappeared into the hall's shadowy interior. "You're right, Sgt. Thomas. Looks like every company in the regiment is here today. We all need laundresses. Women must have left in droves after the war."

"Can't say as I blame 'em, sir. We lost a lotta good people in that mess. Nearly lost you, too, sir."

"Don't remind me, Sergeant." Humbolt's hand unconsciously went to his throat, to the thin red line that wrapped from just under his right ear, down, around and into his left collar, "I'm not looking forward to this trip. I don't think Indians have changed that much since 1812. I'll believe Lewis & Clark's stories of peaceful Indians when we see them."

"Here's hopin' we see 'em, sir. It's the ones we don't see I worry about."

"You're right about that. Let's get set up. It's almost time." Humbolt sat down, re-stacking the pile of recruitment papers in front of him. Thomas busied himself, straightening the rest of their allotted space. A loud conversation caught his attention.

"Sir? Ain't that Cap'n Richardson, with S company, down the way?"

Humbolt glanced toward the noisy exchange. "Don't attract his attention! He's already in a mood. He'll give me enough grief as it is, if he finds out we're still recruiting."

"Excuse me, sir. I thought. . ."

"Yes, Sergeant, he's my friend. But he can be insufferable. Especially since . . .I just don't want to talk to him this morning."

"Hmm. . ." Thomas nodded.

The doors opened and the waiting line surged in. Humbolt straightened in his chair. "Well, Sergeant, look sharp. Here come the ladies."

"If this takes much longer, I'm going home!" Arabelle stamped her foot to punctuate her grumpy comment. "Just look. Now I've kicked dust all over this hem. We haven't even signed up and I'm getting filthy."

"We agreed to do this," said Artie. "You can't quit now. A little dust will brush right off."

"This trip will be interesting, Arabelle." said Corinna. "Look at that fancy gentlemen reading the poster. Even he's interested." The three stared at an elegantly dressed man peering at the poster through his monocle.

"Well, I never," said Arabelle. "He just tore that poster down. Why would he do that?"

"I don't know," said Corinna, "but look! He's stuffed it into his frock coat and look how quickly he's leaving!"

The three watched, fascinated. The gentleman frantically flagged down a passing hansom cab. They could hear him shouting at the driver as soon as he settled himself inside.

"Quickly, driver-to Mayberry's Public House!"

"Aye, sir!" snapped the cabby, whipping the horses to a quick run.

"Whatever do you suppose that's all about?" Arabelle's question hung in the air.

Artie finally answered, "I'm sure we'll never know. And it won't concern us, anyway. Maybe he's an army supplier, looking for business."

"Well it won't matter," said Corinna. "Here, we're headed inside, Arabelle. We're almost to the recruiting tables. We don't want to quit now."

She squirmed to get a better look at what lay ahead of them. Voices rattled through the dimly lit hall. A steady stream of men and women preceded them, being directed to the myriad of tables. To her consternation, she recognized the officer sitting at the table in front of them. "Oh Artie, that's the officer I ran into last night. I hope he doesn't remember me."

"It won't hurt if he does. He needs laundresses or he wouldn't be here."

"But I nearly knocked him over. And he treated me like a child. Said I shouldn't be out by myself at night. Maybe he won't let me sign up."

An icy stab pierced Corinna's heart. What if he wouldn't let her go? What would she do? Earning her own land had become an overpowering dream in the space of 24 hours.

"The two of us will vouch for you," said Arabelle. "If we're going, we're all going together."

"That's right, dear. If we sign up together, it should be all right."

The officer's voice intruded. "Please, ladies. We don't have all day."

He surveyed the three of them, then shook his head. "Are you sure you're laundresses? Have any of you ever been west? This is not a lady's day-outing we're going on."

Artie answered, chin held high, mobcap bouncing, accentuating every word. "I was a laundress for F Company, Philadelphia 6th Infantry in the last war, Captain, for my husband's company. He was killed then. You wouldn't begrudge me a way to earn a living, would you?"

"Of course not, ma'am," Humbolt said, recovering his manners. "It's just that your one friend looks a mite young for a trip with an army unit and the other. . ."

The Captain's voice trailed off, staring at Arabelle. It was clear from his arched eyebrow and slightly curled lip; he did not like the idea of having someone so obviously not a laundress in his company.

"We'll be just fine," said Corinna. "I'm sure traveling with you won't be much worse than coming across the ocean in a stinking old boat. I managed that. And I've made my own way since my parents died."

"Well, you'll have to do it better than you did last night," he said. A small smile played around the corners of his mouth. "We can't have you crashing about the prairie, running into buffalo."

Red was quickly becoming her permanent face coloring around this man. "That was an accident. I'll be much more careful in the wilderness."

"I hope so. And you?" Again Humbolt raised an eyebrow in Arabelle's direction.

"You'll find I'm very talented, Captain," she said gently, dropping her eyes, letting the phrase roll in his direction.

"That's what I'm afraid of. I won't tolerate any trouble on this trip. I don't want my men fighting over female favors. You understand?"

"What a rude suggestion, Captain," Corinna snapped, irritated at his insinuation. "We're hiring on as laundresses, not companions for your soldiers."

Humbolt stared at Corinna. Arabelle suppressed a smirk. Others didn't usually defend her virtue.

"Where do we sign, Captain?" asked Artie. "You'll find we'll be a help, not a lot of problems."

Humbolt drummed his fingers on the table, considering the prospect of these three on the trail with him. Corinna studied him carefully, watching his hand unconsciously rubbing his jaw line. Looking closely, she saw it-the thin ragged line his fingers traced while thinking. Eyes widening, she moved to get a better look, trying not to stare, or to be too obvious. He massaged his neck, stretching his chin up. Corinna could see the line from ear to collar; his hand didn't cover the whole thing.

"Goodness. Someone had nearly slit his throat! He's lucky to be alive." She glanced at Artie, then back to the Captain. Artie nodded, watching his hand as well.

He finally sighed, shook his head again and said, "Sign right here. Here's a set of papers for each of you. Can you all read what you're signing?"

"Of course we can," said Corinna, "You really don't have to be insulting, Captain."

"I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into. I don't want any complaints the first time you have to slog through the river mud or see an Indian on the hillside."

He watched silently while the three read the papers and wrote their names on the bottom. Taking the papers back, he read aloud, "Artie Baxter, Arabelle Colter, and Corinna McGinnis?"

"And do we get to know your name? Or are you just a nameless Captain?" Corinna spoke crisply, wishing she didn't find this irritating man so attractive.

Humbolt struggled to maintain a straight face. He found her amusing and charming and exasperating all at the same time. "I'm Captain Geoffrey Humbolt, Miss McGinnis, at your service. Only from now on it will be Captain Humbolt, or sir to you." He turned to Artie. "Mrs. Baxter. May I trust you'll explain the details of being a laundress to your companions?"

"Yes, Captain. We'll be ready."

He shook his head again. "Well ladies, we'll be pulling out Wednesday. Get your things together and be here at 7 a.m. sharp. Do any of you know how to drive an oxen team?"

Silence prevailed.

"I guessed as much. I'll have a driver assigned to your wagon. I'm putting you all in one wagon. You can't take any more belongings than that."

They shared looks, then Corinna again spoke up. "One wagon will be fine. We planned to be together."

Humbolt nodded and watched the trio disappear into the crowd. "Corinna McGinnis." He grudgingly admired the spunk with which she spoke up for herself. "What a fiery little one." He shook his head. He had to stop thinking of her as little. She was a grown woman and had some very experienced friends, from the looks of the Colter woman. He'd seen laundresses like her before. Little better than the camp followers who straggled along after every army. More interested in easy money from the men than the work. But Mrs. Baxter would be a help. And he didn't have time to worry about it. He still needed three more laundresses.

"Next!"

"I'm sorry Arabelle, there's just no more room in this wagon!" Corinna looked down into Arabelle's distressed face. "You'll just have to leave that hatbox with Mrs. Grady. Besides, what are you going to do with a Paris hat in the middle of nowhere? There's no one there but Indians to see it!"

Arabelle ran her fingers lovingly around the lid of the shiny hatbox, wiping off the dust being kicked up around them, not wanting to leave anything behind.

"Come on, miss. Please finish," begged Private Jamison, their assigned driver. "Cap'n Humbolt will be mad as a wet hen if we hold up formation."

He glanced over his shoulder down the long line of wagons forming in front and behind them. They would be ready to go any minute.

Arabelle heaved a great sigh, handing the hatbox back to Mrs. Grady. "Take good care of it, Mrs. Grady. There's a mighty fine hat in that box. I wore that hat once in New York City."

"Thank you, Arabelle," said Mrs. Grady, taking the hatbox gingerly, holding the cord with two fingers, as though the box were covered with growing slime. She set it quickly behind the seat. "It will be waiting for you, if you decide to come back. I don't wear such things."

"We won't be back, Mrs. Grady," Corinna said fiercely. "We're going to stay in the new territory and make our fortunes and have our own land, just like you."

"I hope you do, child. I hope you do. But I must go. The rest of the boarders will be wanting breakfast. I'm late already. Good-bye to all of you"

The three waved and called their good-byes. Mrs. Grady expertly wheeled the buckboard around and rapidly disappeared from view. Sharp bugle bleats tore through the morning air. Corinna jumped at the sound.

"Whatever is that?" she demanded of Private Jamison.

"Better get used to the bugle, miss," he said. "You're going to hear a lot of it from now on. We do everything by the bugle-it's a lot louder than a Captain, or even a Sergeant. That's our signal. Please ladies, get in?"

Jamison offered a hand up over the wagon wheel to Artie, then Arabelle, and then Corinna. She settled herself on the wagon seat, alongside him. Arabelle and Artie had fashioned sitting places among their things so no one would have to walk beside the wagon.

The clatter of hooves, coming up from behind, demanded their attention. Captain Humbolt rode by, taking in their state of readiness. He nodded to Jamison and rode on, ignoring everyone else.

"Is he always that abrupt?" asked Corinna.

"Not always, miss. Cap'n Humbolt's one of the good ones, you'll see. Most of us are real glad to serve under him instead of some of the other officers."

"Well, he's certainly been grumpy enough to us."

"He's got a lot on his mind, miss. He's responsible for all of us in R Company," said Jamison, picking up the reins from around the wagon break.

The bugle blared again. He cracked the whip and oxen lumbered forward, in time with the rest of the train. Corinna grabbed the edge of the wooden seat, trying not to fall backward.

"What's your name, private? " she asked. "Do I have to call you sir, too?"

"Oh, no, miss. That's just for officers. Private Jamison will do in public. But here, you can call me Jamie, if you like - my friends do." Pink crept up from the collar of his uniform.

"Thank you, Jamie," Corinna said gently. "And you may call me Corinna. We must be friends, if we're going to go all these miles together."

She smiled quickly at him then looked away, along the wagon train, to see if she could catch another glimpse of the captain. Maybe he wasn't such an old grouch. Jamie seemed to like him.

Arabelle settled back into her seat, leaning against the canvas stave. Artie pulled the edge of the canvas in a little closer and arranged herself behind it to keep out as much trail dust as possible.

Corinna found herself swaying gently as the wagon rocked from side to side. R Company, Philadelphia 6th regiment, stretched out in front of her, as far as she could see, over the next hill, headed overland to Pittsburgh, on the Ohio River.

"Well, done, Suthridge, well done."

"Thank you, sir. I thought this might be important enough to cut my trip short and come immediately back to Toronto."

"Quite right, quite right."

Lord Warington struggled to read the last few lines on the torn poster. Suthridge remained ramrod stiff in front of the massive Hudson Bay Company desk. Warington finally glanced up.

"Oh, do sit down, Reginald. We must talk."

"Thank you, sir," said Suthridge, with a sigh of relief. Tucking his monocle into his waistcoat pocket, he dragged one of the overstuffed leather chairs to in front of the desk.

"Well," demanded Warington, "What's your assessment of this situation?"

"Sir, having the American army in the beaver country can only hurt the Hudson Bay Company. I'm sure they'll favor Astor's men, since they're also American."

"I think you're right, Suthridge," said Warington, pleased with his assistant's reasoning. "What do you suggest?"

"Perhaps they could be stopped. The poster says they're going to the mouth of the Yellowstone River. If they don't make it that far, they won't be able to interfere too much."

"We must be careful," said Warington. "England and America are on friendly terms. We can't do anything to upset that, you understand."

"Of course, sir. But you know as well as I, that the natives can be hostile out there. And supplies are notoriously hard to get. An army can't survive without supplies."

"That's true."

"They're marching overland to Pittsburgh. I think I could intercept them there, even though they've got quite a head start. I can travel much faster than a walking infantry."

"What's happening in Pittsburgh?"

"From what I could find out, they've contracted to have sternwheelers built, to take them down river to St. Louis and from there, up the Missouri River to the Yellowstone Valley. Perhaps we could influence their trip."

"Quite so, quite so," Warington smiled. "Suthridge, I think you need to take a trip-to Pittsburgh, then to St. Louis. To see to our interests out there."

"Yes, sir." Suthridge nodded, watching Warington make out a pay voucher.

"Take this to the bookkeeper. This will get you started. Set up temporary offices as you need them. Buy whatever you need to persuade the natives to help us encourage that army to stay away from the Yellowstone Valley. Keep in touch."

"I will, sir. This may take a while. I may need to move to Pittsburgh and even St. Louis."

"Well, then, move. The more trouble the army encounters, the less likely they are to stay. That's all." Warington dismissed Sutheridge with a wave of his hand.

"Yes, sir." Sutheridge left the office quickly, planning his next move while the bookkeeper converted the voucher to cash.

"I say, do we keep records on the scouts who've worked for us in the beaver country?"

"Yes sir. We keep track of the traders as well as the scouts who've served us."

"Oh good. Do you have those lists?"

"Yes, sir. I issue all their pay."

"Have a list ready for me by tomorrow, will you?" I need to know if we can reach any of them who might be near Pittsburgh - Ohio?"

"Pittsburgh is still in Pennsylvania, sir, just all the way west."

"Wherever!" said Sutheridge, brandishing his monocle. "I'll want to contact some of them for a special assignment."

"Yes, sir. We just know their whereabouts the last time we sent them money. I'll get you what we have."

Suthridge nodded. Stuffing the wad of money into his waistcoat pocket, he headed down the hall. That list of scouts in the colonies was just what he needed. Moving arrangements would come next. As slow as an army traveled, he could take a week to get his affairs settled and still beat the army to Pittsburgh.

Chapter Two

Corinna's arm ached from stirring the melted fat in her small wooden bucket. "That looks right," she said to herself. "Now, is it lye into fat or fat into lye?"

Sitting on her campstool, she regarded the lye water warily, trying to remember what Artie had said. Soap making was more difficult than she had remembered. She'd seen her mother do it, but had never been allowed to help.

"Well, here goes. . ." She turned her head away, crinkling her nose against the acrid lye odor. The thin stream of lye water hit the melted fat and exploded into spatters. "Oh! Mercy!"

Corinna jumped back, dropping the bucket and kicking over the fat bucket as well.

"Oh, no!" She cried aloud, watching her precious fat disappear into the grassy stubble. Tears welled up in her eyes. The fat was so hard to come by. She'd been saving meat scraps all week to make this small batch of soap. She furiously wiped the lye-fat mixture off her arm. The concentrate had already begun to do its damage. A thin red welt popped up.

Artie's voice echoed around the wagon. "Are you all right, dear?"

"Oh yes, Artie. I'm all right. Just clumsy as a cow, that's all."

"What happened?" Artie asked, coming around the end of the wagon.

"Oh, I forgot what you told me, and mixed the lye water and fat the wrong way. I'll never learn how to make this old soap. Some laundress I'm turning out to be." Corinna aimed a swift kick at a tiny tuft of grass. "I don't usually make such silly mistakes."

Artie laughed gently. "It'll be all right. No use crying over spilt milk or rather spilt fat. We'll make another batch later, if we can find enough fat. I've still got lye water waiting. You can make it for both of us and I'll watch, if you think you won't remember how."

"Oh, I'll remember. I'll probably still have this."

Corinna held up her reddening arm. Artie inspected it carefully. The whitish blister glistened against the angry redness surrounding it. "Just look. First I burn my hand at Ohelring's, now this. I'm going to be a mess at this rate."

"Doesn't matter, they'll both fade in time. Come on, the bugle's blown for supper. We need to get in line or there won't be any left."

"I know. This camp always fills up at mealtimes."

The two walked together, joining the throng of soldiers and laundresses heading for the cook fire. The column had set up a temporary camp near a small village to rest the animals and replenish supplies. A complete meal, eaten in a leisurely pace, would be a treat tonight.

"Evening, ladies."

Captain Humbolt's voice surprised them, coming from behind. "Everything all right this evening?"

"Just fine, Captain," said Corinna, quickly pulling her shawl down to hide her reddened arm. He didn't need to see the new burn. He already thought she was clumsy. "We're on our way to supper."

"You'll be pleased to know we're having roast pork tonight. We managed to buy a few piglets from the local farmers."

Artie looked up at him, surprised at his direct address to them. "That will be nice. We can always use the fat-to make more soap."

He dropped into step beside them, staring ahead, yet matching their pace. "Well, all my men have been instructed to save their fat scraps for you laundresses. Tell Sgt. Thomas if you're not getting the supplies you need."

He stopped, turning to face them. Against her will, Corrina's heart started beating triple time in her chest; his closeness was that unsettling. She bit the inside of her lip and returned his even gaze. She swallowed hard to keep up her nerve and tried to smile, to invite further conversation. "We will, Captain. Thank you for your concern."

He finally smiled that warm, broad smile again, breaking their staring match. "By your leave, then. Enjoy the meal."

He turned and walked away from them, away from the column of wagons, toward the officers' mess.

Corinna watched him go. She couldn't help but notice the smooth ripple of muscle beneath those white military breeches he filled out so well. An unfamiliar tightening grabbed deep in her gut. She forced her gaze back down to the ground. She touched her cheek to see if the heat she felt was all inside.

"Most unseemly, Corinna," she muttered. "Mother would never approve."

She couldn't help stealing one more look. The Captain certainly cut a striking figure in his uniform.

"Military uniforms do flatter a man, don't they," Artie said, seeing Corinna's gaze follow the Captain.

"I hadn't noticed," Corinna mumbled.

"Oh pshaw, dear," said Artie. "I've given many a man a good once-over, when he's not looking. You're old enough for a beau and that Captain would be an amazing catch. You just keep looking at him. He's noticing you. Don't you ever doubt it."

"He thinks I don't belong here. He said so when we signed on."

"You just keep looking, like I said. Officers don't normally speak to laundresses like he just did. He's got his eye on you, you wait and see."

"My, goodness!" Corinna looked his way again. "Well, I must admit, he is a handsome man and he does seem to be a gentleman."

"Mm. You just keep smiling at him. You never know what might happen. He certainly wasn't walking with us to look at me!" A broad smile crinkled its way across Artie's face.

Corinna allowed herself to replay the conversation over and over in her mind, remembering his strong arms wrapped around her the first time they met. A warm tingle surged through her, fueling her imagination and igniting her curiosity. The feeling left her wanting to know more about him. She struggled to retain his every movement and gesture, including how he covered the scar on his throat as he talked.

"Artie, how do you suppose he got that scar?"

"I'd guess he served in the war, dear. Looks to me like someone tried to make it his last war."

"Well, I'm certainly glad they didn't get the job done." Corinna smiled again, glancing toward the officer's mess. She could see him walking toward a table, already set, where another officer sat waiting. He evidently had company. The two walked on, toward the lengthening food line. "Artie, have you seen Arabelle?"

"Not since we set up camp."

"She disappeared right after Jamie unhitched the team."

"I'm sure she's found a friend. This break in the march is a fine stop for her. She'll be looking for some company."

"Oh Artie, don't be too hard on her."

"You know her ways, Corinna. She's really not good company for a young woman like you."

"Now Artie, she was good to me when I needed a friend, you know that. I'd have frozen to death on the curb, where that hard-hearted landlord sat me when my parents died if Arabelle hadn't taken pity on me and brought me to Mrs. Grady's."

"So you said. I have a hard time seeing Arabelle in a guardian angel role."

"Well, I didn't have a penny to my name. She even paid my first month's rent till I found work."

"I can't imagine why. I've never known Arabelle to spend a dime on anyone but herself."

"I tried to pay her back when I found work, but she wouldn't let me."

Artie shook her head, disbelief written all over her face. "I suppose no one is all bad, but still, she could get both of you into trouble with her man-chasing ways. You don't want to follow her example just the same."

"I know. Mother taught me differently than that. But I can't abandon her either. I'm sure she's around somewhere."

"I'm sure she is. But, if she spends too much time with the men, she'll be hearing from the Captain. If she neglects her wash, he could court martial her."

"Court martial?"

"Yes. We signed a contract with the army, remember? He could dock her pay, or cut her whiskey ration or even court martial her. She needs to be careful."

"Oh my! A court martial sounds terrible."

"It could be. Time in the stockade is no fun. And Arabelle always seems to be elsewhere when work needs to be done."

"Oh look, there she is now." Corinna pointed ahead. Arabelle had just stepped into the crowd forming at the roasting pit, from behind one of the wagons. She busily adjusted the folds of her skirt and the tucks of her bodice.

"Hello," she cried, a trifle too gaily, "I'm famished. How about you?"

"Yes," said Corinna. "We've been making soap. We missed you."

"Oh, I have plenty," said Arabelle, shrugging a shapely shoulder. "I had Beulah make some for me-she needed the extra money."

"You paid Beulah to make soap for you? How could you do that?"

"I told you once, soldiers will pay for your company. It's a lot easier than making soap. Besides, soap making ruins your skin. Just look at your hands; they're all raw. And that burn on your arm. It will leave a scar, you mark my words."

"It will not! Will it, Artie?" Corinna ran her fingers over the red welt on her arm, measuring its size against her fingers.

"I don't think so; your skin's still young. Arabelle, Corinna doesn't need to borrow trouble by following your lead."

"Oh, pooh. Artie, you worry too much. Let's eat."

They turned their attention to the food being ladled onto tin plates, out of steaming cast iron kettles. The pork smelled delicious. Supper would pass quickly.

"Geoffrey, come-sit down. Your cook is ready to serve."

Humbolt smiled at the officer already seated at the small camp table. A well-worn muslin cloth covered the worst of the nicks and scratches in the bare wood. Army issue plates and flatware did nothing to enhance the gentility of the scene.

"It's not like home, is it Cyrus?" said Humbolt. He gave a quick, wry, laugh and poured a measure of whiskey into each of the tin cups on the table.

"Your mother wouldn't have fed the dogs on plates this common, old man," commented Captain Richardson, raising one of the tin plates and giving it a sharp rap on the table edge.

"Careful, Cy, you'll dent the good tin!" Humbolt laughed again, handing Richardson one of the cups. "Here's to the new territory," he said, raising his cup. "May this trip be an easier one than our last one together."

"Here, here!" Richardson agreed. "Hopefully this one won't turn into a war."

Cyrus downed the drink in one quick gulp. "Fill it up again. It's been a long ride this far. I didn't think we'd ever get the company settled down. I do believe S Company is bigger than R Company, Geoffrey."

"Well, if you have more men, shouldn't they get your work done quicker?"

"Humph. They don't seem to-just more slackers to make more mistakes."

"Too bad. Never mind, we should have a good meal tonight."

The aroma of roast pork wafted around them. The cook approached the table. The two men continued their conversation while the meal ebbed and flowed, eating but taking no real notice of the various dishes set before them. The food disappeared while they reminisced. Darkness dropped quietly over the army camp. Their talked finally turned to the matter at hand.

"Geoffrey, do you foresee any difficulty in getting to Pittsburgh from here in a week?"

"No. This rest will put our animals in good shape for the last march. We'll be there in plenty of time."

"I don't see how you do it. I drive and drive but it's always a struggle. You always manage to get the best recruits and stock. I have to beat every inch out of the dregs I'm stuck with."

Richardson took another deep draw from his cup. Humbolt held his tongue. He'd known Richardson long enough know it was futile to argue with him when he was drinking or was in one of his "moods". They often coincided. "Well, we're breaking camp tomorrow. What about you, Cyrus?"

"We'll wait one more day. I still need a laundress or two. We started out short. We may be able to pick up new ones here in the village. Don't have any spare ones do you? I've noticed a few really pretty ones in your company," he said nodding toward the laundresses' camping area. "You've always had excellent taste in women, Geoffrey."

"For all the good it did me, Cyrus." Humbolt frowned, a past memory intruding on their evening.

"Heavens, are you still carrying a torch for Rosamunde? She dismissed you more than a year ago. She's probably a mother with a squally brat, by now."

"Of course I'm not," Humbolt snapped. "I just don't intend to get involved with another woman until I leave the service."

"Who said anything about getting involved? Laundresses are certainly beneath your station-to be noticed and 'enjoyed' perhaps, but not considered seriously. This will be a long trip. Rank does have its privileges, you know." Richardson winked and downed another drink.

Humbolt shook his head. "The women are part of my command. I'm responsible for them, just as I am the soldiers. I won't take advantage of their position or mine."

"Oh, balderdash. Enjoy yourself while you can. A hostile Indian could shoot you dead within a month, then where will you and all your principles be?

Humbolt laughed. "Cold in the ground, while you explain what happened to my dear mother. She was heartbroken when Rosamunde married someone else. The least you could do is tell her a good story about me."

"I'll tell her you were shot in the backside, lolly-gagging about with a laundress, that's what. She'd have a fit."

"You're hopeless Cy, you really are." Humbolt shook his head. They'd been chums since childhood and had always been as different as night and day. "You'd better head back to your company. I'll send an escort. It's pitch black by now."

"Well, thank you for the meal and the good company. We may be headed down river together. We should get to Pittsburgh about the same time. See you there?"

"Right, we'll meet again. Sergeant?" Humbolt called into the darkness.

"Yes, sir. Escort for Cap'n Richardson is ready whenever he is, sir."

"Very well."

Humbolt watched the small party ride out of camp, disappearing into the velvet blackness. The moving candle lamps flickered in the darkness, marking their journey. He sat down on a camp box next to the fire, staring deeply into the flickering firelight. Rosemunde's face danced before him in the golden flames. The words of her final letter echoed in his mind:

"I can no longer endure the uncertainty, Geoffrey. You insist on putting yourself in danger again and again. If you must continue this military career, you will continue it without me. I have found another who places my love above his career in his heart. I hope you will be happy, I know I will be.

Rosamunde"

Pressing his palms against his temples, Humbolt tried to force out the conflicting emotions. Military commitment and love did not mix, at least for him. Honor and duty were the bedrock of his life. Rosamunde had dismissed both. He was not interested in a diversion, like Cyrus. At that, another face shimmered in the firelight, almost recognizable, with fiery ringlets surrounding it. He looked away from the fires quickly, running his hand over his eyes. He was not going to notice any of them. He stomped off toward his sleeping tent.

"Well, I'm going to sleep over there where the grass is clean and longer," declared Arabelle. "You-all can sleep here, if you want."

"Just don't get too far from the wagon," said Corinna.

"I'll be fine. We've got lots of protection with us."

Corinna watched Arabelle walk into the darkness with her blankets draped over her arm, away from the campfire lights.

"She shouldn't just disappear, Artie. There are wild animals out here; she could get hurt."

"I'm sure she won't be alone long, dear. There's more than likely a two-legged animal meeting her-see there."

Artie nodded at another shadowy form slipping away from the wagons in the same direction as Arabelle.

"Oh!" Corinna quickly looked away.

"People will be human, dear, and on the trail the niceties of polite society disappear entirely too fast."

Corinna sat quietly by their small fire, brushing the day's dust from her hair. The fire's highlights intermingled with her own. Thoughts of Arabelle and her companion, out in the darkness, swirled in her mind.

Her own encounter with Master Ohelring returned. She shivered at the memory. She wanted no more of that kind of attention. But Arabelle obviously enjoyed the attention she was getting. Things got so complicated where men were concerned. Just thinking about the captain cause her to feel-what? She wasn't sure. She just knew he made her feel things she'd never felt before.

Satisfied she'd removed most of the day's dust, she quickly readied herself for sleep, plaiting her luxurious locks loosely into one long braid. Longing for her real bed at the boarding house, she burrowed under one of Mrs. Grady's quilts. "Thank goodness she sent the quilts along with us."

Footsteps and voices drifted to her.

"Yes, sir, Cap'n. All's well."

"Be on your guard, Private. We don't want any problems. We'll be moving on to Pittsburgh tomorrow. Make sure all of your ladies are accounted for."

"Yes, sir. We'll be ready."

"Very well. Carry on."

Humbolt's footsteps faded away. Corinna smiled. He'd stopped to ask about them. He was concerned for them. She'd find a way through that military reserve while she earned her plot of land. That thought carried her to dreamland.

General Atkinson stared at the sea of tents laid out around his own. The noise of more than 1,500 men, women, children and all the animals it took to move them assaulted his ears. Crumpling the papers he held in his hand, he spun around to face the source of his aggravation.

He glared down at the supplier cowering in front of him. "Damnation, Johnson, I need these supplies! Some of my men have been here nearly a month. You've been paid and paid well."

The man shook his head, opened his mouth as if to speak, then fell silent.

"Well, answer me! Where are my army's supplies?" Atkinson's fist hit the tabletop. "Tell me why I shouldn't throw you in the nearest army stockade."

"Now, now, general. I can't get your supplies if I'm in jail. I'm doing my best to fill your contract. I'm an honest man. It's just that things ain't comin' from the East like they should."

"Well they'd better get here soon, or I'll have your hide. The sixth infantry can't eat Pittsburgh dust for dinner. Now get out of my sight."

The little man scurried away from the tent, clutching his hat, thankful to get away with his skin. Atkinson paced in front of his camp table, smoothing the crumpled paper, reading and rereading the reports his commanders had given him. "The army moves on its belly-it's got to eat!" he bellowed to no one in particular. "And it can't march on water!"

"I've got to give him his supplies; he's going to put me in jail!" Johnson stood rigidly in front of Suthridge, nervously fingering his hatband. "I can't put him off any longer. He's bound he's going up river. If I don't get them, he'll go elsewhere and put me in the army's stockade."

"Calm down, Johnson," said Suthridge. "You're no use to me locked up. Give the general his supplies, without antagonizing him any more. I want you to be his supplier for the entire trip, understand?"

"I don't know. This is getting more complicated than I anticipated."

Suthridge opened his desk drawer and pulled a few bills from the cash box. "I'd say you've earned a little bonus for the time you've delayed them so far, don't you think?"

Johnson snatched the offered cash. "Well, sir, I do appreciate the thought."

"Why don't you go over to the corner saloon and have a drink or two? You can handle the general's supplies, I'm sure. It's not your fault if your American suppliers in the East are slow."

"That's the almighty truth, sir," said Johnson, backing toward the door. "I'll be on my way. I'll see to the supplies."

"Yes, you do that," said Suthridge smoothly. The nervous little man slithered out the door.

Suthridge returned to his lists. The scouts should be arriving shortly. Of course, the good general would need scouts in beaver country. He needed the best. Suthridge intended to provide the "very best" for the army column. Scouts they just couldn't refuse. His mind wandered from the task at hand. The stark emptiness of the rented office weighed heavily. Not even a spare chair.

"This is such godforsaken country." Restlessness welled up inside. He walked slowly to the office window, pushing the grimy, yellowed curtain aside to gaze down upon the street. A pretty blonde head in front of the saloon caught his eye. He watched the young woman intently. After several moments he crossed the office, grabbed his frock coat and headed down to the street. Perhaps he needn't be alone here after all.

Arabelle tapped her foot impatiently, then trudged back up the boardwalk. The saloon was entirely too rough for her tastes. And there were women already there, in the saloon's employ most likely. They wouldn't appreciate her presence. She stared into the hat shop window, contemplating her next move.

"A head as pretty as yours deserves a hat like that."

Arabelle looked up at the reflection in the glass and smiled. The gentleman who'd spoken smiled back.

"Thank you, kind sir. It is a lovely hat."

"My name is Lord Reginald Suthridge, Miss. . ." he allowed his voice to trail off.

"Colter. Arabelle Colter." She flashed him an encouraging smile.

"Dear Miss Colter, I hope you don't find me too forward, but one doesn't meet a lady very often in these frontier towns."

Arabelle studied the vaguely familiar reflection, then turned to face him. "Oh, no sir, not at all. A lady doesn't find suitable company very often either, I'm afraid."

She tried not to laugh as he adjusted the now-remembered monocle. "I'm pleased to meet you, Lord Suthridge. Are you from Pittsburgh?"

"No, I'm traveling through on business. My company still has interests in the colonies. . .excuse me, in America."

"That must be very interesting. Do you travel a great deal?"

"Unfortunately, yes. And you, are you a resident of this fair city?"

"No. I'm traveling with the Philadelphia Sixth Infantry. I'm afraid there aren't many gentlemen such as yourself in the army."

"The army?" Suthridge's voice raised in surprise.

"I'm afraid so," sighed Arabelle, inventing on the spot. "When one is left without anything, one has to keep body and soul together. My late husband liked the horses and his liquor far too much, I'm afraid. When he was killed in a riding accident, it took everything I had to pay his gambling debts. I'm just struggling to get by, doing soldier's laundry. I was never schooled as a shopkeeper's helper or any other profession to earn my own way."

She sighed again, placing a delicate hand against her forehead. She averted her eyes, waiting for Suthridge's reaction.

Suthridge removed his monocle, tucked it in his vest pocket and said firmly, "It is terrible to fall upon hard times. Won't you at least allow me to buy your dinner this evening? The public house has an excellent dining room for its guests."

"Oh, sir. I couldn't impose on you so," Arabelle said softly.

"Nonsense, I insist. I would enjoy your company immensely. Please?"

He offered her his arm. Slowly, she took it, glancing up at him.

"You're very kind, Lord Suthridge. I hope I can do something for you in return."

He smiled and patted her hand. "Don't you fret. Let's have dinner."

They strolled down the boardwalk a short distance to the public house. The last rays of the sun danced in the doorway, lighting their path into the dining area.

Arabelle noted the lengthening shadows, saying, "I will have to return to camp before long. If I'm not there for night roll call, I'll be put on report."

Suthridge smiled. "We'll get you back. I wouldn't want you in any trouble. You're far too pretty to be on report."

The meal moved swiftly. Over after-dinner drinks, Suthridge chose his words carefully. "Tell me Arabelle, the army doesn't pay much, does it? "

He studied the chip in his glass, waiting for her reply.

Curious at the turn of the conversation, Arabelle answered, "No, not what I'm used to."

"How would you like to earn a great deal more money than you do now?"

"How could I do that, Lord Suthridge? What would I have to do?"

"Very little. Just tell me, or my representative, what's happening in the camp."

"But, what could I know?"

"Oh, I'm sure a talented, capable woman such as yourself, knows a great deal about what goes on in an army camp."

"I'd have a hard time getting away from camp. We have very little free time when the column's moving."

"That's no problem. My representative would find you."

"How would I know him?"

"You won't have to. He'll know you. I'm sure I can describe you satisfactorily. In fact, I may be able to arrange for you to meet him before you leave. He'll bring you your pay from me. In small coins, so as not to arouse suspicion."

"Why do you need army information?"

"That's not your concern, my dear. I'm a businessman. I must be able to make business decisions - to stay ahead of my competitors. What do you say? Aren't you tired of dipping those beautiful hands in wash water?"

He picked up her hand from the table, brought it to his lips and kissed the back gently. Tracing a finger around her wrist, he began to massage her palm with his fingertip. "You're being wasted as a laundress."

Needles of lust stabbed deep within her. She rolled her shoulders, closing her hand around his, to stop the persistent pulse in her palm.

"You make a very interesting offer, Lord Suthridge. I must consider it carefully."

"Yes, and this is a very public place. Perhaps we should adjourn to my suite to close our agreement?"

"Does this public house allow you to receive guests in your room?"

"I'm sure it will be fine. I'll just speak to the clerk." Suthridge moved quickly to the desk. "Miss Colter will be joining me in my suite for a few moments. Please fetch a cab for her. She'll be returning to her quarters shortly."

As he spoke, Suthridge slowly twirled a double eagle gold piece in his fingers. The desk clerk stared, first at the gold, then at Suthridge. Finally he said, "Yes, sir. I'll see that a cab is waiting for the lady when she comes down."

"Fine-and be sure the cab is paid for."

"Yes sir, " said the clerk, not about to lose such a gold piece. He smiled, pocketing the heavy coin, watching Suthridge return to the dining room.

Suthridge held out his hand to Arabelle saying, "It's all settled. A cab will be waiting for you. Let's adjourn upstairs to finish our business."

She smiled, taking his hand. The cook and the clerk watched them climb the staircase to the row of rooms above. The cook frowned and jabbed the desk clerk with an elbow. "I thought gentlemen didn't take ladies upstairs in this hotel."

The clerk shrugged and turned away. "For a Double-eagle gold piece, he could take his horse upstairs, for all I care."

The cook laughed. "Oh, I see."

Hearing the door close above, the two exchanged knowing looks and returned to their duties.

Suthridge ushered Arabelle into his room, offering her a seat in one of the stiff horsehair-covered chairs at the small table. Arabelle took in the room while Suthridge rummaged in his trunk. It wasn't much, but nicer than the camp where she was staying, by far. Two sitting chairs, a small table between them, a washstand, a basin and a huge brass bed that dominated the room. Spartan, but serviceable.

"There," said Suthridge, coming to the table, setting out a small pile of coins. "There's your first installment. I'm sure you'll find information that will be useful to me."

Arabelle calculated the amount in the pile. "We're going to be gone a long time. Will I see you again?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. My business will keep me in Pittsburgh, I'm afraid." He added another gold eagle coin to the pile. "There will be more to come, you have my promise. I want to know the mood of the officers-what's happening-who's visiting-any details, no matter how small they may seem. Just like a news report, my dear. You know, for the papers."

Arabelle considered his last remark. "I think I could be a news reporter."

He nodded. "I'm sure you'll be a very good reporter."

She smiled and finally reached out for the coins. She dropped them carefully into her reticule, saying, "I'll tell you whatever I can. I can't promise anything."

"I'm sure you'll do fine." He caught her hand and pulled her out of the chair. "I hate to see you leave so soon."

She saw the raw hunger in his eyes. Squeezing his hand, pressing her nails into his flesh, she smiled gently and whispered, "It would be a shame."

He pulled her to him, wrapping one arm around her waist, pressing her body tightly against his own. His other arm dropped low, pulling her hips in against the hardening bulge in his trousers. Arabelle leaned back against his arm. She smiled a wicked smile and pushed her hips forward, grinding against him. A low, hollow moan escaped his throat. He covered her mouth with a slathering kiss.

She quickly unbuttoned her top, to keep him from ripping the buttons off. With a shrugging motion, she dropped the bodice, exposing creamy white breasts, nestled invitingly in her corset. He buried his face between the voluptuous curves, tasting her tempting flesh. Raising his head, he glanced into her eyes. Satisfied with what he saw, he lifted her from the floor, carrying her to the big brass bed.

"This will be good business for both of us," he mumbled raggedly, running his hands over her, yanking her clothes out of his way.

"I'm sure it will be," replied Arabelle calmly, reaching to release his desire, letting him please himself. She lay back, ready to take her own enjoyment out of the moment, mentally tallying the coins in her bag. Who knew when the opportunity might again present itself? "A nice evening's work."

The clamoring of people, animals and wagons filled the air around the glistening riverboat, newness sparkling in the midday sun. Teams jostled for position to load cargo box after precious cargo box. The late supplies had finally arrived. The dim memory of the New York City dock flashed through Corinna's mind. She watched the big riverboat roll lazily with the river's determined flow to the west. At last, it was their turn.

"Come on then, move lively,"

The boatswain directed traffic up the perilous gangplank with stern precision. Corinna followed Artie, carrying just a small bundle in her hand. Private Jamison had already stowed her small trunk aboard.

"Corinna, wait for me!"

Arabelle's voice cut through the din. Almost at the top of the plank, Corinna turned to see Arabelle waving from far back in the line. "I will. Don't worry!"

"Watch that wagon!" The boatswain cried out.

"E-E-E-I-I-I!"

Corinna's scream filled the air. She teetered on the edge of the wildly bouncing gangplank, knocked sideways by the skittish team below. Her eyes filled with terror-the yawning gulf between the riverboat and the shore seemed to reach up, to engulf her. Dark, angry water churned below. Arms flailing to keep her balance, she dropped her bundle. She caught a glimpse of it disappear into the foamy, swirling water.

Strong arms jerked her the last few steps to safety on the deck. She gasped for air, lungs screaming with the effort. Regaining some of her composure, she finally looked up-again, into those searing brown eyes.

"We seem to keeping meeting like this, Miss McGinnis," Humbolt said, not releasing her. "Are you quite all right?"

Corinna could feel his heart pounding right along with hers. "Yes, Captain. I think I'm fine, thanks to you."

She looked over his arm, into the treacherous space. "Falling down there would have been terrible."

His arms tightened unconsciously at her words. She looked up, pleased at his reaction. She had the small satisfaction of seeing his face flush just slightly.

"Yes, it would have been. I hope your package wasn't anything valuable. We'll never find it now." He nodded toward the black water below.

"Just a snack Artie had put together. I'll get on without it." Corinna shook her head to clear it, then leaned her head against his chest. She held very still, savoring his closeness. She could feel his heart slowing down a little, keeping time with hers.

Humbolt resisted the urge to stroke the dainty head cradled against him. Those glossy tresses called to him through the gauzy covering on Corinna's head. It would be so easy to caress the tempting curve of neck that he could just see beneath her cap. Exhaling sharply, he released his hold, stepping back to place a more appropriate space between them. "I'm sure you'll be better off in your quarters 'til we get under way."

"I'm sure I will, Captain. Thank you again." Corinna turned quickly and made her way after Artie. Arabelle could find her own way.

"Well, what are you staring at?" growled Humbolt to the boatswain. "Mind that gangplank. We don't want to lose laundresses or anything else."

"No sir, Cap'n, sir. We sure don't," he answered, with a salute. "I'll pay more attention next time, sir."

"Well, see that you do."

Humbolt stalked off, hoping he hadn't looked too ridiculous. He could hear the soldier's quiet snicker in the background. His wayward heart slowly returned to a more normal beat.

"If only she weren't so. . ."

Humbolt forced the thought out of his mind, unfinished. It didn't matter what she was or wasn't. This trip was not going to include an interlude with one of his recruits. It wouldn't be honorable. From the tightening in his gut, he could tell his head was going to have its hands full with the rest of his body. Corinna had definitely left her imprint. He could still feel her body, shivering but strong, pressed tightly against him. From his chest to his groin, he'd felt her. A long unfulfilled ache rose within him, wrapping around him, and almost overwhelming him. It had been a long time since he'd wanted a woman. He could feel the heat rising from his neck to cover his face.

"Get hold of yourself, man," he muttered, struggling to maintain some outward calm. He looked out over the dock to see what holding up the loading. He spied Arabelle, still standing on the dock with two men, one a finely dressed gentleman, the other, a frontiersman, dressed in buckskins.

"She's at it already, and we haven't even left the dock." He could almost taste his disgust. He leaned over the railing, shouting, "Colter! Get aboard! Now!"

Hearing his command, she looked up, waved, and headed for the gangplank.

"I'll be in my cabin," he announced to the boatswain, striding quickly across the deck. He'd put on enough of a show already. This was going to be a long trip on a small boat, even if it was a stern wheeler.

Safely in their cabin, Corinna relived the nightmarish scene on the gangplank. "And the Captain!" She could still feel his arms around her, holding her tight, heart pounding. His heart still insisted in beating triple time, his nearness still intoxicating. "He didn't want to let me go!" What else would happen on this long trip? She could hardly wait.

Suthridge walked down the dock, into the office of the boat builders. "Mr. Davies?"

"Yes sir, Lord Suthridge, at your service." Davies stood up, fingering his tie nervously.

"Were all the modifications we discussed made to the stern wheelers?"

"They were. Those boats look fine. They'll float down river, just like you said."

"Good, very good. And who knows what kind of trouble they may run into? Perhaps none!"

"That's right, sir. Perhaps none."

"What would happen if they were to get hung up on a sand bar or in a tangle of trees?

"Well sir, that keel won't take too much leveraging and pushing. If they hit too many snags, she may split at the seam, I'm afraid."

"Oh, that would be too bad," said Suthridge smiling, handing Davies a fat envelope. "Thank you, Mr. Davies. Perhaps we'll have other business."

"Yes, sir," said Davies, peering into the envelope, smiling at the sight of the money nestled inside. "Anytime."

Chapter Three

Corinna wandered alongside the upper deck rail, watching the shadows caress the river in the moonlight. The rolling of the boat no longer made her ill, but sleep wouldn't come. At least when they had been walking, she'd had work to do. Now, the laundry tubs were stowed for the trip and they rarely stopped long enough to wash clothes in the river. After three weeks, the entire boat reeked of sweaty bodies and filthy animals. Sitting in the cramped cabin, with its stifling, stale air, had turned her stomach. She leaned far over the rail, to catch a whiff of the clean night breeze. Its soothing gentleness cleansed her nostrils of the stench. She sighed and pulled back, leaning her head against the deck pole.

"Not quite what you imagined, is it McGinnis?"

Corinna turned with a start, to face Humbolt, who stood in the shadows.

"Captain! You startled me! What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

"Making sure you don't fall overboard!"

She could hear the quiet teasing in his voice. "I wasn't going to fall. Tell me, why are you up this late?"

He stepped into the moonlight to face her. "The same reason as you, I imagine. My cabin is no more comfortable than yours and smells just as bad. None of us have private cabins. I needed a breath of fresh air. When I saw you hanging over the rail, I came here. I don't want to lose you to the river before we get started."

She didn't even mind the teasing. The idea of his not wanting to lose her gave her a shiver of pleasure. His smile illuminated his face, even in the moonlight. The shadowy light made it easier to talk.

"You didn't answer me. This isn't what you expected, is it?"

Corinna turned away, staring out over the rippling water. "No, I guess not. I'm not sure what I expected, but I never expected to be on a boat that smelled like a garbage scow."

"None of us are getting what we expected." He stepped next to her, not touching her, just there. "Forgive me, McGinnis. I'm being entirely to familiar."

"Captain? I don't understand. I don't think you're being-familiar-at all," Corinna stared at him, embarrassed at his comment, remembering Arabelle's use of the term. "You've been a perfect gentleman - and we're just talking."

He looked down at her, studying her face, seeing the small frown cross her brow, her confused expression. Remembering the "common" use of his words, he smiled at her again. "You really don't know anything about the military, do you, McGinnis?"

"No, sir. You'll have to explain."

He dropped his head, then lifted his gaze to hers. "Military protocol sets very rigid rules about officers and their behavior. Conversations between officers and enlisted personnel can be considered as being "too familiar". I really shouldn't even speak to you, much less be here in the middle of the night, alone with you."

"You mean we can't even talk, like ordinary people? That doesn't make any sense, Captain," she said, quietly but firmly. "I would think you could be friends with anyone you choose, when you're off duty."

He took her hand gently, saying, "Well, it used to make sense to me. But, I'm not sure it does any more. You're right, McGinnis, I can pick my own friends, when I'm off duty."

"Good. We're going a long way together. We're going to need all the friends we can find."

He nodded, brushing the back of her hand with his lips. "Now please, go back down to your cabin. I won't be able to sleep, thinking about you wandering around on this deck in the darkness."

Her quiet laugh shimmered in the dark. "Very well, Captain. I wouldn't want to upset your sleep."

She stepped lightly away from him and disappeared down the passageway. He stared after her, still feeling the smoothness of her skin against his lips, the pounding of his heart feeling anything but friendly. He turned and stared out into the emptiness of night, savoring the hint of her on his lips. She would not be gone. Her natural fragrance, still sweet, surrounded him, blocking out all the boat's obnoxious smells.

"Take care, you fool. The last thing you need is an impossible relationship." Corinna's lilting laughter echoed in his ears, following him back down the empty corridor to his cabin.

Outside her cabin, Corinna rubbed the back of her hand against her cheek, his gentle kiss still lingered, absolute in its reality. "He kissed my hand!" she whispered aloud. "I am going to crack that wall, Captain. Just you wait!" Smiling a self-satisfied smile, Corinna slipped into the darkened room for the night, planning for the weeks ahead.

Arabelle stood on the high bank, hands punched into her hipbones, surveying the tree-choked river below. The once proud sternwheeler languished at an odd angle, paddle wheel almost out of the water, bow nearly buried beneath a huge tangle of cottonwood limbs and stumps. The smoothly flowing water hid the treacherous current that had caught them, swinging the bow across the channel, into the pile of debris and onto the sandbar beneath.

"What a horrible place to be stuck. And I thought Pittsburgh and St. Louis were awful." She plopped down next to Corinna on one of their ground quilts.

"Oh, St. Louis wasn't so bad. At least we weren't stuck." Corinna plucked a strand of the long prairie grass waving at her side. "This smells nice but I doubt it's very comfortable, if we have to spend the night here."

She pulled the edge of the quilt away from her. "Careful, Arabelle. We'll never get grass stains out of these skirts."

"You're right. And the only thing out here is this long grass and an occasional tree. Barely two weeks out of St. Louis, and we're in the wilderness already."

"And we've been stuck twice! Nobody said this was such a bad river. We're never going to get to the new territory at this rate."

"Yes, we will," said Artie. "The men will get us going again. See, they've formed up already."

The three sat, along with the other women and children, on the riverbank, watching the soldiers ready themselves to try to move the huge paddle wheeler off the pile of trees.

"It's a good thing we have two companies on board," said Artie. "With all of them, they should be able to move it."

"Well there's certainly a difference between the company captains. Look." Arabelle pointed to Captain Richardson. He sat astride a horse, watching the work.

"Don't dally there! Put your backs into it!" He tipped his boot flask to his lips, before shouting again. "You men, get down there. Lift that side."

She smiled at him, towering over the working men. "Now there's a gentleman-looks right smart up there."

"Humph," sniffed Corinna. "Looks to me like he's a bit uppity. Had to saddle a horse just for him-too good to walk like the rest of us. Afraid to get his boots dirty, but real good at bossing others around. I'm glad Captain Humbolt's not like that."

She nodded in his direction. Humbolt had shed his dress jacket and was down at the water's edge with his men.

"Come on, men, put your backs into it. You can do it!" The soldiers struggled to shove the poles into position. "That's right. That's right. Let's get some leverage against this river"

She smiled, reveling in the sight. His muscular chest strained to be free of the confining muslin shirt. He lifted the huge logs easily, as though they were mere twigs. She imagined those strong arms lifting her, tossing her into the air, catching her as easily as he lifted and tossed logs to the men near the boat. A quiver raced the length of her spine. The feeling of his arms around her holding her tight returned with a jolt. She didn't even have to close her eyes to remember those hands gripping, pulling her to safety from the teetering gangplank. She could have stayed forever with her head on his heaving chest.

Arabelle laughed. "Fine. Then we'll not quarrel over the officers. I'll take the one on the horse. You can have the one down in the mud."

Corinna laughed in spite of herself. "Fair enough."

"One more time, men!" Humbolt's voice echoed over the soldiers' grunts. They strained to move the sternwheeler out of the quagmire of trees and limbs that had ensnared them.

"Watch out! She's listing!"

Soldiers scattered at the boat's sudden movement. An ominous groan, followed by a mighty cracking sound, belched from deep within her.

"What was that?"

"Oh no!"

"She's settling even more!"

The bow of the riverboat sank deeper into the tangle of trees that held her captive. The riverboat's captain appeared in the pilothouse window.

"It's no use! We've split a seam below. The lower deck is flooding. We're done."

Humbolt, wiping the sweat from his brow, shouted back up the bank. "Cyrus, make camp. We're stuck here until we can contact General Atkinson. This boat's not going anywhere. We'll start unloading the rest of the gear, before we lose it all."

"Right! Sergeant, sound the order!" Yelled Richardson, wheeling his horse and heading inland.

Arabelle watched her "chosen" officer ride away. "You mean we're staying here?"

"Sounds like it, Arabelle. Come on, your precious officer seems to have left without you." Corinna laughed. She couldn't resist a gentle tease. She lifted the quilt from the ground, folding it carefully to keep the grass stains to the inside. She glanced back down at Humbolt, directing the unloading. He'd have his hands full of work for hours. She threw the quilt over her shoulder and trudged up the bank, after the others. Might as well help get the tents set up. Sleeping on a cot would be better than sleeping on the ground.

Pack animals and horses milled along the water's edge, each one seeking a safe place to stand, to drink without danger on the crumbling, overhanging banks-made-death traps by the constant undercutting of the river. The animals moved closer and closer to the laundresses' tents, which were right at the water's edge. The scout's buckskins were barely discernable from the animal's pelts as he moved effortlessly through them to reach one of the tents.

"Miz Colter?"

"Oh, Andre! You startled me." Arabelle glanced around quickly. No sense in advertising their conversations.

"What information do you have for me?"

"Really Andre, how can you expect me to have anything yet? You've been on this same boat and in this same camp with me ever since Pittsburgh. You've been out more than I have. At least you get to travel with the troops, to scout the area."

She waved her arm toward the vast empty expanse surrounding them. "Surely Suthridge is interested in what's out there."

"He's more interested in what the army's doing in here. You get around. We have friends coming up with the new keelboats. Suthridge will expect a report."

"I'll see what I can do." She sniffed and shivered. Scouts were not the most attractive company. This one smelled like a three-day-dead raccoon. "I'll have something by the time the boats get here."

"I should hope so."

"Well, you can tell him that the food's already terrible. And that boots are already hard to get."

He nodded. "That won't be enough. I know that."

"I'll have something. I must go. We don't want to attract attention." She turned and walked away from him, further along the laundress' row of tents. The scout disappeared into the milieu of pack animals and supplies as quickly as he had come.

Corinna waved from her tent. "Arabelle? Join me for a walk?"

"No, not now. I have ironing waiting."

"Very well. I'll be back shortly."

Corinna sauntered carefully along the bank, watching the water swirl and flow. She bent down, picking a beautiful sky blue wild flower. Its fragrance filled her nose. She'd never seen a flower like it before. She wandered away from the river, following the flower field, picking and walking. The flowers led her over the gentle rise behind the tents, ever further inland, away from the rest.

"McGinnis!"

She looked up, startled by the abrupt shout of her name.

"Oh, Captain! I didn't expect to see you here."

"Where do you think you're going! Do you know how far you are from camp?" He stopped beside her, catching his breath from the quick run he'd made to catch up to her, ready to reprimand her for wandering away. But that intention melted in the sunshine of her smile.

"No Captain. I hadn't really noticed." She held up her wild bouquet. "Aren't the flowers beautiful?"

He bent to take a deep whiff of the wild perfume. "Yes, they are beautiful. . .and so is their gatherer."

She blushed and looked back to the flowers. "Why Captain, thank you."

"And you must be more careful. A beautiful woman on the trail is in danger all the time."

She looked up again, not understanding the grim tone in his voice. "How so?"

"Unscrupulous men, even soldiers, would not hesitate to take advantage of your walking alone, for example. You could be attacked out here and no one would hear you."

"Oh."

"And who knows what the Indians might do, finding a white woman alone? You're not wandering in your back yard."

Corinna's lower lip pulled down dangerously close to a pout. "Must I be afraid, then, Captain? This is such beautiful country. Must I stay away from it?"

He couldn't bear the look in her eyes. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to make her cry. "Of course not. You're right, it is beautiful, but it's wild." His tone softened, almost pleading with her. "Just think before you wander off by yourself. Find someone to escort you, someone you trust."

She smiled that gorgeous smile at him again, blinking away unshed tears with her luxuriant lashes. "Very well, Captain. I'll do that."

He pulled on the collar of his jacket, stretching his neck to relieve its sudden tightness. He couldn't keep staring into her eyes. He would get irretrievably lost in them, if he weren't more careful. "We need to return to camp."

"Yes, sir, we should. Thank you for escorting me." She carefully studied her flowers, walking along beside him. He forced himself to stare straight ahead, not looking at her, while they moved together, even breathed together, on this innocent path.

It took every ounce of will power he had to keep from reaching out for her, taking her hand, pulling her to him. He had never been so close, yet so far away from such a desirable woman in his life."She's your responsibility, nothing more. Keep it that way." Even the thought sounded hollow and meaningless in his head. He had to find something to do to stay away from her, or his resolve wouldn't last to the next trading post, much less through the entire trip.

With Humbolt away, directing a hunting party, the scene at the riverbank resembled an evening at Bedlam. Richardson tried vainly to get the supplies and people loaded into the first fleet of keelboats that had arrived from St. Louis.

"Oh my!" Corinna's heart sank at the sight of the ungainly boats lying at anchor. "You mean we're going up river in those? It will be so hot in there. We'll all suffocate."

The midday July sun seemed to turn up its brilliance another notch, and the hint of a breeze that played around camp all morning had disappeared without a trace. Corinna wearily wiped her brow with the corner of her apron. The heat was almost unbearable. Losing the riverboat had been bad enough. She couldn't imagine crowding all the supplies and people onto these dinky little boats, in this sweltering weather. St. Louis seemed far away, truly the end of civilization.

"There's supposed to be enough boats to hold all of us, but it certainly doesn't look like it," Artie said.

"I'll bet we're going to walk some more. I never intended to walk all the way to the new territory," snapped Arabelle. "My shoes are almost gone now. They're going to melt, not wear off my feet at this rate."

"There won't even be room for my trunk." Visions of the last of her life's belongings being heaved over the side to make room for military ordinance filled Corinna's head. She plopped down on her trunk to hide it from view.

"Come on," said Artie. "We don't have much choice."

"This way, ladies, if you please." Private Jamison beckoned from one of the boats. "I already have most of your gear stowed below. Got you good places, right next to the hatch, so you'll get whatever breeze there is." He jumped down and came quickly to them.

"Thank you so much, Jamiee," Corinna smiled at him, reaching up to take his hand. He blushed deeply.

"Oh that's all right, miss. Cap'n says I'm to take good care of you--ah--all three of you," he stammered, looking around to all of them. "I have to watch out for you all the way to the new territory."

"Then I'm sure we'll be fine," said Corinna, heading toward the keelboat. Jamie followed behind, carrying her trunk. Artie and Arabelle followed. Arabelle held onto her last hatbox tightly, defiantly, as if daring anyone to suggest that she leave it.

The days stretched into weeks. The companies threaded their way up the river, deeper and deeper into unknown territory.

"Oh Arabelle, look!" said Corinna. "Smoke! Do you suppose we're near that trading post you mentioned-you know, Manuel Lisa's? Can you imagine living out here all alone? Didn't you say he had a wife?"

"Yes, she's the only white woman out here," said Arabelle. "Andre's told me quite a bit about this area. He's been to Canada for the Hudson Bay Company and to the Yellowstone for Astor's Company. He says we'll be the only white women around, except for her."

"Well, there must be Indian women. Maybe we'll meet some of them." Corinna paused, trying to imagine what an Indian woman might look like. The stories ran the gamut from devil to angel, depending upon who was doing the telling.

"I imagine they'll look a lot like us, only darker skinned, from what I saw back east," said Artie.

"Well, I hope Captain Humbolt returns soon. We seem to always need fresh meat. He and the hunting party are gone all of the time, now."

"I know. You'd think there'd be plenty to eat out here.

"I guess there's just plenty of room for the animals to hide. And we certainly aren't getting any supplies from St. Louis."

"Oh, that's always the way. Army suppliers never seem to deliver when they're supposed to. At least they didn't to my husband's unit." Artie sniffed disdainfully at the memory.

"Will there be food at the trading post?"

"I don't know. I don't know who supplies him. If we're supposed to, we're all in deep trouble."

Humbolt sat tall in his saddle, straining to see though his eyeglass. The horizon stretched out before him, a vast expanse of prairie, unbroken by anything but the occasional scrub cedar tree. Where were all these buffalo and antelope the stories told of? They certainly didn't seem to live around here. "Sergeant Thomas!"

"Yes, Sir!" Thomas snapped a salute.

"We're not going to wait any longer for Andre to return. I don't know where he's off to, but we have to find more food. We can't just sit here while he wanders around to who knows where."

"Yes, sir!"

"What do you think of that dust cloud in front of us?" He pointed to a tiny cloud just visible over a nearby hill.

"Well sir, it's either a herd of animals or a passel of Indians-that's what I think."

"I agree. Let's find out which. Maybe it's both. Andre will just have to fend for himself. He can explain where he's been when he comes back."

Andre wrapped his hands around the tin cup, gratefully gulping down a welcome slug of whiskey. "How are things here, Montclair? Have you heard from Suthridge?"

"Everything is going fine, Mon ami, just fine. We've received supplies and whisky from the north. They're well hidden. We can always find helpful people for a few jugs of whiskey."

Andre glanced around again, satisfying himself that they had found a protected spot. "Good, Montclair, good. Have our trappers found beaver yet?"

"Yes. They're nearly to the Yellowstone. They're dodging Blackfeet, though. It's tough going."

"Are there friendly Lakota out there?"

"Yes. We've been moving through their territory."

"Well, keep them moving. We need to bring in a big cache of furs this time. Suthridge has moved to St. Louis to get them-doesn't want to lose out to Astor's men."

"Just keep the soldiers out of our way. We'll get the furs." Montclair poured himself another large cup of the stout whiskey.

"I'm doing my best. I'll see you again at Lisa's. Wait for me."

"I will."

"In the meantime, send a message with the runner back to Suthridge. Tell him Colter says the officers are already worried about the lack of game-the lack of food. The more supplies he can hold up, the quicker this post will be in trouble."

"They really didn't know how hunted out this area is, did they?"

"No. They thought it would be overrun with game."

"Don't they know the French and the Spaniards and the Indians have been here for hundreds of years?"

Andre chuckled and sipped his drink. "We Frenchmen don't count, I guess. And neither one of them speak to the Spaniards. They're not Englishmen or Americans."

The two men laughed heartily at Andre's caustic remark.

"Well, I'd better find the soldier boys again. Wouldn't want them to get lost or anything."

"Couldn't we just have the Arickarees wipe them out?"

"Oh, no. Suthridge says that would bring more Americans and maybe the English government out here. We can't start a war. It would interfere too much with the beaver trade. We just want to make them miserable."

"Humph." Montclair grunted; then shook his head. "Too much politics for me. I'd just as soon shoot 'em all and be rid of 'em."

Andre chuckled, finishing his drink. "That's why you're here and I'm leading the column around. I've got to get back. We'll be moving the boats again; the wind's picking up."

Corinna idly watched the shoreline slip by. Towering cottonwoods, bending deeply with their load of palm-sized leaves, nodded in the ever-present breeze, dipping in greeting to each boat that passed. The men shifted the sails, struggling to keep running ahead of the wind to gain every inch against the downstream current. Leaning on the rail of the high fantail, she watched the crew pole and shift sails. The current fought the heavy boat's progress north, trying to turn them around instead.

"I wish he'd come back . . ."

Corinna shook her head to ward off the thought. The emptiness in her heart had grown as the days dragged by. Even just a look at him would make her feel better. But wishing wouldn't bring him back. They desperately needed meat. A shot broke the silence of the hillside. Straightening, Corinna looked toward the sound. A soldier appeared at the top of the bluff, waving his flintlock over his head, beckoning the boats to shore.

"Oh! Maybe they've found something."

Corinna's words disappeared on the wind, while the pullers strained to reef the sails, turning the boats toward the shore. The rest of the hunting party came over the rise.

"Oh, they have. Look at the pack animals!"

Big bundles hung on the horses' sides. Skins stretched tight over the tops of the loads.

"Thank goodness. We'll have fresh meat tonight."

One of the pullers finally acknowledged her commentary. "Yes'm. I reckon we'll have decent vittles for a change."

The soldiers set up a camp quickly. Soon the smell of roast venison filled the air, fresh for the evening meal. In the haste, the officer's mess had been set up right next to the regular food lines. Corinna could hear the officers talking while they ate. She tried to listen, while not being obvious about eavesdropping.

"Did you see anything while you were out?" asked Richardson.

"Yes. We're being watched. We ran across tracks all along the bluff. The natives are tracking our progress. We saw a small party watching while we cleaned a deer. They wouldn't get close enough to talk to us. They know we're here."

"Too bad we're in front, old man," observed Richardson. "I'd just as soon let one of the other commanders deal with the natives."

"They don't seem hostile, Cy, just curious."

"One never knows about savages. Keep your guard up."

Humbolt nodded, finishing a bite. He heard the chatter of the children, eating not far away. He looked up to see Corinna, in the middle of the group. She seemed to be amusing them while they ate.

Visions of the earlier war pushed into his mind. The children's laughter turned to screams-screams mingled with war cries echoed in his ears. His hand slid down his neck to the ever-present reminder of that last vicious battle. He clutched his throat while the face of a beautiful little girl, a settler's child, floated before him. He hadn't been able to save her. He could still feel her tiny body draped cold and motionless over his arms. He'd stood helpless, amid slaughtered settlers and soldiers, not able to drop her to protect himself, not even from the Cree warrior, screaming a blood-curdling yell, swinging a soldier's sword, stolen from one of the dead. "NO!"

He stood up sharply to bring himself back to the present, unaware of his own shout. They didn't belong out here; none of them did. Indians were savages, not to be trusted. The war had taught him that. He pressed his hand to his eyes to block the memory. Starting to leave, he stumbled.

"Geoffrey? I say, are you all right?" Richardson rose, stepping quickly to his side.

"I'm fine. Just an old memory. Too many Indians. I'll say good night." Humbolt turned away, unable to watch the children or Corinna any longer.

Corinna watched him go. She'd hear the shout, seen him stumble. "Whatever could be wrong?"

The look on his face puzzled her. Every ounce of color had drained from his sun-browned skin. He looked as though he had just witnessed something terrible. She finally turned her attention again to the children, enjoying their chatter. The littlest boy reminded her of the brother she'd lost. Children were so precious. She allowed herself just a thought or two of what Captain Humbolt's children might look like, especially if they had red hair.

Humbolt studied the rough log cabin set back from the riverbank. "What a long way to haul supplies." He dismissed the thought as a tall, burly man steeped into view from the door. He motioned them toward the cabin.

"Well, Cyrus, let go meet the man. Andre says this is Lisa's cabin." They trudged up the bank and up the slope to the burly, bearded man awaiting them.

"Welcome! Welcome, captains. I'm Manuel Lisa, at your service," he said, arms spread wide in greeting. "We've been expecting you."

"Oh?"

"My friends," said Lisa, gesturing to a small cluster of braves behind him. "They've been tracking your progress up river-watching your sailing boats."

"They wouldn't talk to us," said Humbolt, "but we knew they were watching."

"They knew you would come here." Lisa laughed. "Not many other places to go! Come meet the braves. Your name, captain?"

"Humbolt. Captain Geoffrey Humbolt, and Captain Cyrus Richardson, at your service, Senor Lisa. And this is Andre Lucien, our scout and interpreter."

"This is Spotted Deer, one of Chief War Eagle's most valued village chiefs."

At his name, one of the braves stepped out ahead of the group, coming forward with measured steps-not too quickly-until he was even with Lisa. His coal black stare took the measure of Humbolt and his companions. Lisa spoke rapidly in the native tongue, then switched to English for the soldier's benefit.

"You've been hunting on Omaha tribal lands for the past few days."

Spotted Deer's stare grew even colder.

"Andre," said Humbolt, "give Spotted Deer my greetings on behalf of the United State Government and thank him for his tribe's hospitality in allowing us to hunt without permission. Tell him we are prepared to offer trade goods in payment for the meat we've needed to feed our people. Also, tell him our Chief, Colonel Morgan will soon be here. We'd like to arrange a council between our two chiefs."

Humbolt watched Spotted Deer's face during the translation. The stone face relaxed slightly at the offer of trade goods for meat. Then Spotted Deer spoke very clearly and precisely, "Chief War Eagle will meet your chief. We will come to you."

Humbolt breathed easier. Spotted Deer spoke English. That would make it easier to talk. "We're going to move a little further up river to wait for Colonel Morgan. Our destination is the mouth of the river we call the Yellowstone."

Spotted Deer shook his head. "Whites not welcome up river. "Arickarees not want you there. Better to stay here-we trade, not fight."

"He's right, Captain," urged Lisa. The Omahas have dealt with the Indian agent, Kensington, since the big council with General Clark. This is peaceful territory. It's not further up river. The Arickarees don't want anyone, white or Indian, in their territory; and the Blackfeet and the Sioux swear whites will never settle in the Yellowstone Valley. That's their special area."

"Well, Lisa, that's why we're here. It's all part of the United States territory now. President Monroe wants it safe for anyone to travel anywhere, especially the fur traders and trappers in the upper Yellowstone."

"I wouldn't want your job, Cap'n, no sir!" exclaimed Lisa. "I have enough trouble right here. I've been burned out once already."

"I thought you traded with everybody," said Richardson, more of a question than a statement.

"I do," said Lisa. "But there are those who don't want me here-or you either for that matter. It won't be just the Indians you'll need to look out for. Mr. Astor's men won't want you pokin' around in their beaver trade-you can bet on that."

"Astor? The financier?" asked Richardson.

"That's him," said Lisa, "He's got things tied up nice and tight around here. And what he don't have, the Hudson Bay Company does. They come down from Canada. They won't want the army gettin' in their way. Just a warning gents: watch your backs. You'll need to worry more about the whites than the Indians, at least the Omahas, if you stay in this territory."

Spotted Deer nodded. Humbolt made up his mind right then to talk directly to Spotted Deer whenever possible. He didn't trust interpreters, even though Lucien had come with excellent credentials. He'd certainly disappeared from the hunting party often enough.

Spotted Deer turned to Humbolt. "We find you when you make camp. We meet again."

With a nod to his followers, he turned away. The Indians retreated to their horses and left, disappearing into the rolling hills behind Lisa's post.

"Do you suppose he means that?" asked Richardson.

"Of course," said Lisa. "They'll track your every move. They'll know when Colonel Morgan arrives and when you make permanent camp. They'll send a scouting party to arrange a meeting then, not before."

"Well Lisa, let's see what business we can do. We're not stopping here for long. Our orders are to push as far as we can up river before winter. We may not get to the Yellowstone River, but we can surely get a little farther before we make a permanent camp."

"Whatever you say, Captain," said Lisa. "I'm just a trader, not a soldier. I can tell you where the Lewis and Clark expedition stopped-at the great Council Bluff, as the Indians call it. But if I were you, I'd reconsider going much further. It's August already. You don't have much time to get settled and lay in supplies. Fall gets by mighty quick out here and you have to be ready for winter. It's a killer in these parts."

Back at the boats, Humbolt said, "I don't like the sound of this, Cyrus. We may be headed into a trade war among the whites, instead of meeting Indians and showing the colors."

"You're right-if the beaver men are fighting among themselves, we'll be right in the middle-who are we supposed to protect?"

"Unfortunately, all of them," said Humbolt. "We'll have to fill Colonel Morgan in as soon as the rest of the column catches up. We're going to have to play peacemaker on all sides."

"That may be difficult-if Astor and the Bay Company don't want peace-like Lisa says."

"I know," agreed Humbolt. "Oh well, let's move. The winds are in our favor and the days are still long. We'll move until our supplies make us stop."

Further upstream, the two companies made a final camp beneath the towering bluffs on the west side of the river. The land rose abruptly, overhanging the wide flood plain of the meandering river.

"According to Lewis' notes and Lisa's description, up there is the place where Lewis and Clark called their council with the tribes of this area," said Humbolt, pointing to the bluff above them. "That Indian agent, Kensington, should be around here somewhere. We need to find him. We'll stop here until Colonel Morgan and the rest of the regiment catch up to us. We're overextended now."

Humbolt gazed at the broad expanse of flood plain stretching in front of him. The same massive bluffs bordered the far eastern side of the river.

"Well, old man, down here or up there?" asked Richardson, pointing toward the top of the bluff.

"Down here for the time being. Closer to the river. Floods shouldn't be a danger until spring. That's a long way to carry water. I'd hate to get cut off from the water supply if these Indians aren't as friendly as they seem," said Humbolt.

"Right!" agreed Richardson. He began barking orders to the waiting troops. The first camp began to take shape.

Colonel Morgan and the rest of the thousand or so troops joined the advance party in the shadow of the bluff, over the next several weeks. A tent city rose on the flood plain. A tent city surrounded by cords and cords of carefully chopped wood.

"Artie, whatever are we going to do with all this wood," said Corinna, staring at the fruit of the soldier's labors. "It's so hot, I can't imagine we'll ever use all that for campfires."

"From what Andre says, as hot as it is now, it gets even colder in the wintertime out here."

Corinna wiped another drop of sweat from her brow. "It's like an oven here. Or maybe a furnace. A little colder would be very welcome I'd say. It's so hot the river doesn't even want to move."

Artie nodded, running a damp rag around the back of her neck trying to tame the worst of the heat. It was too hot to talk. They silently watched the river creep lazily by-very low now, through the last, rainless, dog days of August.

Chapter Four

Andre's voice cut through the stifling heat. "Captain Humbolt! We got company!"

Humbolt scrambled out of his tent to see three riders on the bluff overlooking the camp. "Can you tell who they are?"

Andre squinted hard through the glass. "My guess? It's that brave we met at Lisa's, with a little company. They look peace-able enough-no war paint."

"Well, let's go out to meet them. If they're sending their second in command, so will we. Sergeant Thomas! Go tell Colonel Morgan what's happening."

The two rode out to meet Spotted Deer.

"I bring greetings from my great chief, War Eagle," said Spotted Deer. "He wishes to visit your chief and welcome him to our homeland."

"Please take greetings from our Colonel Morgan to your chief," said Humbolt. "We'd be honored to have such a visitor to our camp."

"My chief will come in two risings of the sun."

"We'll look forward to his visit."

With that, the natives wheeled their horses and rode away, up an almost unseen trail over the bluff. The soldiers returned to their camp just as quickly, to the waiting Colonel Morgan.

"Well, Andre," said Morgan, looking after the disappearing riders, "Who are they?"

"They're the advance party from the Omaha tribe. Came to announce a visit. They figured we're settled enough for them to come a'callin', Colonel."

"Hmm. How many visitors will we have? Surely Chief War Eagle won't come in alone."

"Oh, no. He could bring the whole tribe. But I'd guess about twenty or so. The Omaha have quite a few permanent villages in these parts and even more hunting camps. He'll bring in most of his chiefs."

"Well, then. Take what ever you need and find Kensington. We can't have a council meeting without the Indian agent. We have to include him." Andre rushed off, anxious to get away from camp.

"This seems to be going very well. What's your assessment Humbolt?" Morgan stood easily, waiting for a reply. Humbolt fought off the urge to sneer. This trip was going fairly well so far.

"The Omaha have been very friendly. If it's an act, they're very good at it. Lisa says they are a peaceful, farming people. Our scouts have already seen one permanent village not far from here. We're neighbors, you might say."

Morgan nodded. "Come along, then. We have plans to make if they're going to be here in two days."

Humbolt disappeared into Morgan's tent.

Andre didn't get very far. Curious questioners, including Corinna, blocked his path. Questions flew at him.

"Yep-we're gonna have company. Yep, these here Indians seem to be friendly. Yep, at least one of them speaks some English. They're gonna be here in two days."

At last the questions slowed down. Corinna finally found an opening. "Will the whole tribe come, or just the men?"

Andre scratched his beard. "If the Chief really wants to look friendly, he'll bring his woman, a few younger chief's wives and some welcoming gifts."

"Oh, I hope he does," said Corinna. "I'd love to see an Indian woman. The men are striking." The natives fascinated her, the way they'd thundered up the bluff. They were very good horsemen and they wore their hair long! Bronzed skin, almost shining in the August sun, men naked to the waist, muscles rippling in the hot summer wind. She'd never seen men like that. She shivered with delight, trying to imagine Captain Humbolt astride an Indian pony, rippling muscles bared for all to see. She rubbed the goosebumps that popped up on her arm. The thought of the captain that close to nude ran riot in her head.

"Well," said Artie, "we'll have lots to do today and tomorrow. Everyone will have to be 'all spit and polished' for the ceremonies."

"Ceremonies?" Corinna tried to bring her thoughts back to the present time and place. The picture of the captain-turned-Indian would have to wait.

"Oh yes." Said Artie, eyes shining in anticipation of the visit. "Whenever a tribe comes calling, there are lots of ceremonies and speeches-at least there were back east. We'll all have to look our best to meet 'em."

Artie's prediction rang true. A messenger appeared at Corinna's tent shortly after sunrise.

"Miz McGinnis?"

"Yes?" she called out, surprised by the early voice outside her tent.

"Captain Humbolt would like to see you, ma'am."

"Now?"

"Yes ma'am, right now."

Corinna hurried out of her tent, thankful she'd awakened with the sunrise. "Whatever does he want? Why would he call me to his tent in the morning? It just isn't done!"

She found the captain standing outside, under his awning, awaiting her arrival.

"Miss McGinnis-I'd like you to launder my dress uniform. Sorry for such short notice, but Mrs. Samuels is on sick call." He shifted his weight from one foot to another, embarrassed at his own request. Talking about laundry was a task he usually left to Sergeant Thomas.

"Why certainly, Captain," said Corinna, picking up the laundry bundle at his feet. "I'd be happy to take care of it for you."

"Have you ever done an officer's uniform before?"

"Well no," she admitted hesitantly, "but I'm sure Artie has. I'll get her to help me."

"Very well, then," he paused, not wanting to end the conversation. Her smiling face lifted his spirits. "How are you making out? Are you finding army life harder than you expected?"

"In some ways, yes sir. But in others, no. The group seems to act together like a family. We all seem to look out for one another."

She smiled up at him again, pleased at his attempt at small talk. He nodded in agreement. Blushing slightly at his breach of army etiquette, he said, "Well, I'm sure you have much to do."

"Yes, sir. I'll bring this back to your tent, sir, as soon as it's done if that's acceptable?"

"Very good," he replied. "Carry on." He disappeared into his tent. Running his fingers through his hair, he shook his head at his sudden decision to call her to him. Thomas would have taken care of the laundry. "Face it man, you wanted an excuse to see her. It's been too long since you've talked to her."

The thought buzzed in his brain. He'd been so busy, and their areas were so separate. Their paths would not cross unless-"unless I make them," he conceded to himself. He turned back to his work, allowing his thought to drift to later on, to the return of his laundry by his rapidly-becoming-favorite laundress.

Corinna rushed to Artie's tent. "Artie, you must help me. I have to do Captain Humbolt's dress uniform. I don't have the foggiest notion of what needs to be done."

"Well, my goodness. Let's see what he's given you. Umm. . ." she muttered, sorting out the bundle. "Whoever's been doing his laundry, hasn't done it very well. Just look at these stains."

"Can we get them out? I'd love to do his uniform all the time. I'd get to see him much more then."

Artie laughed. "We'll try, dear. Come on. Let's go to the wash tubs."

Once there, Artie pulled out her hand scrub board and a bar of gray-looking soap. "Now, Corinna, you see the stains on those white pants. Try some of my soap. Rub hard against my scrub board."

Corinna did as she was told, rubbing 'til her knuckles ached. Slowly the ground-in stains gave way to the whiteness underneath. "Artie, where did you get this board? It really helps."

"Had a cooper make it for me years ago. I'll bet the cooper here would cut you one, if you showed him mine."

"I will. This shirt is stained, too. He won't recognize his things when we're done with them."

In a short while, the shirt, trousers and hose flapped in the breeze, bleaching to a much lighter shade of white in the blazing sun. Corinna stood back, pleased with her efforts. The stains had been eradicated from the ends of his boot hose to the well-worn shirt collar. The shirt hung limply over the line. He certainly filled it out well. The image of the shirt snugly sliding over his well-developed chest sent a pleasant tingle through her. Artie nodded her approval of the sparkling wash.

"You know, Corinna," said Artie, "I have Mr. Baxter's brushes. Ask the Captain if he'd like his hat and jacket given a good brushing for tomorrow."

"Oh, I will as soon as I get these pressed and back to him. The flat irons are almost hot enough now."

A drop of wash water sizzled and danced on the face of the iron. Corinna pressed the dampness from the shirt and pants, carefully pressing out all the wrinkles. She ran the iron along the front crease, carefully pressing the inner leg, delicately smoothing the crotch. The warm, rising steam filled her nostrils. She set the iron down, then ran her hand slowly around the same course, her fingers tracing the curves. The heat from the pants filled her hand. "If only he were in them. . .Goodness, what a thought, Corinna."

She snatched back her hand. Her imagination was limited, having never seen a grown man nude, not even her father. Arabelle's descriptions didn't help much. Corinna's hazy ideas of manhood would have to wait a while to become fully developed, "until I see more of the captain." She grinned at the risqué thought. She purposefully picked up the iron. This was no time to daydream. The last of the heat took the wrinkles from the boot hose.

"Captain? Captain Humbolt?" Corinna stood outside his tent, newly pressed clothes carefully balanced over her arm.

"Yes?" Humbolt stepped out of his tent at her call. Sergeant Thomas rushed up, aghast at Corinna's direct approach to the officer.

"McGinnis! Sorry for the unannounced interruption, sir," Thomas glared at her.

"It's all right, Sergeant Thomas," said Humbolt quickly, looking at Corinna. "I'd given Miss McGinnis permission to bring the laundry directly to me. I assumed you had other more important matters to attend to."

Sergeant Thomas stared, first at the Captain, then at Corinna. "Well, yes, sir. If you say so, sir. I'll get back to the troop, sir."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

Thomas walked off, shaking his head. Corinna suppressed a giggle, stealing a look at Humbolt, who stood, ramrod straight, appearing to take no notice of Thomas' obvious confusion. The slightest quiver at the corner of his mouth gave him away. He finally glanced back to Corinna. They shared a small, secretive laugh, as they looked again at the disappearing sergeant. "You see what I mean about protocol? The sergeant will not understand or approve of you coming directly to me."

"Do I have to go through him, then?" Corinna's lower lip crept out just the tiniest bit at the thought.

Humbolt hesitated, turning the matter over and over in his mind. "No. He'll just have to get over it. Things are different out here."

The radiance of her smile confirmed the rightness of his decision. He'd deal with any consequences as they arose.

Corinna offered the sparkling clothes for Humbolt's inspection. Her heart danced as he took the offered bundle, setting it down on his camp table. "This looks very nice. The wine stain is gone. Very good indeed."

Corinna beamed. She loved his slow, broad smile. It was worth every skinned knuckle she had.

"Sir, Artie says she has the proper brushes, if you'd like your jacket and hat brushed for tomorrow."

"Mrs. Baxter is a wealth of knowledge," he commented, enjoying the bearer of this news much more than the news itself.

"Yes she is, sir. I'm sure I can do it well, with her guidance."

"I'm sure you can." He stared down at the tiny form before him. She sounded so innocent and young, so full of life. Yet the shapely figure, set off by the wash-wet blouse clinging to it, suggested a mature woman inside, a very desirable one, from the looks of her. He cleared his throat and quickly stepped back into his tent to control the sensations pulsing through his veins. He returned, holding his dress jacket and his napoleonic hat.

"My, sir. I've never seen you in that hat."

"No, this one is for special occasions-like tomorrow."

"Well, we'll take care of it sir. I'll be back as soon as we've finished."

He nodded, watching her trip lightly back to the laundresses' area. "She's little more than a child-" he thought to himself. "The simplest things please her." He shook his head. She didn't look like a child, and he certainly wasn't reacting to her as though she were a child. He sat down to his work, unable to shake the glowing image of her smile from his mind or the hint of her softly rounded, almost hidden breasts from his thoughts. He should follow military protocol precisely, but it was too late. He wanted to see more of her, get to know her, no matter what the cost. Back on Soapsuds Row, Corinna returned to Artie's tent, gingerly carrying the hat and jacket. "Well, what now?"

"Aren't these something?" Artie balanced the hat on her fingers and gave it a spin. "They're as fancy as any lady's hat."

"Oh Artie, don't. I'd die if anything happened to it."

Artie reached down and opened a small case. Inside lay matching tortoise shell-backed brushes. "Like I said, they were Mr. Baxter's. He said sergeants had to set an example, too."

"I'll bet he always looked nice."

"Yes he did. He was a fine figure of a man."

"The brushes are beautiful. But how do you use them?"

"Like this," said Artie, expertly balancing the hat on one hand, taking smooth, long strokes across it with one of the brushes. "You want to take out any flat or shiny spots in the felt. Make sure the surface is smooth and all laying one direction. And brush out any dirt spots or stains you notice."

She handed the brush and hat to Corinna.

"One brush for felt, the other for wool," she said, picking up the dress jacket. She proceeded to brush it well, while Corinna worked on the intricacies of the fancy hat.

"Is this beaver felt?" asked Corinna.

"Yes, that's what all the trappers are out here for. To get the fancy fur that felt's made out of. It's molded and pressed into these here fancy shapes, and it'll stay that way unless you really mistreat it. Try a little soap paste on the side button of that hat. Just don't get the felt soapy. I'll use the same paste on the jacket buttons. They'll really shine."

"You should do officer's laundry all the time, Artie. You're good at it."

"No, thank you! Most of them are very particular and hard to please. And they never notice if you've done a good job. They just yell if something's wrong."

"Cap'n Humbolt said I did a nice job on his clothes," Corinna said, a trifle defensively.

Artie laughed. "That's cause it's you that done it, dear. I'm telling you he has his eye on you. To let you come direct to his tent! He thinks you're pretty special."

"Oh Artie . . ." Corinna stammered, heart racing, hoping against hope that Artie was right. He already was very special to her. "You know, he was watching me when I left. I could feel his eyes on me all the way across the parade ground."

"I don't doubt it! With that wet top, you're lucky you didn't attract every man in the camp."

"Oh, my!" Corinna's hands flew across her chest. She stared down in dismay. The damp cotton nestled around every curve. "Oh Artie, what must he think!"

Artie laughed a deep, throaty laugh. "Now don't go worryin'. You just made sure he knows you're a woman, dear. Although I think he's already figured that out."

Corinna could feel the heat in her cheeks. Parading around, showing off her figure was something Arabelle would do! But something had certainly caught his attention. A warm glow surged through her. The look on his face, those probing eyes, he'd obviously noticed her. . .attributes. A small smile played about her mouth. Maybe a wet top wasn't the worst thing to have happen to a girl. She resolutely pulled out the tail of her blouse and flapped it, to dry the worst of the dampness. She didn't want to attract every man in camp, as Artie said.

"Just one," she murmured, tucking the shirt tail back in. She carefully picked up the jacket and hat and headed back to Humbolt's tent. She tiptoed quietly up behind Humbolt, who was seated at his camp table, studying some papers. "Sir?"

"Hmmm?" He looked up from his work, over his shoulder. "Oh, McGinnis."

"Sorry for the interruption, sir, but I've finished." She held out the hat and jacket, carefully framing her bosom with her arms, while studiously securing the most innocent of looks on her face.

He forced his gaze away from the lovely cleavage residing at his current eye level. "They look very nice," he remarked, trying hard to look at the clothing. He dutifully checked his hat for a dusty stain, finding it pleasantly absent.

"You do very good work, McGinnis," he said, swallowing hard, feeling the stretch of his uniform pants. His unruly body announced its approval of the laundress. Thank heavens he was seated. "I may make the switch permanent, if you don't mind. My uniforms have been getting a trifle tacky looking these days. They need a firmer hand."

"That will be fine with me, sir." Corinna answered quickly. Her ready answer and beaming smile soaked deep into Humbolt's consciousness, dissolving the knot of caution that had resided there. It was the excuse he needed to see her on a regular basis.

"Sir, may I ask a question about tomorrow?"

Her excited innocence sounded genuine. If she noticed anything inappropriate in him, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. He took a deep breath, and shifted slightly in his chair, thankful he didn't have to stand to talk to her. He wasn't quite ready to embarrass himself by revealing his physical reaction to her presence. "Certainly."

"Will we laundresses be included in the ceremonies? Do we get to be a part of the introductions?"

He paused, studying her face. "I'm afraid not. You'll be allowed to stand in a place where you can watch, but you won't be introduced."

"I won't get to meet an Indian?" The disappointment in her voice was also genuine. The bright smile faded visibly.

"Not tomorrow." His fingers ached with desire. He curled them tightly around his lapel to keep them under control. He wanted to reach out, to touch that check, to coax that smile back. "But, don't worry. Tomorrow is just the official first visit. They'll come back to trade and to talk. Their women will come in then. I'm sure you'll get to meet an Indian face to face very soon."

She finally smiled again, and sunlight broke out across her face. "Good. I do so want to meet a real Indian woman."

"You shall, believe me. You'll have ample opportunity while we're here."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. "Here, I must pay you for a job well done."

"Oh, sir, that's too much," protested Corinna, when she saw the fifty-cent piece. "I just did one uniform."

"Don't be silly." He tried hard not to laugh. Most laundresses would have grabbed the coin and run, before he changed his mind. "You got that uniform cleaner than it's been in a long time. Your work is worth at least that. Share it with Mrs. Baxter if you must."

"Thank you, Captain," said Corinna, stretching out her palm to receive the coin. The gesture and the sincerity of her remarks touched him in some elemental way. She was such a genuine wonderful person. And he was lost, in her smile.

He stood, not caring if she noticed his arousal. He pressed the coin into her palm, then curled her fingers inside his own, pulling her gently toward him, holding her fast. "I hope you don't mind the change. It's the only way I can think of the see more of you."

Staring down into her eyes, he waited, fearing he'd gone too far. She stared back, heart pounding. Sliding her free hand around his, she held his between her own, feeling his pulse pounding between her palms. How handsome he was. She licked her lips and saw his own separate, his tongue following hers in an age-old dance. She whispered, "I'd like that very much, Captain."

" It's Geoffrey. You said once we could be friends on this long trip. My friends call me Geoffrey-when we're alone."

She nodded and tried to say more, but the words stuck in her throat. His eyes seemed to devour her, commanding her to stay. Her pulse pounded in time with his, their fingers interlaced, his breathing matching the heaving of her chest. An eternity passed, A shudder ran through her. They couldn't stand here like this all day. If someone saw him holding her hand, he'd be reprimanded and she'd be sent away. She knew that much about the rules. Summoning every ounce of strength, she shifted back, away from him, breaking the moment.

"You know I must go now." She glanced quickly to both sides, fearing they had already been seen.

"Of course," said Humbolt. Reluctantly he loosened his hold. She gently slid her fingers through his grasp, caressing his hand on the way.

"Good bye, Cap . . .Geoffrey." Lowering her eyes, her gaze riveted on his still-apparent state of arousal. Taking another deep breath, she turned and walked away, not able to say another word.

He watched her go until he could no longer see her through the tent rows. "What have I started? Nothing can ever work between us."

"I don't care!" he mumbled aloud. His desire to see more of her outweighed all the rational thoughts trying to bring him back to his place and put her in hers. Their worlds were so far apart. His aristocratic family in Ithaca would never accept such a common person. He sat back down, in case he had other visitors.

Of course she was right. They couldn't be seen openly holding hands in the middle of camp. A visit to one of the camp followers to "relieve the tensions of the work" would be overlooked, but a romantic liaison certainly wouldn't be. Morgan would never approve of one of his officers seriously meeting with a laundress.

His breathing gradually returned to normal. Too bad the river was too swift for a cold swim. One of those would help about now. He finally turned back to his work. Much had to be done for Colonel Morgan's meeting tomorrow with Chief War Eagle.

Corinna made her way back to her tent, heart still pounding from the encounter. She clutched the coin to her breast, pressing its cold bright metal against her hot flesh. Humbolt's words echoed in her ears. "It's the only way I can think of to see you."

And his . . .obvious state! She couldn't even think of it without feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. She'd never caused such a reaction before. Jamie liked her, but his reaction was nothing like the captain's. Arabelle had explained such things long ago, saying that men reacted "that way" when they wanted a woman. But the idea of the Captain responding to her in such an obviously physical manner left her almost breathless.

And for heaven sake-her body was responding to him just as strongly. The warm, hard knot deep within her ached-calling for relief, urging her to. . .to. . .what? Wrapping her arms around her breasts, holding them tight to her to stop the tingling, burning feelings, she slipped into her tent. She had to think about these feelings. "Is this what love feels like?"

Corinna awoke with first light. She'd lain awake half the night, the scene with the captain running through her mind over and over again, her imagination taking the scene the next step. She could recall the feeling of his strong arms pressing her tight against his chest. Her memories of the rescue on the boat were very clear.

She could even imagine being really kissed by those full brooding lips. Her lips would enjoy their touch much more than the back of her hand had. But then, even her imagination could not take her where she had never been. Arabelle's descriptions of making love simply did not match what she felt or the captain's actions. Sleep had not come easily.

And daybreak came too soon. Opening her trunk, she selected her clothes with care. Today would be a very formal day, no time for personal matters at all. "Who knows," she said to herself, "I might get to meet an Indian. They'll be in their best."

Camp orders had changed for the morning. No drills were scheduled after breakfast, and laundresses were excused from washing. Waiting impatiently for the bugle's sound to signal their guests' approach, she stepped out of her tent to see Artie coming toward her. "Good morning!"

"Well, you're up early."

Corinna wasn't ready to share yesterday with anyone, not even Artie. It was too special. "I couldn't sleep. I'm too excited. Let's go see what they've done to get ready."

They walked to the parade ground. A large tent now stood in the middle, facing a square of seating blankets laid out carefully on the ground. They could see Colonel Morgan, already waiting just inside the tent.

"There must be thirty blankets here, Artie. Do you think there will be that many Indians coming in?"

"Maybe. We wouldn't want to slight any of their leaders, according to Andre. We have to have room for everyone they bring."

Corinna flinched at the bugle's blast. They rushed to the edge of camp to join the throng gathering to witness the spectacle. Arabelle met them. She said, "This is just like a circus. Everyone comes to watch the show."

"More like a visit from a king," said Artie. "The commoners can watch but only certain people really get to meet the guests."

"Oh, I think it's exciting," said Corinna. "Have either of you ever met an Indian?"

"Heavens, no!" Exclaimed Arabelle. "I've stayed in civilized places until now."

"I've never met an Indian from this far west, dear," said Artie. "My husband's unit had Indian scouts in the last war. Tribes in the East were fighting one another, on both sides during that one."

"How long ago was that, Artie?"

"About four years ago. It ended in 1815. Mr. Baxter was killed right at the end."

"By an Indian?"

"I don't know. They don't always tell you how. They just tell you they're gone." Artie looked away.

"I'm sorry, Artie," said Corinna. "I didn't mean to.. "

"Never mind, dear. It's all right. Look! They're coming down the bluff face."

The line of horses snaked down the trail to the flats. Men in luxurious headdresses, dripping with feathers, and full buckskin suits, fringed beautifully, came first. Then more bronzed braves and a few dark-haired, dark-eyed women, in those same luxuriant tan dresses, sitting astride equally beautiful horses.

Corinna strained to get a glimpse of the leaders. "I wish we could be closer. I'd love to see them better."

They halted in front of the line of officers waiting at the council square. Words were exchanged, then one in a full-length headdress dismounted. At that, Colonel Morgan and Agent Kensington stepped forward. Kensington made the introductions. The colonel and the chief sat down at the camp table in front of the tent. The rest of the soldiers and Indians took seats around the council square. Man after man stood up, delivering speeches to one another in language that only the interpreters understood.

"I wish I knew what they're saying," Corinna whispered again.

"Probably nothing important," Arabelle commented. "Most men just talk to hear themselves."

"Oh! Look!" Corinna said, "Their women are looking at us."

"I wonder what got their attention," said Artie. "They're even pointing at us."

One of the women broke from the group and walked quietly up to the council square. She whispered into the ear of one of the younger chiefs, who turned quickly to stare at the laundresses. He nodded and the woman retreated.

"Goodness," said Corinna, "She interrupted them to point us out."

The brave spoke quietly to the old chief, after he'd finished his speech. Chief War Eagle peered at the laundresses, then said something to Colonel Morgan.

Morgan's eyes widened, staring at the chief, but he nodded and spoke to Captain Humbolt. Corinna could see the color rise in Humbolt's face and his jaw tighten in a steely line. He shook his head at Morgan. Morgan spoke again, flashing a disapproving look at Humbolt, who in turn snapped a salute, spun on his heel and stomped quickly toward them.

"Whatever is going on?" murmured Corinna to Artie. Artie shrugged and shook her head. Humbolt stomped to a stop directly in front of Corinna.

"Miss McGinnis, would you join us please?" he asked, very correctly.

"Me!" Corinna stood rooted to the spot. "Why me?"

"Chief War Eagle wishes to see the little one with the flaming hair-like General Clark," said Humbolt. "Evidently redheads are scarce in this country. One of their women noticed your red curls."

"My hair?" Corinna touched the tendrils curling out from under the brim of her mobcap.

"Yes, your hair," hissed Humbolt, between his teeth. He was having a hard time dealing with the savage's request to see Corinna. He didn't want to take her any closer. "Will you come?"

"Certainly! What do I say to him, Captain?" asked Corinna, during the quick walk back to the council square.

"You may not have to say anything. I'll be right here. We don't know what he wants."

Corinna smiled up at him. "I'm sure I'll be fine with you beside me."

Humbolt didn't even notice the smile. The Indians were too close for his comfort. His gaze darted from Indian to Indian, assessing the mood of each. Showing off a woman, this woman in particular, rankled deep within him.

Corinna on the other hand, smiled and nodded to Chief War Eagle. He seemed like a gentle grandfather, with his silver hair streaming out from beneath his elaborate headdress. War Eagle stared a short while and then spoke to Andre, who asked, "Is your hair all flame color like the front?"

"Yes."

"He'd like to see it."

"Is that all right with you, Miss McGinnis?" asked Colonel Morgan.

"Oh yes, sir." Reaching up, she pulled the mobcap from her head. She untied the ribbon holding the heavy mane of hair away from her face. A collective gasp of astonishment arose from the Indians. She ran her fingers through her hair, shaking her head to fluff it free. It streamed around her to almost waist length.

"The chief wants to know if you belong to Big Father Clark's family. Are you related to General Clark?"

"No," said Corinna. "Tell him there are many red-headed people in my home country."

Duly translated. Then again, "Where is your home country?"

"Across the eastern ocean-a place called Ireland. Both my mother and father were red-headed," Corinna took a deep breath and smiled. She'd never imagined her red hair would be an asset on this trip.

"Could he touch your hair?"

Corinna laughed and stepped forward, swinging her hair to let it fall across the old man's hands. "Pahi' zhide," he murmured, letting it slip gently through his fingers like running water. He leaned back and she swung her head again, draping the flaming cloak back over her shoulder.

Humbolt's own scalp tingled. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, becoming more and more agitated. His own hands ached to touch that same mass of fire. War Eagle's hands on her hair set his teeth on edge. He could imagine a warrior's hands, lifting, slicing and hanging that crimson mass from some scalp pole. Memories from the war, screams of the dying, being scalped before they were dead came flooding back, blotting out the chief's soothing words. He didn't like this at all.

"Flaming hair is alone? Family not here?"

The chief's question, out of Andre's mouth, chilled Humbolt. He whispered to Morgan, who nodded. "Tell the chief Miss McGinnis is one of our recruits and is under my personal protection."

Humbolt glared at Andre and War Eagle. He didn't want anyone to get the idea that Corinna was "available", with no man to protect her. Finally War Eagle nodded. "Good to have sign-strong medicine in "Pahi'zhide, flaming hair." The English surprised them all.

Morgan spoke up to end the visit. "Thank you, Miss McGinnis. If that's all, chief?"

War Eagle nodded.

"McGinnis?" Humbolt half-turned, waiting for her.

"Yes, sir," she said, following his lead. As soon as they were out of earshot, he said crisply, "It would be wise to keep that hair covered up."

"I usually do." Corinna tied the ribbon around her hair while they walked. "But why wise?"

"I want to keep that beautiful hair on your head, not on some brave's belt."

"Oh, my!"

Corinna pulled her mobcap back on-covering all but the barest fringe of curls around her face. "Do you really think he wants my scalp?"

"He may not, but somebody else might. They could sell it to another tribe, if it's really that scarce. Just keep it covered up until we know these Indians better. Better safe than sorry."

Corinna nodded. Humbolt hesitated. It was too public here to say more. "Thank you for granting the chief's request. It may help us here."

"You're welcome, Captain. I wanted to see Indians up close, but I never thought they'd want to see me."

"Well, them wanting to see you may not be such a good idea," said Humbolt. He turned and walked back to the council square.

"Well, what was that all about?" demanded Arabelle. "What about your hair?"

"Evidently red-heads are rare here. General Clark had red hair, too. The Chief wanted to know if we were related."

"You certainly got a lot of attention." Arabelle sniffed her displeasure.

"The Captain isn't pleased about that, either-says someone might try to separate me from my hair."

"Oh, that sounds awful. I thought these Indians were friendly."

"They seemed friendly to me. I think the Captain worries too much. Most red hair isn't as red as mine. The chief called it flaming hair. He was just curious."

"You'd better watch yourself, just the same," said Artie.

"I will. I've got it covered already, like the captain said."

A red clay pipe was finally passed, with all the participants taking a puff to end the ceremony. The Indian women came forward, lead by the dark-haired beauty who had noticed Corinna. They presented their traditional welcoming gift of meat and a pot of cornmeal. Colonel Morgan accepted the gifts and said a few final words. Trade goods, beads and cloth were distributed to all the Omaha guests.

"Well, they must be done," said Artie. "They're all getting up."

"Good, said Arabelle, "I'm exhausted from standing here. We really didn't need to watch all this."

"Of course we did," said Corinna. "This is very important. I'd rather have them here talking than shooting arrows at us."

"Well, that's true."

The Indians returned to their lines of carefully staked ponies. Their departure was even quicker than their coming.

Corinna watched the dust cloud tracking up the bluff delineating their path. "Now what? When will they come again?"

"If they're like the eastern Indians, they'll come again very soon. But first, our soldiers will have to pay a courtesy call on all the local villages. That's what Andre said," said Artie. "They visit us, then we have to visit them. Then they'll start to trade."

"Goodness, it gets complicated," said Arabelle. "I'll just do wash."

"Will any of us get to go to the Indian camps?" asked Corinna. "I'd love to see one."

"I'm sure not," said Artie, "not until things are much more settled between us. It might not be safe. Some do take slaves and prisoners, Corinna."

"Oh. Maybe someday. It would be a shame not to get to know the people who live here."

"Well," said Arabelle. "Here comes the sergeant. Ready for us to make up for what we didn't get done this morning."

"Troops! Dis-Missed!"

"The wash tubs await," said Artie "Indian visit or not."

"You're right," said Corinna. "I've got lots to do yet."

"Well, if you didn't volunteer, you wouldn't have so much," said Arabelle. "Sometimes I think you actually enjoy doing that grimy old wash."

Chapter Five

Sergeant Thomas poked at the dwindling fire, stirring the ash-tinged coals back to life. Satisfied it was again creating heat, he pulled on his riding gloves, grabbed the big coffeepot, and poured a waiting tin mug full, then another. He moved silently back to Captain Humbolt's side.

Humbolt accepted the offered cup, nodding his thanks.

"Captain, how many more of these visits do we have to make? I don't relish another week out here in the open countryside."

Humbolt blew onto the coffee's surface. Tendrils of steam danced into the air. He took a careful sip, then turned.

"Neither do I, Sergeant. But Andre says it's a serious breach of Indian etiquette if we don't visit each of the local villages."

"Hmm."

"I think we're about through. He should be back soon. We have two more villages to find."

Thomas nodded and sat down on the log next to Humbolt. "Well, it sure seems to take him a long time to locate these villages. They look pretty permanent to me."

Humbolt stared across the fire at the troopers, already

asleep, almost head to head around the fire, wrapped like mummies in their thin blankets. "You're right. They're certainly more permanent than any of our camps, and warmer too. I doubt they're feeling the chill like we are. But earthen lodges don't pack on a horse too well."

Thomas shifted, squirming on the uncomfortable log.

"I suppose not all of them are like the Omaha ones near our camp."

Humbolt leaned down, picking up a bundle at his feet. He drew out a small journal. "Doesn't look like it. The farther north we come, the more mobile the settlements. But, I'm taking compass readings and sketching a map as we go. Next time we'll not be so dependent on Andre."

"Good," said Thomas, glancing down at the pages Humbolt held up for his inspection. "I'm not sure he's to be trusted, sir. And I'm not sure why I think that."

"We'll just have to watch him, to see if anything is really wrong. As long as he's with us, we should be safe. I can't imagine he'd want to get himself killed." Humbolt turned away. He wished he were as sure of himself as he'd just tried to sound.

"No sir, but he's not with us right now. And we don't know where he is!"

Humbolt leaned back, looking square at Thomas. He hadn't fooled the old sergeant at all. Andre nagged at him, at the back of his mind, like a coyote, lurking in the shadows, just out of sight, but there, nevertheless. "That's true. Post a double guard tonight. And if Andre isn't back by morning, we'll find those villages ourselves-and him, too."

"If we stir up the Arickarees right now, we could wipe them out!" Montclair smacked a heavy fist into his palm. "We don't need them here."

"No!" exclaimed Andre. "I told you before, if the Indians attack the camp, the army will just send more troops." He watched the tiny fire burn lower and lower. It barely illuminated the burly Frenchman's face. Andre could just see Montclair across the embers. "He is an ugly cuss."

In the deepening shadows, Montclair looked like a grizzly just up from hibernating, and just as cranky. No sense in rilin' him. "We need to cause them lots of little troubles, so they don't poke their noses outside their main camp."

"Like what?"

"Oh, like, stealing horses, chasing away game, destroying the wild berries. They won't know who to blame. They'll think it was one of the Indian tribes. That will make things worse and we won't be suspect at all."

"What if they decide to come looking?"

"Oh, we'll know in plenty of time, believe me, we'll know. We have people in the right places." The image of Arabelle formed in Andre's mind. He'd seen her talking to several of the officers, very discreetly of course. She knew what went on. She knew.

"We may even arrange for them to meet some hostile Indians, but not now." Andre stirred the fire slightly, to get just a glow, to warm the pot. Not too much-Smoke would give away them away. "When will you be ready with a load of pelts?"

"Not for another month or so. We want to go further up river. We're still dodging Blackfeet. Maybe we should make the army protect us!"

"That's what they're supposed to do. Problem is, they're going to do it for Astor's men as well. Suthridge has set up an office in St. Louis. He needs those furs, now."

Montclair nodded. "We can take in what we have. It's not much. The beaver around here are few and far between. And the Omaha's don't like it when we hunt them. But the pelts are prime already. It's going to be a nasty winter."

"Oh?"

"The beaver think so. The squirrels, too. All the critters are packing on weight. We won't be out too much longer"

"What about Astor's men?"

"They're still up in the Yellowstone Valley. The snows will drive them out soon."

"Snows have already started?"

"Yep."

Andre shook his head and stirred the fire again. Snow this early was always a bad sign. "Mother Nature may give us a hand. The army troops sure aren't ready for winter. They haven't really started layin' in supplies."

"Well if they're worryin' about food, they won't bother us and our furs." Montclair rubbed a ham-sized hand across his unkempt beard. "Astor may have more than we do. Maybe we ought to help them lighten their load a little."

Andre cupped his hand around his own chin, tugging at his slightly neater beard. His eyes narrowed while he contemplated Montclair's last remark.

"That's a thought! We could catch them up river."

Montclair nodded his head furiously, his shaggy mane of hair bobbing wildly. "And make it look like the Omahas. They don't help us none."

"Good thinking, Montclair. Take care of it. I'll head back to the visiting party early in the morning. Don't want them to think I deserted."

Montclair grunted good night and ambled to his bedroll. Andre breathed a sigh of relief. Chasing Astor's men would keep Montclair out of the way, and pick up a few furs at the same time. The last thing they needed was to have Montclair really get the army stirred up. He pulled his buffalo robe up to his chin to ward off the night chill. He'd never get used to this country's cold, no matter how long he stayed. The tiny fire burned out, leaving the camp cold and dark. Morning would come none too soon.

"Artie, hurry, a whole group is coming in."

Corinna rushed to the trading circle set up at the edge of the parade ground. The Indians brought ponies, elderberries, wild plums and maze to trade for the knives, calico, beads and whiskey.

Their women had also come on this trip. She watched them fingering the yard goods and beads. Corinna spied a familiar-looking face. "Artie, I'm sure that's the one who noticed my hair."

"I think you're right. She seems to be the leader of the women. See, they're all showing her what they want."

"Isn't she beautiful!" Corinna couldn't help but stare at the tall, bronzed-toned woman in the trading circle. Her tanned buckskin dress dropped gracefully from her shoulders. A beaded belt draped at hip level and a soft pouch hung from it. And her hair, seemingly yards of jet black, silky looking, swayed from the top of her head almost to her hemline. She stood tall in the group, perhaps half a head taller than the rest.

"She moves so gracefully, like a princess." Corinna couldn't take her eyes off her.

"She may be," said Artie quietly. "She was with the first group. She must be an important woman in the tribe."

"I'm going to see if she'll talk to me."

"Oh, Corinna. They may not want to talk to strangers. She may not speak English."

"Well, we'll never know unless I ask."

The dark-haired woman spoke sharply to the sutler, shaking the fabric at him. Corinna edged closer to listen. The sutler was vigorously defending his selection of yard goods and pots and pans, from what Corinna could guess. The conversation was in the native tongue. Finally, she could stand it no longer.

"Hello."

The woman looked at her, wide-eyed, startled by the interruption. Her gaze narrowed and she smiled. "Hello."

Encouraged by the smile and the English, Corinna continued. "I saw you before. You're the one who noticed me."

"Yes."

"Well, since you speak English and know my name, could I ask your name as well?"

"I am called Senoma, by my people. I am wife of Chief Spotted Deer."

"Senoma," Corinna repeated the name, rolling it around on her tongue. "Perhaps we can get to know one another. I'd like to know more about you and your people if I'm going to live here."

Corinna couldn't look away from Senoma's penetrating gaze. Her deep brown eyes seemed to be searching, questioning her, without saying a word. Finally, she seemed satisfied. The hint of a smile touched the corners of her mouth. "Perhaps. We will come to trade often."

Corinna returned the suggestion of a smile with one of her own mile-wide ones. "I hope so. I'm sorry if I've interrupted your trading."

Senoma nodded and Corinna headed back to the wash tubs. Senoma watched her go, then turned back to her bargaining, again berating the sutler for his high trading demands for simple yard goods.

"Well, Humbolt, how did the visits go?" Colonel Morgan stared up into the rock-set face of his most-trusted captain.

"Very well, Colonel, all things considered."

"Problems?"

"Not really. War Eagle's people welcomed us. They are

scattered in several villages around the area, with young chiefs in each one. The closest group is Chief Spotted Deer's village. Remember, the first one we met?"

"Yes."

"We needed an interpreter. But many of the

tribes have someone who speaks at least broken English. They understand it better than they speak it."

"Andre speaks the native language, doesn't he?"

"And that's a concern, sir. I have an uneasy feeling about Andre. I'm having difficulty believing he's saying what I want him to say. He seems to disappear for days and has little explanation for where he is. I hate to send a man with him every time he leaves, but I'm beginning to think I should."

"Has anything happened?"

"No sir, not yet."

Morgan leaned back, considering Humbolt's words. Humbolt was normally a very good judge of events and people. He massaged a weary hand across his nose. "Well, watch him. He has no loyalties to speak of. He's worked for everyone out here. He knows all sides and all the tribes, according to the reports I have on him. This is a big territory."

"You're right there, sir." Humbolt deposited several books on the Colonel's table. "Here are my journals of the visits-and the maps I've drawn. I thought you might want to review them."

"Absolutely! Sit down, while I take a look." Morgan began to thumb through the first of the leather-bound volumes.

Humbolt watched him leaf through the books. "We're never going to be able to patrol this country, sir, not with the men we have. The villages are miles and miles apart."

Morgan unrolled the first map and studied it intently. "I see what you mean. We'll just have to do the best we can. Perhaps we won't do formal patrols. Maybe we can rely on the local tribes. They seem to be peaceful enough."

"Perhaps, sir. But the sooner some of us can learn

their language the better. I'd like to talk to them directly if I'm going to trust them. I don't like having middle men like Andre where our safety's concerned-and it still may be."

Morgan nodded, never taking his eyes off the map in front of him. "Good point. Well, with them trading here, we should have plenty of opportunity to learn the language. Their women came into camp several times while you were gone. At least some of them seem to be friendly."

"Oh?"

"Yes. From what I'm told, Spotted Deer's wife and her group have been making regular visits." Morgan paused, looking up from his intense map study. "And some of your people have been making them welcome."

Humbolt stiffened. "My people?"

"Yes, your Miss McGinnis and some of the other laundresses-she seems to be very good at making them feel comfortable. The other captains have noticed that the native women talk to her easily. Evidently she really is special to them."

"Yes sir, very special." The cold knot hardening in Humbolt's gut turned to solid ice. He couldn't keep her safe if she insisted in seeking out danger, especially while he was gone. He hadn't seen her in weeks. And she'd been befriending Indians while he was gone. His brow knitted into a vicious scowl, evident to the Colonel.

"The sooner we make friends with the locals the better. You'll want to encourage that, Captain." Morgan stared hard at Humbolt.

Humbolt tried vainly to relax his facial muscles and to eliminate the outward sign of his disapproval. "Yes sir."Encouraging Corinna's exploits was the last thing he wanted to do. All he wanted to do was find her. And to continue where they'd left off. Holding her hand was never going to be enough.

"Oh, Artie-won't this be fun. It's been such a long time since we've done anything but work." Corinna spun around in front of Artie, showing off her one good skirt and bodice. The neckline gathered gently, framing her face.

"Yes, we should have a good time. You look lovely. Are you a good dancer?"

Arabelle laughed. "Artie, it won't matter if she's stiff as a broomstick. She'll dance every dance. So will you, if you want to-we all will."

Artie nodded. "I'm glad Colonel Morgan decided to hold a company dance to celebrate his promotion to full Colonel. Everyone needs a party."

"Well, I hear the musicians," said Arabelle. "Let's go! I'm sure the dancing will begin quickly."

Corinna grabbed her shawl. It would turn chilly after sundown. The three walked from Corinna's tent to the grassy parade ground where the dancers were congregating. Campfires already burned in several spots, casting a warm glow into the rapidly darkening sky. Wives, who had accompanied their soldier-husbands, put their children to sleep on pallets within the sheltering warmth of the fires.

As Arabelle had predicted, every available dance partner was on her feet, joined by an eager soldier, ready to dance away the hardship of the last few months.

Corinna looked around the perimeter and her heart sank.

Military protocol ruled the night. The officers, their wives and children congregated on one side of the dance area, the enlisted men, their wives and laundresses on the other. The band members stood in the middle on the sidelines, like referees, keeping track and separating the sides. She saw Humbolt, standing ramrod stiff, on the other side of the field. Her heart melted at the sight. "Thank goodness he's back safe." He seemed to be searching, looking. Their eyes met across the wide clearing. Corinna caught her breath, his smoldering gaze calling to her, reaching out across the ocean of grass between them. She silently pleaded in her own way, for him to come to her.

She had to breathe, and in that second the spell was broken. A woman, dressed in a luscious silk gown touched his elbow. She smiled up at him and he nodded, easily making small talk.

Corinna turned her head. She didn't want to see him talking, smiling at anyone else. How could she think he'd be interested in her? Even if he had said he wanted to see more of her. He was a very eligible bachelor and there were officer's daughters on this trip. Much more suitable companions for him. A lump burned in her throat. She set her jaw and pursed her lips; she wasn't going to cry, not here, no matter how much it hurt.

She didn't notice a bright-eyed Private Jamison approaching.

"Miss McGinnis, would you care to try you luck with me?" he asked, eyes shining.

Corinna smiled gamely-she did like the young man. "Certainly, Jamie. Let's have a go."

She extended her hand and they joined the couples circling the ground for the round dance going on. She tossed her head defiantly. The Captain wasn't the only sought after person at this dance. Arabelle and Artie quickly followed with partners of their own. One after another the tunes reeled by.

Humbolt danced mechanically with the lovely lady in his arms. He tried to pay attention to what she was saying but he couldn't. His eyes continued to stray in Corinna's direction, wherever that happened to be. He could see the young soldiers vying for Corinna's attention. And he couldn't even get in line. He was trapped by rank and protocol on this side of the dance. Cursing the service he'd always loved, he tried to bring his attention back to the lovely lady in his arms.

Corinna bit her lip when Captain Humbolt swung by, with Mrs. Berkeley. At least she was married. Corinna wished desperately that she could trade places. She saw that the dancers were still just as segregated as they had been before the dancing started-the officers danced only with the officer's wives and daughters. Only enlisted men danced with the laundresses. Her hopes of dancing with Humbolt this evening, drifted away on of the more melancholy tunes.

"Goodness, let's rest a moment." Corinna pulled Jamie out of the dance. "Let me catch my breath."

Jamie nodded, holding tightly to her hand, while she took a couple of deep breaths. She stood by him, feeling the tightening pressure of his hand on hers; not returning it, just allowing it. "I'm surprised at the musicians. They look so young, but they do seem to know the dances as well as the military tunes."

Jamie laughed. "Robbie-the one on the flute-you'll rarely see him without it. All you have to do is sing or whistle a tune and he can play it back to you-just like that. And Timothy does do a fine job on his drum, even though he's the littlest one there."

"Yes. And the Sergeant plays a fine fiddle."

"You don't see many of them out here. You can tell this was a big march. We brought nearly everything we owned with us."

"And when you put the musicians from all the companies

together, we have a fine military band."

Another young soldier stepped up. "Jamison, you've monopolized this lady's time too much. Would you dance with me, Miss?"

She smiled. "Of course. Excuse me, Jamie." Jamie reluctantly turned loose and she joined her new partner. The dances flew by and she changed partners again and again.

The music spurred them around and partners changed for the next set. Humbolt returned Mrs. Berkeley to her husband, and then disappeared in the crowd. He wouldn't watch Corinna dancing and laughing with other men. It set his teeth on edge. Damning the strict military code that separated them, he stalked off toward the liquor table set up behind the lines of dancers.

Corinna lost track of Humbolt. Partner after partner claimed her attention. Jamie finally seized her hand again. The music beckoned for another sprightly reel.

Standing by the makeshift camp-table-turned bar, Richardson and Humbolt watched the dancers. "Oh look, Geoff," said Richardson, "Your pretty redhead has found a regular partner."

"I see," said Humbolt, "That was her wagon driver. He's quite smitten with her."

"Well, she's too pretty to waste on a private, Geoff. I'm telling you, you ought to claim that one for yourself." Richardson nodded toward the pair, then gulped the last of his drink.

Humbolt shook his head. Claiming Corinna, like so much

property, was not in his nature. He watched her swing by, feet flying, eyes sparkling. A cold, empty knot formed in his stomach. What right did he have to feel possessive about her? The space between them was as wide as the parade ground. They were on opposite sides of the world. He'd promised himself he wouldn't get involved again and he wasn't interested in one of Cyrus' interludes. A serious relationship between them had nowhere to go. He finally said, "No. If she's made friends with Jamison, that will do. He's a fine young lad."

"Well, if you're really not interested, I might just have to get to know her better. She'd suit me, I'm sure." A vulgar laugh escaped his throat.

Humbolt turned quickly. "Oh Cyrus, you'd get on better with Miss Colter over there," Humbolt said, nodding his tankard toward the blonde gliding by. "She'd be more your style."

"O-ho-you are interested! Trying to send me off to one of your other wenches, are you? Well I may just meet them both, Geoffrey, depends upon my mood. I could teach the young one a few things. And Miss Colter-I dare say, she might teach me a few things."

Humbolt held his tongue. He didn't want to provoke

Richardson. The thought of Cyrus' drunken hands on Corinna chilled him to the bone. Jamie could never protect her against Cyrus. He ran his hand over the back of his neck.

"What am I going to do?" His heart and his head were carrying on their own war. A stirring beside him brought him out of his reverie.

Colonel Morgan rapped his tankard on the table for attention and raised it, saying, "I propose a toast to all of you on the establishment of our first camp-henceforth to be known as Cantonment Missouri. Let's have a cheer and one final dance."

"Here, Here," went up all round and partners quickly formed for the last dance. Jamie reached for Corinna's hand questioningly. Corinna stole a quick look at Humbolt. Seeing him standing at the liquor table, she sighed and gave Jamie her hand.

The final reel ended quickly. "May I walk you back to your tent?" asked Jamie quietly.

"Oh, thank you, no," said Corinna quickly. "I'll be walking back with Artie and Arabelle. We look out for each other."

Corinna looked around quickly to find Artie to make good on her remark. She didn't want Humbolt to see her leave with Jamie. That would make too much of their relationship. Spying Artie, she said, "There's Artie. Thank you, Jamie. I enjoyed the dancing."

Seeing the disappointment evident on his face, she touched his sleeve saying, "You are so good to me. I consider you one of my best friends in camp, right after Artie."

He nodded and watched her leave. His shoulders sagged and he aimed a kick at one lone blade of still-standing grass. Missing it, he sighed and walked over to the whiskey table. "Is it to late for one last drink, Cap'n?"

"No Jamie, I think not," said Humbolt. "I thought you'd be walking Miss McGinnis back to her tent."

"So did I, sir, so did I." Jamie downed the drink in one gulp and stalked off toward the enlisted men's tent row.

"Well, well," said Richardson. "The little one is alone tonight, Geoff. Seems a pity."

"She evidently wants it that way, Cy," said Humbolt. The image of walking her back to her tent himself, holding that tiny hand, would not leave his mind. He was greatly relieved that Jamie hadn't accompanied her back to her tent. Perhaps theirs was just a friendship.

"Hmm-mm." Richardson downed the rest of his drink silently, staring off towards the line of tents affectionately known as "Soapsuds Row". Having the laundress' tents and tubs close to the river effectively segregated the camp, without making it too difficult for interested parties to "cross the line". Huge cottonwoods lined the banks, providing shade and protection to the tents pitched underneath. The tents shimmered in the moonlight, like a row of gypsy moths dancing in the ice-blue light.

"What're you doin' still up, Jamison? You don't have the watch 'til later."

"Can't sleep, Jake."

Jake adjusted the heavy rifle on his shoulder. "Well, you better get some sleep. You fall asleep on watch and you'll be in irons, you know that."

Jamie kicked a glowing ember back into the fire. "Jake?"

"What?"

"You know anything about women?"

"I'm married to one; that's all I know. How can you have women troubles? You're just a private. Women out here don't pay no attention to privates."

Jamie scuffed a boot at the embers. "I thought Miss Corinna might. We got on well during the trip and she danced with me tonight."

"And she danced with a dozen others, too. Ones that make a whole lot more than you do."

"I know. But she wasn't lookin' after any of them."

"Oh?"

"No-the only one she seemed to notice was the Captain."

"Cap'n Humbolt?"

"Yeah. Saw her starin' at him several times."

Jake shook his head. "Then she's just as foolish as you. Officers don't pay laundresses no mind, either. Not serious, like you mean."

Jake regarded the young man standing in front of him. He gave him a soft slap on the shoulder. "If she thinks he's going to notice her, you just bide your time. Sooner or later, she'll realize he's not interested. Then you'll be there."

"You think so?"

"You got no other choice, Jamie. In the army, privates are the lowest of the low, where women are concerned. I didn't get my wife to notice me 'til I made Corporal and that's unusual. Laundresses usually marry sergeants, if they get hitched at all. Get yourself some sleep. You got to be up in the wee small hours."

"Thanks, Jake."

"Don't mention it." Jake watched the young trooper enter his tent, then shook his head. "Just what he don't need."

Jake walked off to meet the rest of the evening patrol.

Corinna carefully packed her good clothes away and snuffed out the candle lamp. Candles were dear, no sense wasting them. She'd just have to make more. Drawing on her night shift, she imagined the evening again, only this time her partner was the handsome Captain, holding her closely, guiding her around the grassy "floor", whispering soft nothings as they swayed to the music.

She couldn't help it; even though the other ladies were more sophisticated, better dressed, even prettier, she still hoped Humbolt wanted her-wanted to see more of her, like he'd said. She'd know soon enough, now that the squad had returned to camp.

"Oh, well," she sighed. "Maybe the next time." The bright moonlight filtered through the tent canvass. She lay down on her pallet, thoughts of the evening's events racing through her mind. Sounds outside her tent startled her. She sat up, clutching her thin blanket, straining to see through the darkness. An arm jerked open the tent fly.

"Who. . .What do you want" she cried, frightened by the hulking shadow.

"I'm sure you know what I want," a voice replied evenly.

"You're far too pretty to spend the night alone."

"Captain Richardson?"

"Very good, my dear. You're quite clever. Let's see how much else you know."

Richardson lurched into the tent, tripping on the pallet. He dropped to one knee, then fell prone beside her, swinging a heavy arm over her body.

"No!" She screamed, fighting to keep the thin blanket between them.

"Oh, I think yes," he laughed drunkenly, rolling to one side, dragging her to him.

"Leave me alone!" She struggled mightily, trying to break free.

Outside, The row guards faced each other nervously. They heard Corinna's cries. "What do we do, Jake?"

"Nothin', you fool."

"Nothin'?"

"Nothin'! You saw who walked up there. Who are we to

interfere with an officer's pleasure? That's not the first laundress to be a little noisy. Besides-we got more company." Jake nodded down the row, toward the sound of heavy boots running. They weren't the only ones to hear Corinna's cry.

Richardson's hot breath surrounded Corinna's face. She

pounded on his back with her fist, knowing no one would come to her aid. His hands sought her, pulling, tearing at her gown.

"Oh, no" she cried again, feeling the neck of her gown give way. Richardson yanked the cloth down, exposing the top of one breast.

"Oh yes," he growled, planting a rough kiss on her delicate skin. She clenched her teeth and strained, fighting to break his iron grip on her wrist.

"You are a spunky one." He laughed again, pinning her arms, pressing her roughly to the ground under him. "I like a wench with a little life in her. Let's see how good you are."

His mouth found the curve of her breast. She arched her back, twisting, trying vainly to move him. He shoved down hard, holding her fast, while he reached to pull the rest of the gown away.

"Cyrus--Stop it!"

Humbolt's voice rang out in the darkness.

"What?" Richardson rolled up on one elbow, to see who dared to challenge him.

"I said let her go," Humbolt snapped. "And get out of here. An officer attacking an enlistee is a court-martial offense."

"Hell's bells! You just want her for yourself."

Richardson staggered up, lunging toward the voice, out of the tent. Corinna clutched her torn gown and blanket to her chest, trying to follow what was happening. The sound of a solid blow echoed through the darkened camp, followed by a second resounding thump, then a dull thud of someone hitting the ground. From outside, Humbolt's voice echoed again,

"Cyrus, I said go to bed. You're too drunk to be out."

Corinna gasped, trying to recover her breath, fearful of what might come next.

"No!" she cried, seeing a shadow move again toward her tent.

"It's all right, Corinna," whispered Humbolt, moving in the

darkness into her tent. "Captain Richardson is gone. He's had too much to drink. Are you all right?"

Humbolt strained to see her, afraid he'd been to late.

Corinna began to shiver uncontrollably.

" I-I-He wouldn't listen. I couldn't make him stop."

Humbolt knelt beside her, gently taking her in his arms, cradling her. "Did he hurt you?"

His fingers touched the bare shoulder, caressing it tenderly. Such a beautiful, perfect shoulder. She shivered at his touch and he stopped himself. Every fiber of his body longed to caress that lovely shoulder again, to follow it to the rest of her body; but now was not the time. He carefully pulled the torn gown back up on her shoulder, smoothing it so that she was covered again. He could feel her relax, ever so slightly.

Corinna buried her face in his jacket, trying to calm herself. She tried to answer, but the shivers turned to violent shakes.

"N-n-n-" she stuttered, then stopped. The impression of Richardson's rough grip, and his heavy weight pressing upon her, was still too real to ignore.

Humbolt shifted his weight down to the ground and continued to hold her, trying hard not to frighten her any more. He pulled her coverlet back around her, tucking it between the two of them, to try to stop the shakes and to make her feel more comfortable. She gave a huge sob and relaxed into his arms, letting him rock her gently.

"Shh-" he murmured, quietly. "It's all right now."

He delicately brushed her hair back from her face, carefully caressing her cheek, trying to reassure her.

Her shakes receded into shivers, then finally stopped. "I-I think I'm all right. He frightened me. You stopped him just in time."

His embraced tightened at her words, then relaxed slightly. He buried his face in her hair. "Thank God!" He raised his head, silently cursing his long-time friendship with Cyrus.

Corinna lifted her face to his. "Thank you for being here."

Humbolt stared down into her tear-wet eyes, being drawn deeply into them.

"You don't have to thank me," he whispered, gently kissing the tears from her eyes. She nodded, almost unaware of the kisses. He continued to hold her until her head began to droop against his chest. He released her just enough to allow her to slide down to her pallet. He rearranged the blanket over her, tucking it in.

Corinna stirred, reaching for his hand. "Geoffrey?"

He caught it, bringing it to his lips. "Don't worry, I'll make sure no one bothers you again."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Now go to sleep." Corinna nodded and closed her eyes. Humbolt remained beside her until her ragged breathing evened out, signifying healing sleep. He slowly pulled his hand from her loosened grip. The filtered moonlight cast an angelic veil over the sleeping Corinna. Humbolt drank in her beauty with hungry eyes. His gut tightened again, his body registering its pleasure in just seeing her. Again anger boiled deep at the thought of Richardson's action. He'd see to Cyrus in the morning.

Quietly Humbolt stepped back outside the tent. Turning to the guards, he said, "Where is Captain Richardson?"

"Well sir, I believe he stopped into Miz Colter's tent, sir."

"Oh?"

"Yes sir. There's still a light there."

Humbolt nodded. No undue noises were coming from that

direction. "Fine. Just make sure Captain Richardson goes to his tent from there. He's had a touch too much to drink this evening."

"Yes sir, Cap'n."

"And Miss McGinnis is not to be further disturbed by anyone! Understood?"

"Yes, sir, Cap'n Humbolt."

Humbolt walked away into the darkness.

Jake grinned and turned to the second guard. "Well Nathan, this is gettin' interesting. Officers fighting over a laundress-whew-e-e."

"Well, I'd say Cap'n Humbolt won, wouldn't you? He's got himself a lady friend, looks to me like."

"Yep-sure looks that way. And poor old Jamie don't stand a chance."

"What?"

"Oh, he was walkin' around after the dance, cow-eyed over the little red-head. But with the company that's visitin' her, Jamie might as well dance with that old cottonwood. She won't be payin' him any mind at all."

"Nope. But what about the other one?"

"Richardson?"

"Yeah."

Jake shifted his rifle on his shoulder. "I hope he stays put. I don't want to try to send him "straight to bed", if he don't want to go."

"Well, the light just went out. He don't seem to be comin' out."

"Good. I hope Miz Colter suits him tonight, or he'll be wicked in the morning."

Nathan laughed. "Well, from the sounds of it, she's doin" her best."

Chapter Six

The first golden rays of dawn streaked across the rickety ironing board. Arabelle gingerly lifted the flat iron off the fire grate. She flicked a few drops of water on its face. The beads danced and skittered across the red-hot surface. She set the sizzling iron down on Richardson's shirt collar. She'd awakened early, eager to have his clothes ready for him. She'd even removed the worst of the whiskey stains from his shirtfront. The steam curled around her pressing hand, gliding expertly over the shirt surface.

"I said I'd never do this again," she muttered. Old memories of long days and nights in a tiny rundown laundry in Philadelphia swirled in her memory. She'd had to stand on a box to reach the board, then. Young, thin and hungry, she'd washed, ironed, done whatever she was told to stay alive. She'd grown up fast on the streets. And luckily for her, she'd blossomed as she grew, into a beauty even the grime of the streets couldn't hide. But the streets had hardened her. She had to take care of herself; she knew that, no one else would. They'd use her, but not take care of her. With no one to want her and no past to claim her, she was on her own. But she learned quickly, and she could use men, even better than they could her. And Richardson was a prime candidate. She jabbed the cooling iron at the last wrinkle in the shirttail.

She'd spend most of the night with him. He was in a drunken stupor to be sure; but still, Arabelle wasn't one to worry about details. The alcohol certainly had loosened his tongue. He'd been all too eager to describe the planned movements of the column, especially with a little of Arabelle's "coaxing". The information would be very valuable. It was worth doing his laundry to get it. Folding the finished shirt, she set it on top of the rest, stacking it into a neat bundle. Slipping on her cloak, she darted across the barely lit campground, bundle in hand.

"Captain? Captain!" she whispered loudly at his tent door. "Are you up?"

"Damnation woman, where are my things?" His muffled whisper came from inside the tent.

"Right here, Captain," she whispered back, setting the bundle down in front of the tent flap.

Richardson appeared in the tent door, trousers on, and boots in hand, looking tousled and sleepy. His mouth hung open. He stared, slack-jawed at Arabelle.

"What have you been . . .?"

"Your shirt is ready, Captain." She said, smiling sweetly, handing him the freshly pressed shirt.

"Humph!" He dropped his boots, took the offered shirt and slipped into it. "Passable job," he said curtly, brushing the area where the whiskey stain had been.

"Thank you, sir."

"And my jacket?"

"Waiting for you, sir. As soon as you put your boots on."

"Yes, of course." He sat down on the small box in front of his tent and pulled on his boots. "Well woman, don't dally. Hand it here."

Gritting her teeth to keep the smile set on her face, Arabelle meekly handed him the jacket.

Richardson slipped the coat on, checking the pocket. "What about my money?"

"You'll find it's all here, sir," said Arabelle, pulling a small handful of coins from her pocket. "I put it away for safekeeping while I brushed your jacket."

"Hum-m-m." Richardson counted the coins, then nodded and put them back into his pocket.

Arabelle inclined her head, nodding to the captain. "I'd say you're quite ready for reveille, sir."

"Yes. Well, you'd best get back to your tent," he said brusquely. "No need to start any camp stories."

"Oh no, sir. We wouldn't want that."

Eyeing Arabelle's trim figure, Richardson said, "Nice job - Miz Cooler - is it?"

"It's Colter, sir. Arabelle Colter."

"Well, Miz Colter, here's a little something for your trouble last night. Had a might too much to drink. I appreciate what you've done." Richardson handed back a small coin.

"Oh, thank you, sir," said Arabelle, sweetness dripping from every word. "We have to take good care of our officers, sir. You take such good care of us."

"We shall see one another again, perhaps," Richardson said carefully. "I may need another shirt washed."

"Any time, Captain. Just send your sergeant for me. I'd be happy to do whatever I can for you, sir."

"Hmm. Yes, well. Good morning then."

Arabelle headed toward her tent in the brightening sky. "He's such a pompous simpleton."

She turned the coin over in her fingers. "But he pays well."

The eastern sun blazed bright in the morning sky by the time Arabelle joined the others at the row of washtubs.

"La De Da!" exclaimed Beulah. "Here comes her highness now. Some company you're keepin' Arabelle. A Cap'n in your tent-all night. Goodness-ain't you somethin'".

"Where'd you hear such a thing, Beulah?" asked Arabelle, tossing her head. Gossip moved faster than a wild fire.

"My man Jake-had guard duty last night. Saw the whole thing."

"Oh he did, did he? Well, what did he think he saw?" asked Arabelle, setting up her scrub board.

"Saw Cap'n Richardson and Cap'n Humbolt in a fight, that's what. Then saw Humbolt go into Corinna's tent and Richardson go into yours. Jake says Richardson stayed all night with you."

"Humph. Sounds like your Jake is a nasty gossip, I'd say. Carrying on about officers like that. You know they'd be in trouble for fighting among themselves. And I'd be in trouble if one stayed with me all night. I'd keep my mouth shut if I was him," snapped Arabelle.

"Captain Richardson had too much to drink and was feeling poorly. He rested awhile with me. I allowed him to stay until he felt better; then I helped him back to his tent, evidently after your Jake went off duty. I washed his shirt and took it back to him this morning, very early."

"Oh, so? Then what about Cap'n Humbolt? You callin' my Jake a liar?"

"I'm not calling any names. I don't gossip. I'm just saying what happened in my tent, Beulah. I don't know what happened in Corinna's tent; you'll have to ask her. And your Jake better be careful about spreading stories about officers. He's liable to get court-marshalled for insubordination."

Arabelle was in her glory. Scandalous stories had to be denied to be of any value. Appearances had to be kept. For not being a soldier, she knew the regulations very well, and could walk that tight rope with the best of them.

Her good looks had moved her early from the ranks of common prostitute to "gentlemen's companion". One that moved on the fringes of Philadelphia's polite society. But she had become too well known. This move out west had been a gamble, to find new territory and new people. And it was paying off handsomely. With her income from her "regular visitors" and her extra from Suthridge for that silly army information, she was making too much money to risk being shipped back to St. Louis because of a night's indiscretion with a drunken officer.

Her good looks wouldn't last forever. She was determined to have enough to live on when they faded. Her brows knitted in a deep scowl, waiting for Beulah's next remark.

"I doubt anyone will ever say a word to Jake," laughed Beulah. "If they were fightin', they'll never admit it in the daylight. We'll all just have a good laugh. And where's the other part of your group? Is Miss Corinna too good to get up this morning, as well?"

Arabelle looked down her nose at Beulah. "She's not here?"

"No, she's not," said Artie, from down the row. "She's helping the doctor this morning. He asked for her. Several of the young boys-the musicians-are sick. She's real good with them".

"Goodness, her with the doctor, you with the captain. Ain't we gettin' high falutin," said Beulah, flipping a bit of soap lather toward Arabelle.

"You're just jealous, Beulah, and you know it," retorted Arabelle, heading off to the big caldron, for a bucket of bubbling, hot water. "We can't help it if we're desirable company.

Humbolt grimly settled his jacket buttons. Cyrus' behavior had to be addressed. He stepped outside, looking down Officer's Row. Seeing Richardson step out of his tent, Humbolt straightened his shoulders and headed down the row. Better now than later.

"Cyrus . . ."

Richardson turned, nodding in his direction.

Humbolt took some small pleasure in the bluish black shadow under Cyrus' right eye. "About last night . . ."

"Geoff, old man don't worry," Cyrus said stiffly." If you wanted the redhead to yourself, all you had to do was say so. I told you that. You can have her. The last thing I want is a squealing girl to worry about. I found much more interesting company for the time being."

Humbolt ground his teeth together and clenched his fists at Cyrus' off-hand comments. The idea that Cyrus could brush aside the incident so easily irritated Humbolt even more. It took all his willpower to keep from punching Cyrus in the other eye.

"It's more than just for the time being, Cy. I don't want you to bother her again-ever!" The words hung in the air.

Cyrus stared at Humbolt, eyes wide. "You really sound serious." A vulgar laugh rumbled in his throat. "That spitfire will keep you hopping old man-think you're up to catching her?"

"It's not what you think," sputtered Humbolt. "She's not one of your camp followers!"

"Oh, no? Goodness, I've misunderstood-a flower among the thorns out here? Going to take her home to mother, are you, Geoff?" Cyrus sneered.

Humbolt's shoulder's sagged ever so slightly at the thought of Corinna in her bedraggled wash dress, stepping through the front door of the family mansion. His mother would order her around to the back, where the servants entered the house. A hollow emptiness settled within. His parents would never understand his enchantment with a girl outside of his social circle.

Rosamunde had been the perfect mate in their eyes. It hit him that she had been their choice, not really his. She was the appropriate debutante, with all the right family lineage. Their marriage would have maintained the family social position and solidified his father's business connections. He'd acquiesced. Rosamunde was tolerable and there had been no other to interest him. He'd gone through the motions, being the obedient son. But now, he couldn't continue that, not if he wanted Corinna. They wouldn't even try to get to know her, to see the inner beauty beneath the rags, as he had.

Feeling his hesitation, Cyrus continued. "What's the matter, Geoff. Can't you just see your little one chatting and taking tea with dear old mum?"

"It's none of your business what I do with her, Cyrus. Just you stay away from her--that's all-or else. . ."

"Or else what?"

Humbolt clenched his fists again to keep from punching Cyrus once more. "Or else I'll have you brought up on assault charges, that's what. It would ruin you career and I swear I'll do it, Cy."

The color drained from Cyrus' face. He took a step back and watched Humbolt's face for any sign of softening. Seeing none, he took a deep breath and began again, very quietly, "That's a fine way to treat your best friend, Geoff. The friend who saved your life, remember?"

Humbolt couldn't stop his hand from moving to his throat, to cover the line that slashed across it. Cyrus pressed the point. "You hide that scar very well. But, you and I both know it's still there. You'd be long dead, instead of making a fool of yourself over some washing wench, if I hadn't stopped that Cree's blade."

Humbolt unclenched his teeth just slightly. His sense of duty and honor had been well developed in the military schools they'd attended, even if they hadn't had the same effect on Cyrus. Cyrus knew him too well. "I haven't forgotten, Cyrus. Believe me, I haven't. That's why you're not in the guardhouse now. But I will not let you hurt Miss McGinnis. Do you understand? I'll take care of you myself if I have to!"

Cyrus stared at his friend, who by this time had turned crimson in his anger. He rubbed his hand across his stubbled chin. Now was not the time to push. "Take it easy, Geoff. If you want a promise from me, you've got it. I'll stay clear of your woman, but heaven knows what you're going to do with her. You sound serious, too serious. You certainly can't take her home to mother and you don't like this country any better than I do."

Humbolt surveyed his childhood chum, anger slowly draining from him while he considered Cy's words. Even though he could be totally obnoxious, he was capable of some insight and his last remark had been absolutely accurate. Corinna would never fit into the world he'd been born into, never in a million lifetimes.

Humbolt shook his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do Cyrus. I really don't."

His own conflict, raging in his mind, overpowered the anger he felt toward Cyrus. Cy would keep his promise, now given. But he'd just claimed Corinna, in a manner of speaking, at least to Cyrus. He shook his head, rubbing the back of his suddenly aching neck. "I think we'd better join the Colonel for breakfast, in case he's heard about last night."

"Right. Wouldn't want anyone to think we were seriously fighting, would we?"

"Certainly not, Cy, certainly not." Humbolt shook his head again and silently followed Cyrus to the officer's mess. Protocol had to be maintained.

The Colonel eyed them warily when they sat down at the nearly full table. "Well gentlemen, it's good to see you together. Everything all right?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"What happened to you, Richardson? Is that a bruise on your face?"

"Oh that, sir. Nothing of any importance. Had a bit too much to drink last night-fell and hit one of my camp boxes-no major damage."

"Hmm. Heard some silly rumors this morning -- obviously nothing to them. I wouldn't want to have any ill feeling between my officers."

"Oh no, sir. Geoffrey and I have been friends since we were children. We went to military school together."

"Good-glad to hear it. Well, Sergeant, you may serve now. I'm starved."

Humbolt breathed a sigh of relief. Rumors had already started to circulate. Perhaps their appearance together would put an end to them. Breakfast and inspections went by quickly.

Humbolt found himself wandering through camp, wanting to find Corinna, to see for himself that she had come through last night unscathed. Finally he saw her, struggling with a wooden water bucket by the hospital tents. The vision stopped him cold. Her mass of curls was set aflame by the blinding morning sun. They refused to be tamed by the mobcap, pushed back away from her delicate face. Her translucent skin sparkled as if dusted in diamonds in the morning light. Delicacy and strength, all wrapped up in one tiny bundle. He marveled at her physical strength as she lifted the heavy wooden bucket, but her inner strength impressed him even more. She'd been attacked the night before, yet here she was, with no thought for herself, at the hospital tent taking care of others. "Rosamunde would have never done that". The sudden comparison popped into his mind unbidden. "Face it man, she already means more to you that Rosamunde ever did."

He stepped up beside her as she set the heavy bucket down. "McGinnis, why are you here?"

"Good morning, Captain. I've been helping the doctor, before I do my daily laundry. He has no help and we have more sickness every day."

"I suppose that's acceptable, if your other duties are complete. Here, let me help you with that."

Corinna looked up in surprise. His offer caught her completely off-guard. "Oh no, sir. I can lift it."

"Don't be silly. Where would you like it?"

"In that end tent, sir. We're setting up a new area, we've go more sick ones." He nodded. She followed him into the still-empty tent.

Once inside he set the bucket down and turned to face her. "I need to talk to you, Corinna." The gruffness in his voice could not hide the softness in his eyes.

"Yes," she answered quietly. "I must thank you again for last night."

"I told you-there's no need to thank me. I want you to know. Cyrus thinks I've claimed you for my woman-and I intend to let him think that. It will keep him away from you."

Corinna blushed furiously, lowering her gaze away from his intense stare. "I do hope that won't be too much of a bother. It may cause some gossip."

He reached out slowly, curling his fingers under her chin, raising her head to gaze again into her eyes. She could never be a bother. All he wanted to do was take her away, anywhere to be alone with her, anywhere but in the middle of this huge, busy army camp.

"It will be no bother. I find I'm enjoying our friendship very much, Corinna. Cyrus was right about one thing; you're a very special woman." His hand slid from her chin, down the curve of her neck and along her shoulder. His fingers curled gently around that shoulder, drawing her to him.

She trembled at his touch, but held her eyes steady, barely breathing, returning the smoldering look. She raised her hands gingerly, placing them on his chest, not pushing him away, just feeling the hardening muscles rippling underneath his jacket. She slid her hands slowly up his jacket front over those now bulging muscles, and as far around his collar as she could reach.

"Corinna," he whispered, encircling her waist with his other arm. He bent down, until their lips just met. Her lips were soft and pliable, welcoming his.

His gentle kiss sent shafts of fire through her. It was so tender, yet so strong. His arms felt like steel bands around her. She wanted to keep them there forever. She tightened her grip around his neck. She slid her fingers into the beckoning mane of hair curling on the back of his neck. She curled her fingers into a gentle fist, returning his kiss and the pressure she felt from his ever-tightening arms.

He could not resist. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, tracing the satin seam of her mouth with his tongue, wanting to show her in this one kiss all the fire raging within him. He wanted her to know how much she affected him-hoping against hope that she wouldn't be frightened; afraid it might be too soon.

"McGinnis! Where's that water?" The doctor's voice brought them abruptly back from the brink.

"I must go," she whispered raggedly. He'll come looking for me."

"Of course," said Humbolt, releasing her. "We'll see one another again?"

She flashed him another mile-wide smile at the question in his voice. "Of course."

Turning away, she brushed her fingers against his chest again, ever so slightly. He caught her hand and turning the palm up, kissed it gently. She giggled quietly as he planted a row of tiny kisses up the inside of her arm. She pulled her arm away and blew him a kiss. She turned and darted out of the tent, calling to the doctor, "I've put the water in the new tent, sir. We're not quite ready for the new patients. We still need cots."

Humbolt slipped silently out of the tent, before Dr. Gale noticed him.

Corinna replayed the scene over and over while she helped settle the newest patients. Her heart still pounded, her lips still tasted his maleness, and the kisses still burned in her palm. "He wants me! He really does."

The gap between officer and laundress loomed large in her mind. But the space between them narrowed considerably in her heart.

"Corinna . . .did you hear me?"

"Sorry, Dr. Gale. What can I do?"

"See to that one. I'll be right there."

Corinna rushed to a violently heaving boy. The tender scene vanished from her mind.

Chapter Seven

"What's wrong with him Dr. Gale?" asked Corinna. Timothy's pale, drawn face frightened her. "He seemed fine at the dance last night."

"It's the food, Corinna-or rather the lack of it. He's not eating right. If we don't get another shipment of citrus, we're going to have a lot more than just Timothy sick."

"You mean people can get sick from not eating right?" Corinna stared at the boy, remembering how strong he was on the trip out.

"I mean people can die from not eating right," said Dr. Gale. "English sailing ships carry barrels of limes so the sailors get enough citrus. Ships can loose half their crew to scurvy before a voyage is over, without the fruit. I hate to see the signs starting here. We're just barely into the fall."

"Perhaps it's just consumption-or the flu," said Corinna. "Surely he's strong enough to get well."

"We'll hope for the best. See what you can find from one of the officer's mess cooks. Food that's fresh-vegetables or fruits-if they have any left. Timothy needs fresh greens."

Corinna ran her hand across the young boy's damp brow. He should be home with family. Fourteen was far too young to be out here on his own. He raised his eyes to hers and smiled weakly.

"I'll be fine, Miz Corinna. You'll see. The doc and you will make me all well."

She nodded and turned away, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over, down her cheeks. He was such a sweet boy, like the little brother she'd lost to pneumonia.

"Doctor, what do the native children eat? There are no limes here."

"Heaven knows what the savages eat. Surely nothing fit for us. Their diet wouldn't suit us at all. We haven't grown up here like they have."

Corinna frowned. "Oh."

She left the hospital tent, to find something for the youngster to eat. She didn't want to see him die.

Corinna paced outside the cook tent. The cook had been sympathetic but no help. All he could offer was salted beef and bread made from old flour.

"Timothy must have something fresh," she muttered. Her mind raced to find an answer. Noises in the center of camp attracted her attention. "A trading party," she mumbled. "I'd forgotten this was trading day."

She watched the group come in. The Indians were really getting comfortable in the army camp. They brought several children with them. Two little boys darted in and around the horses while the adults went about their business. Corinna squared shoulders and gritted her teeth. "The Indian children stay healthy. They're not that different from us."

"I'm going to ask Senoma," she said aloud. Corinna walked quickly to the trading circle in the middle of the parade ground. Senoma stood to one side, examining a cooking pot.

"Senoma, could I talk to you?"

Senoma looked up, smiling in recognition. "Speak, Flaming Hair."

"Could you tell me-How do you keep your children from getting sick in the winter time?"

Senoma returned a blank stare, not understanding the question. Corinna tried again. "What do your children --Indian children-eat in the winter?"

Senoma nodded. "Many special foods to chase away winter sickness devils. But, not time for winter foods. Fruits still on vine. I show you."

Corinna sighed a deep sigh of relief. Maybe she could help Tim after all.

"We must go outside of camp-you come?"

"I'll have to get permission," said Corinna. "If I go without asking, I could be counted as a deserter-and they shoot deserters."

Senoma nodded. "You come with us when we go. You will be safe."

They walked across the circle to where Spotted Deer and Humbolt stood, discussing the trade goods at their feet. Humbolt frowned at their approach.

"Excuse me-Captain, may I go outside the camp with Senoma to pick wild fruit? She says there are many still available. We need them for the sick."

Humbolt's frown deepened. "I think not, Miss McGinnis. It is highly irregular for a woman to go outside camp unescorted. You may not be safe."

Senoma murmured something to Spotted Deer. He spoke directly to Humbolt.

"She will be guest of wife of Spotted Deer. She will be safe."

Humbolt cleared his throat and started to shake his head again. Spotted Deer glared at Humbolt. "You no take word of Chief Spotted Deer?"

The two faced off in a glaring match, Humbolt not ready to answer, not sure what his answer would be.

Colonel Morgan's voice came over Humbolt's shoulder. "Of course we do, Spotted Deer! What seems to be the problem, Captain?"

"Miss McGinnis has asked to go outside the camp with the Indians, sir. I'm simply concerned for her safety," Humbolt answered, not giving an inch in his eye-to-eye contest with Spotted Deer.

"Chief Spotted Deer has guaranteed my safety, sir," Corinna said quickly, trying to ease the situation, "as his wife Senoma's guest. She's going to help me find fresh fruit for our sick boys."

Colonel Morgan took a deep breath. Hesitating just a fraction of a second, he said, "Then, if you're comfortable with going, Miss McGinnis, and your wash is finished, I see no reason to deny your request. Do you, Captain?"

Humbolt's fingers knotted into granite fists. The veins in his neck popped out as he clenched his teeth. He didn't want Corinna to go anywhere with these savages. But Morgan was the commander. He consciously straightened his fingers and took a deep breath, willing himself to relax and put a softer expression on his face. Any confrontation with Spotted Deer would have to wait. With a nod to the chief, he turned to answer Morgan. "No sir, not if you don't. An afternoon trip should be fine."

Spotted Deer's face softened slightly. "Flaming Hair will return before sunset."

He turned and walked away, followed by the two women. When they were out of earshot, Morgan demanded, "What on earth came over you? We don't need to pick fights with our friendly chiefs."

"Beg pardon, sir, but I don't think she's safe with them. I saw white women killed by supposedly friendly Indians in the last war. I still don't trust them."

"Well, this is not the war, Captain. Keep your doubts to yourself. We need the friendly Indians on our side, right now. As you said, we can't possibly patrol this country by ourselves. If Spotted Deer has given his word, we have no reason yet to doubt it. Manuel Lisa seems to think he can be trusted."

Humbolt let the words hang in the air. His military training prevented him from arguing with the colonel further. "I hope we haven't risked Miss McGinnis' life to prove Lisa wrong, sir."

"Well, we'll know by sunset, won't we?"

Humbolt snapped an angry salute. "Yes, sir. If that's all, I have duties to attend to, sir."

"Carry on, Captain, " said Morgan, returning the salute.

Humbolt stalked off, frustrated and angry, at Corinna for wanting to go on such a foolhardy trip, at Morgan for letting her go, and even angrier at himself for not intervening. What was he supposed to do? She didn't have the good sense to know she was in danger.

Corinna was taking the ride of her life-behind Senoma, astride an Indian pony. She gripped tightly around Senoma's waist, trying hard to press her knees into the pony's flanks to keep from bouncing over the grassland.

They left the trading party and stopped along a hidden thicket near the river's edge. Heavy vines covered the bushes. Spotted Deer helped her down from the horse's back. Senoma slid down easily, bringing a beautifully decorated bundle with her.

"Come, we pick." She led the way to the vines.

"Oh, Senoma! Grapes! Wild Grapes!" Corinna popped one into her mouth. Its full, rich flavor exploded at her bite. Gobbling a handful, she exclaimed, "They're wonderful. I've seen these vines nearer our camp. But the fruit is all gone."

Senoma frowned, shaking her head. "Strange. Fruit still in season. Should still be plenty."

"I guess we've just eaten everything near the camp. Oh well, I'll take all I can carry."

Senoma nodded, handing Corinna the bag. "Don't eat, fill bag. Then I show you winter food."

Corinna picked the thick purple clusters until the bag grew fat. Then Senoma motioned again. "And this." she said, pulling a bulbous plant from the soil. "Need in winter-strong medicine to chase away sickness."

"What is it?" asked Corinna, coming closer. She inhaled a deep breath. "It smells like-onions?!"

Senoma nodded. "Must eat during winter. Many here, but must be pulled and dried to keep-I show."

"Oh yes," said Corinna, "If it keeps the children well, we must use it."

"Put in pot, cook with meats or alone in water. Makes good medicine."

"I hope so." Corinna filled another bag with the wild onions.

Finally Senoma said, "We must go now. Come again later."

Corinna nodded and soon they were back astride the ponies, flying across the grassland, back to camp. This time, Corinna slid off unaided at the camp perimeter. She adjusted her skirt, making sure it fell properly, before she reached up to take the precious bundles from Senoma. "If you'll wait, I'll return your carrying bundles."

"They are called parfleche. You keep. You will need."

"Oh Senoma, I couldn't. They're so pretty." Corinna ran her fingers gently over the delicate porcupine quill design on the bundle cover.

"You keep-we have many."

"Thank you, again. You'll have to show me how to do this needle work."

Senoma nodded and smiled. "Bring next time. Go now, your Captain worries."

Corinna laughed. "Yes, I'm sure he's still fit to be tied."

She waved at the departing pair, then turned and sauntered into camp, smiling at the guard, who stared at her as if he'd seen a ghost. She headed directly to the hospital tents. She'd have Timothy well in no time.

"McGinnis!"

Her name brought her up short. She knew Humbolt's voice without even turning around. "Yes, Captain?"

"I see you're back."

She swung around. It was like meeting a thunderhead straight on. His eyes, now stormy gray-black, flashed over her, taking in every inch, verifying for himself she was all right.

Corinna suppressed a smile and stood quietly, waiting for him to finish his inspection. "Yes, Captain. All of me is back safe and sound. Would you like me to turn around?"

"It's not funny, Corinna," he hissed, relieved to see her safe, and furious that she should tease him, yet helpless to do anything about it. "You could have been.."

"I could have been lots of things, I know," she said lowering her voice. "But I wasn't anything, except shown where to find the food we need to keep the children well. Please don't be angry. I'm safe with Senoma, I really am."

She looked into his eyes, glad to see the storm clouds disappearing and those deep chocolate reservoirs fill with more tender looks. "Would you take one of these bundles and walk with me to the hospital tent? I can tell you all about the trip, so you can tell the colonel. He'll want to know how it went, I'm sure."

Humbolt gave up trying to impress his concern upon her. He took all the bundles from her and fell into step beside her. "Thank God she's back"- He'd been sick with worry the entire time she'd been gone. She certainly had a firm hold on his emotions, no doubt about that. If only he could get as solid a grasp on hers, but that didn't seem to be happening, at least as far as he could tell. He tried to concentrate on her bubbling tale of adventure. Morgan would want a full report.

Humbolt stood silently, watching another foraging party return to camp with partially loaded food bags. Begrudgingly, he had to admit that Corinna had been right about the Indian's food knowledge. The boys had gotten better quickly with the wild grapes she and the others had found. Hopefully there would be enough to last until another shipment of goods came up river. He started toward the lieutenant in charge.

"Captain Humbolt, may I have a word with you?" Dr. Gale fell into step with Humbolt, walking past the rows of tents.

"Certainly, Dr. Gale. What may I do for you?"

"It's about Miss McGinnis, Captain-the laundress in your company."

Humbolt arched an eyebrow. "Is she becoming a bother in the hospital?"

"Oh no! Quite the contrary. She's quite a help. In fact, with so many sick these days, I've come to ask if she could be assigned to the hospital full time. She's good with the men. She has a very tender way about her."

Humbolt's brow knotted while they walked on toward the hospital tents, a totally irrational jealousy tugging deep inside. He hadn't had any time with her since her foray outside with Senoma. The bad weather seemed to bring on more and more illness in camp. The sick men got to see more of her than he did. Maybe he should put in some sick time. "Stop it. You should be ashamed."

"Captain?"

"I hesitate, Dr., only because we're short on laundresses. Several of them are sick as well."

"I know, but we have no aide staff assigned to this column, just recruits filling in. I could really use the help."

"Well," said Humbolt finally, "Let's talk to Colonel Morgan. Perhaps we can change her designation. It's all right with me, if she's working well for you."

The two turned and walked quickly to Colonel Morgan's tent.

"Colonel, could we have a word with you, sir?"

"Certainly, gentlemen," said Morgan, looking up from his papers. "What's the problem?"

"Not a problem, sir," said Humbolt. "A request. One of my laundresses, you remember-McGinnis-has been helping out in the hospital during her off-hours. She's doing so well that Dr. Gale has asked that she be assigned to help full time. "

"She a busy little thing, isn't she?" Morgan smiled. "Has she been trained to nurse?"

"I don't think so sir, but she has a real knack for tending the sick," said Gale. "She's a great help. What with the fevers getting worse and the scurvy starting in earnest, we've nearly seventy five on sick call."

"What about you, Humbolt? Will that short you too severely?"

"I think we can manage, sir. Hopefully this illness bout won't last long."

"Fine. I'll make a note of it in the company records. That will give her a pay upgrade. You'll speak to her, Humbolt? McGinnis, correct?"

"Yes sir, Corinna McGinnis. I'll speak to her right away." Humbolt let her name roll inside his head while Morgan made a note in the company log. Every time he turned around she was busy doing something different, something he didn't expect. She seemed to seek out the unknown, and embrace people, no matter what their station or affliction. She was so different than anyone he'd ever known. They left the colonel to his reports.

"Thank you, Captain," said Gale. "I'm extremely concerned. More and more of our people are sick, and still the supplies don't come. We can't hold on forever without fresh meat and antiscorbics. The wild fruit is getting more and more scarce. The scurvy is getting worse."

"I know Doctor. Morgan sent another messenger down river yesterday. We've had supplies intercepted between here and Fort Osage twice. I'm taking out another patrol to see if we can find the raiders. But in the meantime, if Miss McGinnis can help people get better, then that's what she needs to be doing."

"Thank you again," said Dr. Gale, turning back toward the hospital tent. Humbolt walked toward Soapsuds Row. Corinna would be in her tent by this time of the evening. The sun's last rays were turning the top of the bluff fiery red.

"Miss McGinnis? Are you there?" he called from outside.

"Yes Captain," answered Corinna, stepping out under her awning, eyes wide to see him at her doorstep. "Is something wrong?"

"No, not really, " he answered slowly. "You're going to have a change of duty."

Corinna blinked and caught her breath. They hadn't had a chance to even speak for such a long time. "Have I displeased you, Captain? Has your laundry not been to your liking?"

He hastened to reassure her. "Oh, no. You've done just fine. It's just that you've done so well in the hospital, Dr. Gale has asked that you be transferred to work there full time, at least while there are so many sick."

"Oh." The word came out quickly, very flat. She enjoyed working with Dr. Gale, but she didn't want to lose the one special contact she had with Humbolt. It was hard enough to see him. Even doing his laundry didn't guarantee they'd see one another.

Humbolt looked at her intently. "I thought you'd be pleased. Dr. Gale says you have a knack for nursing. You told me you've been spending your off hours there."

"It's not that. Yes, I have been helping the doctor as much as I can. I appreciate Dr. Gale's kind words. I nursed a lot of very sick people, when my parents and little brother died of influenza in Philadelphia. We lived in an old apartment building. Nearly everyone got sick and most of them died. I couldn't help them. I just made them more comfortable."

"Well, hopefully that won't be the case here. I've already talked to Colonel Morgan. He's approved. We'll switch your laundress duties among the rest so it's evened out." Humbolt's voice was as flat as hers. He wasn't happy with the change either. Ignoring the curious stares of the passersby, Corinna thought quickly.

"Sir, I'll continue to do your laundry, if you like-and the three musicians. Those are the ones the others won't want to do. That's only four. I think I can do those and still help Dr. Gale."

Humbolt's face brightened considerably. "Do you think you can manage that?"

"Oh yes. Your uniforms don't get as grimy as the other soldiers, and the boy's aren't really that bad."

Humbolt smiled. A tinge of pink, duly note by Corinna, crept up above his collar. "I'm glad, McGinnis. I've come to depend on your careful attention to the details of my uniforms."

"Thank you, sir. I do my best." Corinna smiled at him, then lowered her eyes delicately. "I'll talk to Dr. Gale. I'm sure we can work things out."

"And Corinna?" Humbolt sought her gaze and held it, speaking very softly. "I'm sorry to hear about your family. It must have been hard to lose them all at once."

Corinna returned his look steadily, eyes glistening. "Yes, very hard. But, I'm surviving."

Her chin stiffened.

"Yes, you are and doing it well." His eyes never left her face. "According to the good doctor, nursing might suit you better than laundering."

"Perhaps," Corinna, eyes shining, took a step toward him. "But someday I intend to have the home my father always dreamed of-land of my very own-even if I have to wash clothes for several years to get it."

The set of her jaw was as strong as her words.

"So that's what brought you into the army," he said, mentally chiding himself forever thinking her the same type of woman as Arabelle. "An admirable goal. But you must see now, making a living out here would be very hard, especially for a woman alone. Even one who owned considerable property."

"I know, Captain. But perhaps I won't always be alone." Her voice softened but her eyes never wavered.

An eternity passed. The steady stream of laundresses and soldiers past the tent prevented him from taking her in his arms. They were attracting enough attention with him just being there. A deep ache, fueled by years of being alone, clutched at him. He finally said very softly, "No, perhaps you won't be. You'd be a fine match for any man."

"Thank you, Captain," she said, looking around him to the row guard approaching on his night walk. "If you'll send me your laundry early, I'll get it done before I see Dr. Gale."

He cleared his throat, then said distinctly, "Yes, of course. I'll have delivered at daybreak. Good night, Miss McGinnis."

"Good night, Captain." Corinna watched him walk away from her tent, back to officer's row. Back in her tent, she wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth, thinking of his riveting looks, his gentle care after Richardson's attack, the kiss in the hospital tent, and the spots tingling anew on her wrist from the kisses he'd planted there and his comment just now.

"You'd be a fine match for any man."

"He does care for me!" she said aloud. "Artie was right."

But what did that mean? She didn't want what Arabelle had-a string of men traipsing past her tent. Or an officer just "pleasuring himself". And he was an officer. He was still bound by the military world he lived in and the society he was born into. That society wouldn't welcome her. She knew that from experience.

"I won't settle for being a camp follower," she murmured. "He's going to have to do better than that."

He wasn't likely to want a laundress for permanent company, but she wouldn't always be a laundress.

Drawing a weary hand across her brow, Corinna sighed a deep, heart-wrenching sigh. The sick beds before her now stretched on and on, down the tent corridor. She picked up her small wooden bucket and started down the row again. Wringing out her towel in the cool water, she gently wiped the first stricken soldier's face.

"Mother?" The lad looked, with unseeing eyes, toward her.

"I'm here," she said gently, wiping the traces of blood from the corners of his mouth, removing the signs of the gum-ravaging scurvy. "Lie still-try to sleep."

"Yes . . .sleep," he mumbled, dropping again into unconsciousness.

She shook her head and moved on, eyes glistening. They were so sick. The fruit was long since gone, frozen on the vine with the first heavy frost. Nothing seemed to help them now.

The man in the next bed surprised her. She hadn't expected Andre to succumb to anything. But here he was, down with a fever. She didn't know which was worse, the fever or the scurvy. People were dying of both every day. She wiped the cool rag across his forehead, about the only spot of skin she could find.

"Montclair," he mumbled, swatting a feeble hand at her rag.

"Lie still, Andre," she said softly, trying again to cool his brow.

"'Rees," he said into the air, "'Rees ready to go." He turned fitfully, trying to rise.

"No, Andre. You must lie down. You're very ill."

"'Rees," he said, stirring again. "Ready to attack-have to move quick, before they notice."

"Sh-h-h" she said, struggling to hold him down.

"Camps too close-read smoke!" Andre gave her a shove, sending her stumbling backward. He sat up, then fell back, cursing unintelligibly.

"Doctor, your help please!" she called down the row. Gale turned and came quickly down the aisle between the rows of cots.

"What's the problem, Corinna?"

"Andre's trying to get up. Something's bothering him-something about the Indians."

"He's probably hallucinating with the fever. People sometimes do. Guard? Guard! Watch this man. If he tries to get up, keep him down."

"Yes, Sir!"

"Come, Corinna, you've done enough today. Andre's fever has to break on its own. You need to get some rest yourself. We don't want you in here, too."

They walked out of the tent, into the evening's dusk. "Doctor, what are we going to do? It just keeps getting worse and worse."

"You might say a prayer, if you're so inclined. The only thing that will help them is if our supplies get delivered. And with the river dropping more and more, I doubt we'll see much. It must be freezing up river already. It'll be hard winter here soon. We'll be in dire straits when the river freezes solid."

"It's much worse than I ever imagined," said Corinna. "I left the city to get away from disease and death. I thought it would be better out here."

"It will be, once people begin to grow their own food. We'll have to do that next spring. We can't depend on others to supply this cantonment. It's too far away."

"Do you suppose Andre was serious about an Indian attack? He was mumbling about one. He's very concerned."

"Don't pay him any mind, I don't. I don't think any of the tribes would be foolish enough to attack us. Even with our sick soldiers, we far out-gun them. They do respect our weapons, if not our numbers."

"I'll say good night then, doctor. I must be up early tomorrow."

Dr. Gale watched her disappear into the jumble of tents on Soapsuds Row.

Corinna slipped into her tent, too tired to answer the supper bugle. The new cot, delivered on the last supply boat, cradled her exhausted body. It felt good to sleep on a cot again, after giving hers up to a sick soldier. Her dreamless sleep carried her far into the night. She awakened to Andre's words, ringing inside her head.

"I supposed the doctor is right," she mused. "The Indians wouldn't attack us," she said aloud. She rubbed her knuckles into her eyes, trying to figure out what still bothered her about Andre's words.

"The smoke," she said aloud, snapping her fingers.

"We don't read smoke. Other Indians do! He was talking about Indians attacking Indians."

Her mind filled with dread. The only village close enough for Andre to get to was Senoma's village.

"Maybe the Arickarees are going to attack her people." Her hands flew to her mouth in fear. "Geoffrey must stop them."

Just as quickly, Dr. Gale's laugh echoed in her mind. "He's just hallucinating. Pay him no mind, I don't."

"Neither one of them will listen to me, "she said aloud. "I must warn Senoma."

She grabbed her cloak. It would blend in with the night as well as keep out the worst of the cold. It was not difficult to elude the guards in the now deep darkness. No one expected trouble from the side of camp next to the river.

Corinna inched her way along the river's edge, taking care to stay in the shadows. The full moon rising lit up the prairie. She stayed near the trees, trying hard not to cast a shadow. She said a prayer of thanksgiving that Senoma's people had moved a hunting camp closer to the cantonment. She could get there within the hour, if she kept moving.

Out of sight of the camp, Corinna took stock of the night. The vast open prairie rolled away from her. Shades of gray and black disguised most of the landmarks she had memorized during her day trips with Senoma. Nothing looked familiar. She began to shiver. She stuck out her chin and announced aloud, "I'm not going back. I have to find them. I have to warn them."

She looked up into the sky, to find the guide star that Senoma had pointed out to her, coming back from one of their trips. Lining it up over her shoulder, she set out toward the camp.

Andre roused himself up on one elbow. Sweat dripped off his beard. He shivered and growled toward the figure at the end of the row, "Bring a dying man a blanket, won't you?"

Dr. Gale looked up, startled to hear so strong a voice. "Well, Andre, if you've roused enough to ask for a blanket, you probably aren't going to die any time soon."

He walked down the row, carrying the requested blanket.

"How's that, doc?"

"Well, you're sweating-your fever's broken. That's what's making you cold. "

"Humph! It's cold enough to freeze the dead in here."

"Most of our patients have fevers. They don't notice the cold."

"Oh?"

"You didn't either until your fever broke. You were right out of your head earlier this evening. Babbling about Indians to Miss McGinnis. Had her convinced of an Indian attack." Dr. Gale laughed at the thought.

Andre looked up sharply. "You didn't take it seriously?"

"Of course not. Men say very strange things under the influence of the fever. I never pay any of it any mind. Now, go back to sleep. You still need some rest."

"Hmmm." Andre lay back down, feigning sleep so he could watch the doctor. The doctor finally left the tent, leaving only the guards at the far end to watch the patients. Andre stealthily reached out for his clothes, stacked beside his cot. He slid into them lying down. Years in the wilderness had given him unusual skills for moments like this.

He quietly rolled off the cot and slipped out underneath the edge of the tent, unnoticed by the guards. The camp lay quiet in the moonlight. Staying in the shadows, he inched down the path to Soapsuds Row, steadying himself as he went. Although his fever had broken, the illness still had him in its grip.

He crept to Corinna's tent flap. Carefully, he pulled it open just far enough to see inside.

"Sacre bleu!" he cursed under his breath. The emptiness of the tent spilled out to meet him. No one was sleeping in her bed. He'd seen the Captain watching her and heard the stories circulating about them. If she were with the Captain, she would have told him what she heard. Or worse, if she'd really understood, she might be on her way to warn the Indians.

Either way he had to leave. He crawled away from her tent, deep into the shadows, first to his tent, to retrieve his knife and gun, then to the horses' bedding ground. Moving quietly to his own horse, he tied a cloth around its nose, to keep it quiet. Similarly silencing a packhorse, he tiptoed up behind the lone guard on duty who was in grave danger of being asleep on watch.

A silent blow to the head, and the young man collapsed on the ground. With lead ropes, Andre brought the two animals out of the bedding ground, ever so slowly, so as not to spook the others.

Only when he was a good distance away, did he mount his horse. Into the night he rode, away from the camp, toward the Omaha camp. If he were lucky, he could catch her first and silence her out here in the darkness.

With the North Star to guide her, Corinna had set out bravely, toward the Indian camp. But the walk dragged on and on. It was impossible to tell distances in the blackness. She never thought to hide. She assumed she was alone in the moonlight. Hoof beats thundering behind her shattered that assumption in the cold night air.

She didn't even look back. She made a break for the nearest tree line, but it was too late. A shrieking cry echoed in her ears. A strong arm reached out and grabbed her, yanking her up to saddle level. A scream ripped itself from her throat.

Andre heard the scream echoing over the empty prairie. Without a moment's hesitation, he turned toward the Arickaree encampment; hoping one of their warriors had found Corinna. He'd soon know. Kicking his horse to a gallop, he headed into the darkness. He pushed his steed at a run, the packhorse struggling to keep up. The hills melted away beneath the flying hooves. He finally spotted a tiny campfire far in the distance. A little longer and he'd be safe.

"A-A-E-E-I-I!"

No one heard Andre's scream. He flew through the air, end over end. His horse dropped, rolled, and struggled to regain its footing after stumbling in a prairie dog hole. Andre lay very still, stretched out in the moonlight. The blood oozing from his temple left a shiny streak on a small granite stone. The rock seemed to cushion his head, for the unintended rest.

Corinna ended up head down, across a horse, bouncing furiously. The brave tore through the darkness. She could smell campfire smoke. The brave shouted his arrival. Corinna strained to pick up any words she'd learned.

He yanked his horse to a stop in the middle of camp. Giving her a push, he dropped her to the ground and jumped off. He strutted around her, yelling, awakening the camp. She curled her knees to her chest, into a tight ball underneath her cloak.

His hand closed on the back of her hood. Seizing a handful of cloak and hair, he jerked her head back to show her face. Her fiery hair spilled out into view of the sleepy crowd that had gather to see his prisoner.

"Senoma," she cried, jerking free from his grip. She hoped it was Senoma's village. His hand cracked across her face to silence her, but not quickly enough. Senoma stepped from her tent.

"Flaming Hair?" She joined the crowd. Spotted Deer followed her.

"She is mine," shouted the brave, grabbing another handful of hair. "I found her out in the dark."

Spotted Deer shook his head. "No, Running Dog. She belongs to Colonel Morgan. She must be returned to the soldiers." Spotted Deer stood firm.

Corinna tried to follow the conversation, but couldn't. She could only hope Spotted Deer was on her side. She couldn't see faces, from her spot on the ground. Her head hurt from having her hair pulled so.

"I came warn you!" she cried out, over top of the conversation.

Running Dog shook her violently by her hair.

"Ow-w-w!"

"Let her go!" commanded Spotted Deer. "We want no trouble with the soldiers."

Running Dog drew his knife slowly, eyes narrowed, glaring at Spotted Deer. Spotted Deer glared at him in return. Corinna held her breath. The cold steel glinted in the moonlight. The blade flashed in front of her eyes.

"This is mine," shouted Running Dog. The knife slashed. Corinna slumped to the ground. Running Dog stalked off to add a shock of flaming red hair to his trophy pole.

Chapter Eight

Corinna's shriek filled the night air. "My hair! You give that back!" Fuming at Running Dog's lifting of her 'top knot', she scrambled up from her spot on the ground.

Spotted Deer reached out, his strong hand catching her elbow. "Senoma. Take Flaming Hair to our teepee. We will take her back to fort at sunrise."

Senoma nodded, the merest hint of a smile playing about her lips. "Come."

Corinna rubbed the top of her head, glared once more in the direction of her vanished hair and followed Senoma.

"Fine welcome I get." She grumbled to no one in particular. "I come all this way, in the middle of the night, and this is the thanks I get."

Senoma laughed and held back the tent flap. "Running Dog needed save face. He did not want to give you up. Hair will grow."

Corinna stepped into the teepee, its interior barely lit by the embers of the evening's cooking fire. She sank down onto one of the buffalo robes and nestled close to the smoldering embers.

She pulled the robe around her shoulders and tucked it in around her feet, while Senoma secured the heavy skin tent flap, to keep out the cold night air.

"I suppose you're right. But, I came to warn you." she said, announcing her reason for the night walk. "I think your people are in danger."

"How so?"

"One of our scouts is sick in the hospital. He started mumbling about an Indian attack-an Arickaree attack-very soon, maybe tonight. I think he meant an attack on your village."

"Why you think so?"

"He was mumbling about reading smoke-we don't do that."

Senoma took in the news quietly, betraying no emotion. "You came all this way, by yourself, to warn us?"

Corinna nodded, red ringlets bouncing in the firelight. "I had to. Your people have been so helpful since we got here. And you've been so good to me. The fruits and berries you've shown me made the boys healthy again. I'm learning so much from you. I couldn't let any thing happen to you."

Senoma studied the young woman wrapped in the buffalo robe. She was not like most of the women in the army camp. Very unusual. Much more open to the new life here on the plains. Even Running Dog hadn't frightened her.

"You rest now. I will tell Spotted Deer. He'll find out."

Senoma quickly left the teepee. Corinna settled deeper into the buffalo robe, and dropped quickly into welcome sleep.

"Flaming Hair? Flaming Hair! We must go"

Senoma whispered, shaking Corinna out of her slumber.

"Wha . . .?"

"Sh-h-h. Our braves found the 'Ree camp. We move. Come quickly!"

Corinna scrambled up, now fully awake. They joined a very quiet band of women, children and a few braves slipping away. Corinna could just see the others moving about in the camp.

At a silent command, the group moved swiftly out of the camp. She struggled to keep up with them. Her cloak caught on the tangled branches in the draw. The rough wool would not slip through the brush like the soft deerskin. She tugged at it, snapping a branch. The crack echoed like a gunshot in the night.

Corinna froze. The line ahead of her disappeared. The women seemed to melt into the brush, indistinguishable from the shadows in the moonlight. She bowed her head. They would probably leave her. Her bumbling would put them all in danger.

But, Senoma appeared from nowhere at her side. "Leave cloak. Cloth won't catch as bad."

Corinna nodded, unfastening the cloak, letting it drop quietly to the ground, shoving it under the snarly bush with her foot.

Senoma beckoned. "Come, we must hide until dawn."

Shivering, Corinna struggled to stay with the group. Cautious mothers herded their children ahead of them, never making a sound. The night wind whispered around her, its chilling fingers grasping at her, stealing the warmth she had left.

Her companions moved up the narrow draw, following its twists and turns effortlessly, while her long skirt caught on every twig and her heavy boots slipped on every rock. They finally reached a small grove of trees high atop the hill. Corinna could just see the glimmer of the campfires back in the village.

"Senoma," she whispered, "why are there still fires in camp?"

"To convince 'Rees we're still there. Sh-h-h. Dawn comes." Senoma pointed toward the eastern horizon. A slight reddening hinted at the sunrise.

Senoma lifted an arm and offered Corinna a place under her blanket. They knelt down and huddled together, sharing body heat, watching the sky grow redder and brighter.

Without warning, a shot echoed over the hillside. Screams and cries reverberated back and forth between the hills, mixed with the sounds of more shots and twanging bowstrings.

"What's happening?"

"They've attacked. Spotted Deer's waiting."

Corinna strained to see in the awakening morning. Flashes of gunfire blazed. Warriors' cries and screams mixed together, floating up on the ever-present breeze.

"It sounds terrible."

"It is."

The rumbling thunder of galloping horses reached them. In the first strong rays of morning sunlight, Corinna could see the grim smile that played on Senoma's face.

"They run. Spotted Deer's welcome not what they expected."

"Now what?"

"We stay here-until Spotted Deer comes. He'll chase them back to their camp, then find us."

Corinna shook her head. "I can't stay here."

"What?"

Corinna raked her fingers through her hair. "I'll be missed at camp. No one knows where I am. They'll think I've deserted." The specter of spending time in the tiny stockade gave her the shivers.

Senoma shook her head. "You must stay with us. Might not be one of our braves who find you next time."

Corinna nodded and touched the vacant spot in her hair. One close call was enough.

Richardson gloated, watching Humbolt pace in front of his tent. "Well, it certainly looks like we have two who've gone AWOL, Geoffrey." The noonday sun beat down, glaring, but cold. "McGinnis is gone and so is Lucian. The guard has a nasty knot on his head and two horses are missing. What more proof do you need? They've run off together."

Humbolt stopped pacing long enough to shoot Richardson a glare that would have silenced most strong men.

"It doesn't make sense, Cy. If it were Colter, I'd believe it, but McGinnis?"

"Oh come on, man, maybe you've misjudged your little angel. She must have a much more earthy appetite. Anyway, you have to put them on report and sound the guns. They missed roll call and they're not in camp anywhere."

"Yes, I know." Humbolt turned away slowly. Sounding the guns meant that any soldier or laundress found outside camp could be shot on sight as a deserter. Or captured by the Indians and brought back for a reward-dead or alive. His gut tied into a cold hard knot. The picture of Corinna's lifeless body draped across the back of an Indian pony sickened him. "Why would she go with Andre?"

At his order, the bugle blew to warn all within earshot to return to the campground. Then the guns began to sound-three short volleys-the approved signal.

"Where else could she have gone?" No answer came to him. "Sergeant Thomas!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Mount a search party. Send them south, toward Lisa's. They wouldn't head into open country without supplies. See if you can catch them before they get there."

"Yes, sir!"

He began his mindless pacing again. What if she wasn't there? Where could she be? Humbolt struggled to retain his self-control as another thought struck terror into his heart. "What if she didn't go willingly?" Andre knew all the tribes from here to the Yellowstone. A red-haired slave could bring a pretty price.

"Oh, no." The thought of Corinna being sold into slavery was even worse. It didn't take much to imagine savage hands on that fiery hair and tempting body-and the fight she'd put up. "They'd have to kill her to keep her." He pressed his hand to his jaw in frustration, feeling his heart pounding beneath his fingers, blood racing in his veins. "I won't let that happen," he vowed to himself, realizing he didn't want anyone else to touch her. "I've got to find her."

He hurried to Colonel Morgan's tent to give him the bad news.

The next day's sun blazed bright in the noonday sky. The gossip buzzed up and down Soaps Suds Row.

"Can you imagine?"

"She took off with the scout?"

"Well, I never."

"I'm sure there's another explanation," said Artie. "She never said a word about Andre. Maybe he kidnapped her." Artie rubbed a hapless shirt against her scrub board with great vigor.

"Why would he do that?" asked Beulah.

"The captain said some of these Indians keep slaves and steal one another's women. Perhaps Andre plans to sell her at another Indian camp."

Beulah paused in her scrubbing, rubbing her nose on the back of her wash-wet hand.

"Well, he sure couldn't come back here."

"I don't think he plans to," said Artie. "He's gone for good, and I'm afraid, so is Corinna."

At that, all the activity stopped. They all missed Corinna's bright, sunny presence.

"Oh how awful," said Beulah, "to be a slave out here."

"Well, I can't imagine that she just wandered off. Something's wrong." Artie whacked the shirt against her board again.

"You're right about that, I'm sure," said Arabelle, entering the conversation for the first time. "We'll just have to wait and see what happens."

"Well, we'd better all be working. Captain Humbolt is headed this way. He's been a bear all day. He's really upset that she's gone."

"I know. He's not going to be happy with his wash, no matter what I do," complained Beulah. She'd been assigned Humbolt's laundry, with Corinna gone.

"I wouldn't want to be in your place, Beulah. Make Sergeant Thomas take it back to him."

"I will. I don't want him yelling at me. He's yelled at everyone he's seen today." Beulah poked at the soggy pile of wash in her tub. With an expert flip of the wrist, she wrapped an errant sock around her pole and lifted it from the still-hot water.

"Well, I hope he takes a search party out," said Artie, taking up yet another smelly shirt.

Beulah shook out the sock to cool it slightly and wrung the water from it with a well-seasoned twist. "That would be better than having him stomp around here. We'll all be in the stockade before supper."

"You know," said Arabelle, "They've got to find her soon or they won't find her at all."

"Oh, Arabelle, don't say that!" Artie shook her head violently as if trying to shake away the idea.

"You know what I mean."

Artie nodded. They'd all heard stories of the terrible things that had happened to white women who had found themselves at the hands of savages.

The sound of the gray, gritty soap against the hard wooden scrub boards quieted them as they worked, each one creating her own private scenario of terrors that might be happening to Corinna.

Men and horses milled around the vacated campsite. Humbolt kicked a broken arrow lying on the ground. "This doesn't look good."

"No, sir."

"McKenzie, are you sure this is where they were camped?"

"Yes, Captain. They were here several days ago." He reached down, bringing up a handful of ashes and dirt, all that was left of the once bustling encampment. "These ashes are stone cold and dew-wet sir. The fires have been out for at least a couple of days."

Humbolt scowled at the young scout. The last thing he needed was more unanswered questions. "Why would the Omaha's have moved their camp away from the cantonment? They've been trading regularly with us." Humbolt doubted that McKenzie was anywhere near as good a tracker as Andre, but he was all they had at the moment.

"Looks like they had a disagreement with somebody else, sir. Those arrows don't all look like they belonged here. And the ground is all torn up. Some of these spots look like dried blood. But you can see where things were. They moved in a hurry."

Humbolt's gaze followed the scouts arm. He had to admit a trail was evident in the dirt, wide and clear. Many horses had ridden off toward the northeast.

"Captain! Look here!"

Humbolt swung around to face the recruit rushing toward him.

"Look what I found, sir." The soldier held up a dark, woolen cloth. Humbolt's stomach churned violently as he took the cloth, shaking it, recognizing Corinna's cloak.

"It's hers, isn't it, sir?"

Humbolt nodded, closing his eyes, running his fingers along the folds of the cloak, around the rim of the hood. The rough wool grated against his fingers, against the ragged edges of his mind. She was out here somewhere, in the hands of who knows what Indians.

"Yes, it is." His voice came out, barely above a whisper. That would never do. He couldn't lose control. Looking up, he met the soldier's expectant gaze.

Humbolt shrugged back his shoulders, and cleared his throat. "Very good, solder. You've done very well."

"Thank you, sir." The young recruit beamed.

"Where did you find this?"

"Back there sir," The young man pointed to a draw running away from the campsite.

Humbolt's heart sank into his boot tops. Nothing but empty rolling hillsides. But, she'd been here somewhere. And now she was without her cloak. The thought of Corinna spending several nights, unprotected in the cold night air, sent a shiver through his own body. She was so small. He longed to wrap the big heavy cape back around her, to keep her safe and warm against this god-forsaken land.

His arms ached to hold her. His logical side fought to regain the upper hand. "Stop it! What are you thinking! You have to take her back to the camp for desertion."

He shook his head. It was hopeless. He'd lost his heart and he hadn't even noticed. Lost it to a woman he had to arrest the next time he saw her. Heaven help him.

"You can rejoin you squad, son." He said dismissing the soldier. "We're not going to find anything else here. "Let's go, McKenzie. Let's see where they went."

Humbolt swung back up into his saddle. Tracking the runaways wasn't any better than staying at the cantonment.

"Which way, sir?"

"Wha.." Humbolt started, then stopped. Mackenzie was right. The track went northeast; Corinna's cloak went west.

There was no choice to be made. "West. We're after a deserter. The Indians can come and go as they wish."

He clenched his teeth and reined his horse around. He'd find her-or what was left of her. And the Devil take Andre.

Corinna sucked the dripping juice off the end of a nicely roasted rabbit leg. Smiling at Senoma, sitting next to her beside the cooking fire, Corinna took another bite of her rabbit. "MMM-this is so good. You'll have to teach me how you cook this. Ours never tastes like this."

Senoma smiled gently. "We have our own seasonings. I will show."

Corinna tucked her feet, now clad in more comfortable winter moccasins, under her, shifting to reach a bit of the squash in the pot over the fire.

"I've really enjoyed the last few days. I'm going to be sorry to leave, Senoma."

Senoma nodded. "You are welcome any time. But they will be looking for you."

"Oh, I suppose." Corinna shook her head as she took another bite.

"Yes, your fine Captain will be looking for you. He cares what happens to you."

"Do you really think so?" Corinna stared at the serene woman next to her. She seemed to know so much about so many things.

"He fights inside over you, but he cares. Oh yes, he cares. Give him time."

Corinna nodded. She hoped against hope that Senoma was right. The sound of horses echoed through the tent. Spotted Deer poked his head in through the tent flap. "Soldiers come. I will call you."

Corinna nodded and he disappeared. "Sounds like someone's found me."

Humbolt reined in his horses to slow the squad's advance. He recognized the buffalo paintings around Spotted Deer's teepee. "Thomas, it is the Omaha's. We're in luck."

They dismounted and walked the last distance into camp. Spotted Deer stood in the center of his camp, watching the approaching soldiers.

"Welcome, Captain. You're a long way from camp."

"Yes. We're looking for deserters. We thought you might have seen them. When we reached your old campsite, it looked like there might have been trouble. Is everything all right?"

Spotted Deer smiled. The Captain was learning. "Is now. Some trouble before. 'Rees tried to attack camp days ago. But we were warned. We were ready. We surprised them instead."

"You were warned?"

"By one of your people-perhaps one you call deserter."

Spotted Deer motioned and the tent flap was pulled back. Corinna burst from the tent and ran across the camp. She flung herself into Captain Humbolt's arms.

"Oh Captain, I'm so glad to see you!"

The startled captain could only hold her for all to see. Her grip around his neck tightened. He couldn't help himself. His arms tightened around her and he held her close, thankful she was still alive. Her warm sweet aroma filled his nostrils. "God, what now?"

Corinna buried her head in his chest, thankful that he was the one to find her. Bolts of pleasure shot through her as she remained close to him, locked in his embrace, in the middle of the Indian camp.

Corinna finally squirmed in his crushing grip. Humbolt regained his senses enough to set her firmly on the ground. Taking a deep breath, he riveted his gaze on the deserter before him, trying hard to ignore the beating of his heart.

"What are you doing here?"

"I had to stay here, Captain. After the Indian attack, I couldn't get back to camp alone."

He shook his head. "Back up. What on earth were you doing out here in the first place?" He looked into her sparkling eyes for a plausible answer.

"I had to warn them, Captain. They were going to be attacked. Andre said so in his fever."

"So that's what this is about." Humbolt's voice ratcheted up a notch with every word. "You just took off to warn them. Why didn't you tell me!"

Humbolt's concern turned to exasperation now that he knew she was safe.

"It was late. And I did tell the doctor. He said Andre was just rambling in his fever. Told me to ignore it. He didn't believe me. You wouldn't have believed me, either. You would have asked the doctor. I couldn't wait."

Humbolt shook his head. "You could have been shot! Do you understand that? You've been listed as a deserter. And so has Andre!"

"Where did he go?"

Humbolt exploded at the question. "You tell me! I don't understand this whole thing."

Eyes wide, Corinna stared at him. "I don't either-sir. He was still in the hospital when I left. "

Spotted Deer stepped into the puzzled silence. "Flaming Hair no deserter. She very brave little one. Came in darkness to warn us. We have not seen scout."

Humbolt stared hard at Corinna, who put on her most innocent, beguiling look, nodding furiously in agreement with Spotted Deer's description of her escapade.

"Very well, I'll take that into account. But she must come back, NOW."

Spotted Deer nodded. He made a motion and a pretty mustang was brought up, with an Indian saddle across its back.

"Flaming Hair may take pony as gift of thanks from Omaha people. Saved many lives with warning."

With a quick assist, Corinna sat astride the Indian pony, ready to ride.

"You're turning into quite the native, McGinnis," observed Humbolt, surprised, but no longer shocked at the Indian behaviors she'd adopted. She looked perfectly at home on the horse. He blushed for her at the sight of her slim legs peeking out from underneath her full skirts, her silken calves pressed gently into the horses midsection.

"She can probably ride bareback." He shook his head at the thought. She had even donned Indian moccasins, instead of her army issue boots. What next?

This is her country. She loves it and it loves her. The simplicity and truthfulness of the thought stunned him.

Corinna smiled, noting the confused expression on his face. "I'll take that as a compliment, sir. Senoma has been teaching me."

Her radiant smiled nearly blinded him. He found himself blushing at her openness. How could he resist her when she looked like that? Spotted Deer spoke up. "I will go back with you. Want to talk to Colonel Morgan."

"Fine. We're ready."

Spotted Deer quickly joined them on horseback.

"Squad, let's move out."

The bugler announced incoming visitors. Voices echoed across the parade ground. "Riders--Riders coming in."

"Oh Artie, look, it's Humbolt's squad--and Corinna's with them!"

"Corinna?"

"I'm sure it is. Look right there-in the middle. And look, she's riding an Indian pony."

"Oh, my goodness. You're right. Where do you suppose they found her?"

"I don't know, but she's bound to be in trouble."

"Well, at least they didn't shoot her!"

The laundresses scrambled to get a better view, leaving half-done shirts and limp socks strewn over the washtubs. The party dismounted. Spotted Deer and Humbolt disappeared into Morgan's tent. Finally they re-emerged and returned to Corinna's side. Humbolt spoke quickly.

"Spotted Deer has asked the Colonel to allow them to make you an honorary member of their tribe, because of your effort on their behalf."

"Oh my!" said Corinna, taken aback. "I'd be honored. Spotted Deer has been very good to me. He made sure I was safe, during the fighting. He sent me away with Senoma and the others."

She nodded toward the chief, who had joined them.

"Flaming Hair bring us good luck in battle, Captain. We lose no braves of our own in fight. We give her gift," said Spotted Deer, pointing to the mare she had ridden into camp. "Will prepare tribal-naming ceremony. We will return."

He mounted and rode quickly out of camp.

"McGinnis, you never cease to amaze me," said Humbolt, trying to maintain some sort of military decorum in public. He couldn't very well take her in his arms, crush her with a hug, and then shake her to death for scaring him so. "You still must be punished for leaving without permission. Your whiskey ration will be taken away for two weeks."

Corinna smiled. That would be no hardship. "Yes, sir. I'll consider myself punished."

"It looks like you have a horse to take care of now. Why don't you take her over to the corral, and have one of the soldiers help you. You may run her in with the camp stock. She'll be fine."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"And McGinnis . . .."

Yes, sir?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice for a few private words. "I'm glad you're back. I was afraid you'd been sold up river. I had a hard time believing you'd run off with Andre."

"I wouldn't go off with Andre," she said carefully, looking deep into his smoldering eyes, "my future is here."

He returned her gaze steadily.

"Yes, I think it is," he said. The feeling between them swelled, threatening to sweep them into one another's arms. If only they could have some private time. Corinna finally looked away; the middle of camp was no place for a romantic embrace.

"Where do you suppose Andre went?"

"I have no idea. But the bigger question is why he left. He seems to be mixing in bigger things." Humbolt stopped his out-loud speculation. No sense worrying her with his guesses. "But you need some rest. You're confined to your quarters for the rest of today, McGinnis."

Corinna smiled up at him again. "Yes, Captain, as soon as my pony is cared for. I'll surely stay in my tent for the rest of the day. I'll not be roaming about any more."

"Well, see that you don't," he said sternly, hoping his relief at her return wasn't too obvious to the others surrounding them.

Giving the little mare one last pat on the nose, Corinna wandered away from the corral, toward the cottonwood grove on the riverbank. The quiet grove was one of her favorite spots, within the confines of the camp, yet separated from the hustle and bustle of the every day activities. She stepped between two huge trees, into the shadowy depths of the grove.

"I hoped you'd come here."

"How did you know?" Corinna couldn't contain her surprise at finding Humbolt waiting for her. He stood like an oak in the middle of the shady space, her cloak draped over his arm.

"I've seen you come here, after working with the sick ones. I didn't want to disturb you. I thought you needed the time to yourself."

Corinna's heart thundered in her ears. "And now?"

"And now, I need some time-with you." He reached out for her, gently, running his fingers down her arms, over the backs of her hands. Her cloak dropped to the ground as he curled his fingers around hers. In one smooth motion, he brought her palms to his chest, pulling her to him.

"You have no idea how worried I've been." His gaze drank her in as he looked over and over at the precious angel in his grasp, to reassure himself she was really back, all in one piece.

"I didn't mean to be gone." She whispered, melting against him, feeling the beating of his heart under her hands, keeping frantic time with hers. She looked up into his eyes, seeing that earlier smoldering gaze turn into fire, a fire that would consume both of them. And she was powerless to stop it.

"Geoffrey," she whispered running her trembling hands over the rock-hard muscles of his chest, raising her face to his. That was all it took. His arms surged around her, crushing her in his passionate embrace. His mouth closed on hers with a hunger born of fear, joy and desire.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, answering his longing with a hunger all her own, a hunger of newness of awakening love, of the wonderment of it all. Time lost all meaning. He paused just long enough for a quick breath, and then started where he'd left off, exploring the tender regions of her mouth.

Corinna did everything in her power to encourage him, his passion drawing her to new heights of emotion. She shivered in excitement. His kiss was even more wonderful that she'd ever imagined it could be. Their bodies seemed to be as one, her breath with his breath, her heartbeat with his, and the fire within her matching his.

He finally drew back, smiling down at her, yet keeping her firmly pressed against his length. "Now I really have something to be thankful for. You missed Thanksgiving, you know."

Her sparkling laughter bounced among the silvery branches. "I'd completely forgotten."

"We'll have to find a way to have our own celebration. I was afraid I'd never find you." He kissed her again, more tenderly than before.

"Would you have kept looking for me?"

"Of course. I didn't want anyone else to find you and maybe shoot you." A chill sent shivers along his back. The picture of her, cold and lifeless, like the others he'd seen, was too real to be endured.

"Well, you found me and I'm fine." She slid her hand along his cheek, caressing the solid jaw line. Drawing it along his neck, her fingers jarred on the hard scar.

He drew back at her touch.

"I'm sorry. Does it still hurt?"

"No. I just still react whenever I'm reminded that it's there."

She placed her palm gently over the scar, covering it completely. "Tell me about it. We've spent a lot of time together on this trip, but I really know very little about you. I think it's time I did."

She withdrew her hand and deliberately moved back, pressing against his arms, to put a little space between them, for now.

"There's not much to tell." Reciting his life's history was the last thing on his mind.

"Please?"

Seeing the determined set of that delicate jaw, Humbolt sighed and released her. Picking up her cloak, Corinna stepped over to a fallen log and sat down, looking up at him expectantly. "You already know about my family. What about you? You didn't start out full grown, in that uniform."

He laughed. "Almost. I grew up in Ithaca, New York. My father is a banker and my mother is from one of the town's oldest families. Since I'm the second son, I've been groomed for the military since I was small. Went to military schools all along." He paced in front of her, recalling the scenes of his childhood.

Corinna watched him carefully. No smiles crossed his face as he talked of his family, no hints of pleasant memories, nothing. Just honor and duty and maintaining family tradition. He was truly an aristocrat, though. His neck probably bled blue when he got hurt.

She finally interrupted. "Most officers have wives by the time they're Captains. Why aren't you married?"

His eyes grew cold, almost black for just an instant. She sucked in her breath. That was almost too bold a question. He exhaled, his gaze softening.

"I almost was. I was engaged. But after this . . .." he slid his hand down his neck, over the scar "when I went back to active duty, instead of taking an appointment in Washington, my fiancée called it off. Said she didn't want to be married to a man whose career placed him in danger and came before her."

"She was a fool, thank goodness." Corinna nodded toward his hand. "How did you get that?"

"You really don't want to know the details. I was in a vicious battle during the last war with the British. I had my arms full of a civilian I was trying to help, when an Indian came after me with a saber. Captain Richardson was with me. He shot the Indian in time to stop the worst of the swing, even got me back to the rear lines. The doctors were able to sew me up."

"No wonder he puts up with Captain Richardson." Corinna instantly resolved to try not to hate the man. He couldn't be all bad.

"Well, I'm glad you came back into the service," she said quietly. "We would have never met otherwise." She smiled and held her hands up. He pulled her to her feet and enveloped her in yet another all encompassing embrace. He captured her mouth again, knowing the moment could not last. Corinna allowed her feelings to wash over her. Having him hold her, kiss her, want her, what more could she ask for? If only they could stay here, here in this grove. But this wasn't paradise.

"We must go," she whispered. "Morgan will be looking for you and the whole camp will be looking for me."

"Uh-huh." He mumbled and kissed her again. She returned his kiss, savoring the fullness of his mouth and the desire she felt pulsing between them.

She pulled away, smiling, handing him her cloak. "You wait here a while. I'll go this way. Then you can head to Officer's Row."

He nodded, hating the necessity to keep their growing relationship in the shadows. He held her cloak open, then wrapped her in it tenderly, against the afternoon chill. He buried his head in the inviting curve of her neck and whispered, "I don't want you to go."

Heart pounding, she nuzzled his cheek.

"You know I must. They'll send me away if we're caught."

He groaned, nodded and relaxed his hold. With one final embrace, she turned and walked through the trees, to her tent, where he'd ordered her to spend the rest of the day.

"Well, tell me all about him. You can't fool me, you know. What's going on?" Arabelle stood before Corinna, hands on hips, clucking her tongue and grinning a sly grin.

"Arabelle, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't give me that," said Arabelle, brushing aside the awning fly and plopping down on the nearest camp box. "This is me, remember. I know everything that goes on in this camp. And I know you spent nearly half an hour over in the grove with the Captain, and you haven't been back any time at all."

Corinna silently cursed the heat rising in her neck. If only her Irish blood wouldn't flame so quickly.

"Aha! I knew it," pronounced Arabelle with great satisfaction. "You don't have to say anything. Your face just said it all. He's after you ain't he . . .. Well, ain't he?"

"Not like you mean. He cares about me Arabelle, he does. He was worried about me, he said so."

"Humph! He was worried some brave would get to you before he did. That's all."

"Arabelle!"

"You should be taking advantage of his interest. Have you two . . .you know." Arabelle winked and elbowed Corinna knowingly.

"No!" cried Corinna, embarrassed at the coarseness of her friend's comments.

"No? Why not, girl? You're not putting him off are you? You'll never hold his interest that way."

Corinna clenched her teeth. She wouldn't let Arabelle reduce her growing relationship with Geoffrey to a 'roll in the hay'. "If I can't hold his interest my way, I don't want it. I'm not going to be a "gentleman's companion" Arabelle. I want a home and a husband and a family. And I'm not going to settle for less."

Arabelle's gaze turned to ice. "Then you're a fool for sure. He'll never give you those things. He's an officer and you're a nothing in his book. You mark my words. He may want you, but he'll never marry you. When he can't have what he wants, he'll find someone else. You can't trust any of them. I know. I seen a lot more men than you have."

Corinna shook her head. "Not all men are like that, Arabelle. My father wasn't."

"And look where he left you. With nothing. You have to take care of yourself, just like I have to. You see this?" Arabelle pulled a small black book from her apron pocket. "This is my accounts book. I've got quite a sum saved. The colonel has some of it in his safe here. I don't have to depend on any man to take care of me when I get old."

Corinna could only stare. She'd never seen Arabelle so worked up.

Tucking the book back into her pocket, Arabelle continued.

"I felt sorry for you when I saw you, standing in the gutter, with nothing, just like I started. Now, you take my advice, young lady. Get yourself into that captain's bed as quick as you can, before he changes his mind. Then you make him pay through the nose for everything he wants from you. That way he'll get what he want, and you'll have something left when he's gone."

Arabelle stood up. "I never thought when I pulled you off the street, you'd go soft-headed on me. The way you were givin' it to that landlord. Thought you had more spunk!"

Corinna spoke softly. "I'm a survivor, Arabelle, just like you. I just have to do things my way."

"Well don't come to me, whining and crying when you catch him with some other woman. Don't say I didn't warn you." Arabelle whirled on her heel and stomped away.

Corinna shook her head, watching her disappear into her own tent. She could only guess at Arabelle's childhood, but being left on her own at an early age, seemed to be the cause of Arabelle's distrust of men.

But this was going to be different. It just had to be.

Chapter Nine

The days since Corinna's return to camp had gone quickly. Humbolt jerked the neck of his jacket, aligning it perfectly. He peered into his hand mirror, checking for any stray beard stubble. Seeing the scowl reflecting before him, he consciously relaxed his clenched jaws. "It's a peaceful ceremony," he said aloud. "It's an honor for her to be recognized by this tribe."

Laying the mirror aside, he considered his hats. "This isn't really a military occasion," he mumbled. Finally, he reached down and with a practiced flip of the wrist, set his black silk top hat on his head. Picking up the mirror again, he scrutinized his reflection. Nodding, he observed, "The everyday topper will do. No need to go overboard." He scowled into the mirror again. Setting it down, he picked up his dress gloves and stepped outside his tent. Visitors filled almost every inch of the open commons, jostling one another for a better view. Nearly everyone from Spotted Deer's village had come to camp for Corinna's special naming ceremony.

Try as he might, he couldn't be happy about this. First the day trips, then the ridiculous venture in the middle of the night to help these . . .Indians. And now-now she would be an honorary member of the tribe. What next? With her own horse, on her off duty hours, she could ride whenever and wherever she chose.

How could he keep her with him, if she insisted on joining this wild country and the people here? Shaking his head, trying to ignore the knot in his gut, he walked toward the other officers. Morgan would expect him to be there and of course, so would she.

Corinna stood in front of her tent, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. The soft deerskin moccasins still felt strange to feet used to heavy army brogans.

"Senoma, this is beautiful." She fingered the soft, white deerskin dress draping her figure. "You shouldn't have given it to me. It must be your very best dress."

Senoma gently brushed the fringe, making sure it hung evenly all along the back. "It was given to me when I married. It deserves to be worn now. You will become honorary sister to Senoma, daughter of Chief War Eagle. That requires a special gift."

"Oh, My! I didn't realize. . .that makes you a real princess, doesn't it?"

Senoma nodded, ignoring Corinna's wide-eyed stare. "The greatest honor I can pay my father is to be generous to one who helped us. You gave us your most precious gift-you risked your life. How can I not give you such a simple thing as a dress?"

"I'll treasure it always." Corinna ran her fingers carefully over the tiny, red-dyed quills that made up the design on her sleeve.

"I added that to make it yours." Senoma pointed to the small red flame crossing the sleeve. "Is a sacred flame."

Corinna blinked back the tears misting her eyes as she surveyed her finery. "Well, with a beautiful dress, a wonderful parfleche bag, and my very own pony, I'm becoming a woman of stature, at least in your community."

Senoma nodded. "And in your own. Your Captain will not be able to ignore that. You will have position, even among your own people. Position is important to him, still."

"He was raised that way." Corinna sighed. "Position is everything where he comes from."

Senoma looked out toward the parade ground, at the groups gathered there. "He is learning. What you do is much more important. You have the heart of a princess. You must hold your head high. He will come to you."

Corinna rolled a piece of fringe between her fingers. "Some of my friends say I should be. . .friendlier to him. . .to attract him more."

Senoma shook her head. "No. A good woman does not behave so. Meet his eyes with your eyes, his honor with your honor, his heart with your heart. You are his equal. You must act it. If he is worth having, he will come."

Corinna nodded, the words reinforcing her own thoughts.

The drums began to beat on the parade ground. Senoma held out her hand. "Come. The drums call us. The ceremony begins."

They moved quickly to the huge circle of guests. Indians, soldiers and laundresses intermingled for this most unusual event. Spotted Deer stood waiting for her at the top of the circle.

The chanters fell silent when Spotted Deer began to speak. She didn't understand all the words but she recognized her name- Flaming Hair - that's what he'd called her from the beginning. Spotted Dear ended his speech and the crier began to chant, carrying Spotted Deer's message to all assembled for the occasion.

"Little brave one, your new name shall be-Moonlight Fire. You came to warn us in the moonlight, your flaming hair lighting the way. You saved many lives. Moonlight Fire will always be a daughter of the Omaha tribe."

Again and again, the crier shouted the message as he walked the perimeter of the parade ground, to make sure everyone within earshot heard his words. The name sent a shiver of exhilaration down Corinna's spine every time she heard it. Her Irish-red hair had always been something of a curse, a burden, but now. . .thanks to her new name, it had a wonderful, new meaning. She rolled the name around on her tongue, savoring it. She looked across the circle and caught Humbolt staring at her. His face seemed carved in granite. It had that same emotionless set it had taken on when he talked of his family. What was he thinking? "I hope he's not upset."

If only he could see these people as she did. If only he could open his heart to her and to them. Her own heart felt as though it would burst. She took a deep, slow breath to relieve the mounting pressure in her chest. She smiled at him and tilted her chin just a tiny bit higher. Senoma's words echoed in her ears. "Hold your head high. You have the heart of a princess".

The drums began a new rhythm, calling her attention back to the ceremony. The Indian guests stepped inward, creating a circle within the outer ring. Senoma took her hand and, with a shuffling dance step, led her around the inner ring. All the Indians repeated her new name. She smiled and nodded in recognition, hoping she was doing the right thing. They stopped in front of Spotted Deer.

He carefully placed a rawhide thong, with a beautiful eagle feather attached, around her head. "Your feather is sacred to you. Eagle feathers are only given when one has done something very special. You cannot get them for yourself. They must be given to you. Keep it always. Wear it for special occasions and dances. It is a part of your soul."

Corinna nodded gravely, impressed by the solemnity of the occasion. She looked every inch the Indian, except for the fair skin and fiery hair, now trimmed to disguise the missing chunk.

She stood next to Spotted Deer to watch the dancers perform in her honor. The tiny bells on their arms and legs jingled in time to the drums. The Eagle Dancers dipped their feathered covered arms and stamped in time to the rhythms.

The Indians moved back into the larger ring. Senoma took her hand once more. They shuffle-stepped around the sacred circle, this time stopping in front of every guest present, until they stopped at the last guest, Humbolt. Senoma smiled the merest hint of a smile and placed Corinna's tiny hand in his. "What do you say, Captain? What do you say to this brave little one?"

He closed his hand over hers, and tried to answer Senoma, his eyes never leaving Corinna's face. "I say. . ." The words stuck in his throat. Forcing a cough, he tried again. "Moonlight Fire is a beautiful name . . .for a most beautiful lady."

Corinna could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. The fire in her name couldn't begin to match the fire in his eyes. She curled her fingers around his, taking his heat, drawing it to her, feeling his pulse pound in her palm.

Senoma inclined her head approvingly. As smoothly as before, she lifted Corinna's hand from Humbolt's and led her from the circle, to the insistent beat of the drums, back to her tent.

Rooted to his spot, Humbolt watched every step she took. The Indian woman-Senoma-had deliberately called him out-he knew that. But why? To make him admit what everyone could see? That Corinna was the most beautiful creature in camp? Any fool could see that. Moonlight Fire. What a name. It described her perfectly. A vision in the moonlight, with an inside fire he could never hope to contain.

She should certainly be safe with the tribe from now on, but he still didn't trust having a white woman, especially this particular white woman, so friendly with them. She seemed to accept becoming a part of this foreign group with total ease. He shook his head. She was so much more open to new things and new people. Could he ever be that way? She seemed so far away from him now. Their closeness in the grove seemed long departed.

Senoma had given her to him, then taken her away. His hand ached, remembering those delicate fingers he'd encircled. The emptiness in his heart took up more and more space. The kisses he'd shared with Corinna burned in his memory; her body responding to his, her sweet taste in his mouth. He wanted to reclaim that sweetness for his own. Being without her was a hundred times worse, having had just a little of her.

He recalled the look he'd seen on her face as he described his upbringing. She'd recognized the gulf separating them. They had to bridge it. No, he had to bridge it. She could go anywhere. He was the one who was holding back. He headed to his tent. There would be no seeing her alone today. She was everyone's center of attention now.

Corinna sat quietly in front of her tent, watching the Indians ascend the bluff. Humbolt's face danced before her and the heat of his grasp still throbbed in her hand. The ceremony and her appearance had obviously affected him. He'd said so in front of the entire crowd. She ran her hand along her cheek. If only they could be free, free to explore their feelings. His touch said so much more than his words. How she longed to have that touch search out the rest of her body.

"Well, Corinna, you've become quite a celebrity," said Artie, joining her.

"I don't feel like a celebrity. I'm just tired. The raid was terrifying, Artie. I'm surprised none of Senoma's people were killed. I've never heard such screaming."

"I'm sure it was terrible. I'm just glad you weren't hurt." Artie poured herself a cup of tea from the pot simmering on the hot stone next to the small cooking fire. "Why didn't you come back the next day?"

"I was still with Senoma. Spotted Deer had sent us out of camp. We kept on the move until he came back for us. They wouldn't let me come back by myself."

"Well, they certainly think you're special," said Arabelle, walking up. "You do look rather pretty in that buckskin."

Corinna nodded at the compliment. "Thank you, Arabelle. Senoma gave me the dress."

Arabelle sniffed. "It's a mite thin. I think it would take some getting used to for every day."

"They don't wear things like this every day. This outfit is just for special occasions, like today."

Corinna stood and turned around while Arabelle cast a critical eye over the costume. "I think I'd rather have the silk dresses I used to wear. Being friends with these people doesn't really interest me."

"You're missing so much, Arabelle. They know so much about this country and how to live here. They really are very smart people." Corinna's words fell on deaf ears.

"Hmmm. Well I hope you know what you're doing. Never get too friendly with strangers-that's my motto." Arabelle turned and walked away.

Artie smiled. "You're never going to change her, dear. She's too self-absorbed to see anything new."

"I wish she could be happy for me. The more things I do, the crankier she gets."

Artie nodded. "You're becoming a different kind of person than she is. That may not sit well. She may be jealous of your good fortune."

"She shouldn't be. She could make new friends, too. You have."

"Well that's true, I have met some of the women. But Arabelle likes being the center of attention. And you've taken that place away, for sure. Just look at the line. They're still coming to see you."

More laundresses filed by, admiring the dress, looking at the feather, fingering the beaded bag Corinna had put out on display. Corinna answered questions, pirouetting and primping for all to see. Finally the crowd thinned. The shadows lengthened across the tent awning. She stretched and shrugged her shoulders, then slipped into her tent. She changed carefully, gently folding the dress and laying her eagle feather on top of it, in her trunk. "That's the first new dress I've put in that trunk in a long time."

"First the carrying bundle, then moccasins, now a dress," she said aloud. "Maybe I'll have a whole new wardrobe out here."

She wrapped her cloak around her and stepped back outside into the gathering darkness. She met Arabelle, heading down the row to her own tent.

"Don't let today go to your head." chided Arabelle. "Just remember, Princess. You still have wash to do and patients to tend to."

Corinna laughed. No danger of getting a swelled head while Arabelle was around.

Corinna blew on her hands to try to warm them, the days of wearing just buckskins or dresses long since past. Even the hot wash water didn't help in this cold. The water seemed to cool before it hit the bottom of the washtub. She picked up her small bucket. "I'm going to get so more hot water. Care to come along?"

Artie looked up. "I might as well. My hands are freezing in this cold tub."

"I'll join you," said Arabelle. "I may just stick both hands in the big boiling kettle. Maybe that will thaw them out."

Corinna managed a small laugh. The weather had turned frigid in the days following her naming ceremony. All thoughts had turned to keeping warm, or trying to. The soldiers drilled every day just to keep their blood circulating.

The braying of pack mules caught their attention. Another trapping party had come into camp. The winter snows seemed to be driving a horde of trappers out of the mountains and down river. Corinna studied the grizzled men struggling with huge packs, balanced precariously on the mules. "Imagine, Artie, some of these trappers have been out here for years."

"Oh, yes. They've been trading with the French for a long time. The Frenchmen love their beaver hats. And the English, too. America is a latecomer, really. "

"The furs are expensive," said Arabelle.

"They steal from one another to get them," said Corinna. "The Indians don't like to trap too many, according to Senoma. That's why the trappers have to go further and further up river, up where none of the tribes live fulltime. The beaver are sacred animals to most of the Indians."

"Well, they make wonderful hats," said Arabelle. "Look, there's another trapper coming in now. That makes three today. But he's got buffalo hides. That pack is too big to have beaver pelts in it."

A heavily loaded pack mule staggered into camp. The scruffy, bearded man shouted and goaded the animal to the trading center of the post. Corinna could barely tell man from hide.

He wore a wolf-skin cap, and what a cap. The wolf hide had been tanned with the ears standing up. Glass eyes stared out of skin sockets and the snout peered down over the man's forehead. The wolf skin draped over his head, across his shoulders and down his back. The front feet of the skin wrapped around his shoulders to the front. He looked as though the wolf had leaped on his back and was devouring him from behind. His hair stuck out from under the skin, in greasy tangled tufts, framing his face, giving him a permanently terrified appearance.

"Well," said Corinna, "he looks like a wild one. But I've been selling my whiskey rations and saving the money. I'm going to see if he has any buffalo skins he'll sell. I'm not going to freeze out here this winter."

"What about your wash?" Arabelle eyed the warm fires, in the other direction.

"It can wait. The water will still be boiling when we get done." Corinna nodded to the gathering crowd. "Everybody's freezing. His skins won't last long."

"I'm going back to get my money," said Artie. "I'll catch up."

"I suppose we might as well see what he's got," said Arabelle. "I hope his skins look better than he does. What a sight."

"I don't care what he looks like," said Corinna. "As long as the buffalo skins are warm."

They walked briskly to the trading circle. As they approached, Arabelle slowed, curling a lip, turning her head. "Good heavens. That stench is coming from him. I'll wager he hasn't bathed since the last spring thaw. Are you sure you want to buy anything of his?"

She pulled a kerchief out of her pocket and held it up to her nose. Corinna had to admit, the odor was certainly . . .gamy. Almost overpowering. His shapeless buckskin clothing, covered with black-red smears from a season of knife-blade-cleaning swipes, looked as though it could stand of its own accord.

But, it was already too cold for her cloak. She could always clean the hide. Senoma would show her how. Corinna cleared her throat to catch the trapper's attention. "Sir, will you sell your skins one at a time?"

Rubbing a huge, filthy hand across his scraggly beard, the trapper peered at her. "I might. Name's Montclair, girlie-and I'd think that hair would keep you warm."

Raising an eyebrow, she stared back. "I'd like a buffalo robe for the cold weather. I'd like to buy a hide."

"How do you know about buffalo robes? The army uses blankets," he said, opening one of the big bundles.

"My Indian friends tell me they're the only way to stay warm in the winter."

"You got Indian friends?"

His tone struck a wary chord. Corinna stared hard, trying to decide just what it was about the man that made the hair at her nape want to stand on end and try to crawl up the back of her neck. Perhaps is was the way he refused to meet her gaze; his eyes, shifting, watching, yet never making contact, even though he seemed to be talking only to her.

"You're a feisty one, you are," he said smoothly, finally facing her. "Would this do for you?"

He wrapped the hide around her shoulders, fur side in. His huge arms encircled her; his acrid odor invaded her nostrils. "That'll keep you warm in the deepest snow."

She shuddered, shaking off his unwanted embrace. Even that momentary touch filled her with dread. She didn't like this man, yet he had done nothing to earn that dislike.

"Will you just look at that," said Arabelle. "That hide is bigger than you are."

Corinna had to agree. The huge hide nearly went around her twice. But it could be cut down. "Yes," she murmured, after careful consideration. "This will do."

She fished the required coins out of her pocket. "Thank you."

"That's my business, girlie. If any of your friends want robes, send 'em over. It's going to be a cold winter."

"I will. I'm sure several of them will be here directly. . I'll see you later, Arabelle?"

Arabelle nodded. "Run along. I want to see what else he has. I won't have just any old stinky hide."

Corinna laughed and headed to the wash kettles, half-dragging, half-carrying the huge skin along.

Within no time, the trapper was surrounded with laundresses and soldiers who had been disciplined enough to save up the price of a buffalo robe. He kept selling and watching and comparing, finally moving to Arabelle's side.

"Miz Colter?" He asked quietly.

Arabelle stared hard at the bearded stranger. "How do you know my name?"

"Andre told me about you."

Arabelle stepped closer, staring even harder. "Sh-h-what do you know of Andre?"

"I know he's dead." He paused, waiting for a reaction.

Arabelle's eyes flew open. She clutched her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry. "How?"

"Not here. Where can we talk?"

Arabelle glanced sharply around. No one had noticed her reaction. "Watch me as I leave. Then come to my tent. Bring a buffalo hide."

Turning on her heel, she walked quickly away, straight back to her tent.

"Now, who are you-and what about Andre?"

Arabelle spoke quietly within the tent. She wanted no stray conversation for outsiders to hear.

"Like I said earlier, name's Montclair. Been Andre's partner all along. Things from Suthridge came through me before they got to you."

They faced off, like two old dogs spoiling for a fight.

"So you know Suthridge, too?"

"I know he pays well. He wants more information from you."

"Information is never free around here."

"Humph," snorted Montclair. "Andre always said you'd want your money first."

He fished deep into the grimy buckskin pouch around his neck. He dropped several gold coins into her outstretched, kerchief-covered hand. "Now what's happening here? How's the garrison making out?"

Arabelle counted the coins then carefully folded the kerchief around the filthy money. "It continues to get worse. The food isn't coming from Fort Osage at all. More and more people are getting sick."

Montclair pulled his head down between his shoulders. Hunkered down, he swung slowly from side to side, like a grizzly, sizing up its next meal. "I could have told Suthridge that. I didn't need to pay you."

Arabelle's clenched her fist around the coin bundle. "Don't you try to cheat me, Montclair. I'll give you the same kinds of reports I gave Andre. I don't care whether you like them or not."

"Hmm." Montclair cast her another wary glance. "Don't get your garters in a knot. Surely there's more goin' on."

Arabelle ignored his persistence. "You haven't told me what happened to Andre? How did he die?"

"Looked to me like he was ridin' around, at full gallop in the dark. Found him, deader'n a doornail. Evidently hit his head on a rock, when his horse threw him."

"What?"

"I'm just guessin'. But his horse was standin' over him with a bunged-up leg, like he'd stepped in a prairie dog hole. Leg weren't broke, but he limped for quite a spell."

It was Arabelle's turn to sneer. "I suppose you ended up with another horse in your string."

"Well, I couldn't let the poor thing starve, now could I. It didn't have an Army brand on it. But I'm smart enough not to bring it back here."

Arabelle crossed her arms, leaning back to hear the rest of Montclair's story. Montclair regarded her suspiciously. "I don't suppose you had anything to do with him lightin' out in such a big hurry?"

"No, I didn't." Arabelle tossed her head. "It was his own doing. The little redhead you met today heard him babbling about an Indian attack. . .when he was in the hospital. She went out to tell the Omaha's. He evidently found out and went after her."

Montclair's eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened into a steely set at Arabelle's words. "Meddlers - all of em."

Arabelle continued, oblivious to the effect her words were having on the rangy trapper. "The story's all over camp. It's just as well he's dead. He'd be shot as a deserter and traitor if he came back."

Montclair reared back at her cold assessment of the situation. "Damnation, woman. Is your heart really that cold?"

Arabelle shot him one of her well-practiced, icy stares. "My heart had nothing to do with it. We had a business relationship. And he didn't take care of business."

"I'll remember to watch my back," snarled Montclair.

"You just do your job as well as I do mine and you'll have nothing to worry about. " Arabelle snapped. The man was becoming irritating. "You'll just have to take Andre's place. They have no reason to suspect you. You're just a trader from the area."

"Well, if I don't have more to take to Suthridge than what you've said, neither one of us will get paid."

Arabelle relaxed slightly, her concern about the change of personnel satisfied. "Well, I do have a little something more to tell you." She smiled a knowing half-smile.

"I knew it. What else?"

"They're planning a trip up river. Richardson is going to take a squad north to scout the area and try to make a peaceful contact with the Arickarees. They're worried about the attack on the Omaha village-afraid it will lead to an attack on this camp. He's told me all about it."

Montclair nodded. "When are they going to leave?"

"Within a couple of days. They want to go before the weather gets any worse."

"Good enough. You've earned your money today, sure and proper."

"I just pass on what news I know. I don't care to know anything else about what you do. It's not my affair."

"Fair enough. I'll be in touch."

"You'd better go. I don't want anyone to think that I've taken up with the likes of you. Wouldn't be good for. . .business." She waved a hand to clear the air of the pungent odor wafting around the burly trapper.

Montclair nodded and stepped out of the tent, buffalo hide in hand. Arabelle followed, glancing toward the row guard. Clearing her throat, she spoke up. "Well, that's my final offer for that filthy old hide."

She held out a coin. Montclair took it, frowning at the small coin.

"You're a sharp trader, you are, missy. I'll starve tradin' with you." Sincerity rang in every word.

"I doubt it." Arabelle draped the hairy skin over her arm. "I'm sure you'll manage 'til next time."

She stepped back into her tent, leaving Montclair to walk toward the guard. "What about you, soldier? Want a buffalo hide? It's gonna get mighty cold around here."

"No, sir. Too pricey for me. Got no extra money, like them laundresses."

Montclair laughed. "You don't have their extra talents, lad. You best be saving your money. Weather's gonna get a whole lot worse."

"Will this rain never end?"

Arabelle pulled her wrapper closer. The three huddled in Corinna's tent away from the worst of the dampness. The icy drizzle had continued for three long days.

"I know, it's worse than the heat," said Corinna. "Everything is bogged down in the mud. The ditches around these tents just don't keep out the water. At least the hospital has a floor in it, such as it is."

"Well, the command tent has a floor in it, too," said Arabelle. "They're snug as bugs in a rug for their old meetings."

"And the munitions building is almost finished, floor and all. They'll keep the powder dry, no matter what. The rest of us could all float away," grumbled Artie.

"That's not fair", sniffed Corinna. "The soldiers have been building floors for everyone else. They should have to build them for us, too."

She rubbed her hands together, trying to stir the blood. "I'm going to speak to the Colonel. We should all have floors in this muck."

Artie gasped, clutching her hands to her chest. "Oh Corinna. You can't do that! The Colonel doesn't care about our wet feet, even if they freeze. The army doesn't worry about being fair. You'll just end up on report."

"I don't care, " she said, standing up, wringing the water out of the bottom of her skirt. "This is ridiculous."

Grabbing her cloak and pulling the hood over her head, she marched out into the drizzle, across the parade ground, ignoring the sloshing mud gathering on her hem. She made a beeline toward the command tent, where she could see Colonel Morgan and his officers congregated. Sergeant Thomas intercepted her, just outside.

"Where do you think you're going, McGinnis?"

"Sergeant Thomas, I've come to speak to Colonel Morgan, on a matter of great urgency."

Thomas stared at the tiny figure in front of him. Pressing his palm against his forehead, he sighed, then shook a finger at her.

"Colonels don't speak to laundresses, McGinnis, even if our Captain occasionally decides to. The Colonel is busy."

"But Sergeant, If I could just peek into the tent, I could speak to him, then leave. It won't take a minute." She moved toward the tent fly. Thomas stepped in front of her, barring her path. Rain dripped from the brim of his hat, bouncing off his nose.

He looked so angry and so silly that Corinna giggled. The giggle was too much. Thomas drew himself up to his full height, looking every inch the glowering top sergeant. "Laundresses are never-I repeat never-allowed into the command tent, McGinnis. Return to your quarters. At once!"

Corinna held her ground, not giving an inch. "Not until I've spoken to the Colonel!"

Their loud voices intruded into the officer's meeting. Colonel Morgan looked at Humbolt, a quietly amused smile playing about the corners of his mouth. "Sounds like you have a problem outside, Humbolt. Perhaps you'd best see who's upsetting Sergeant Thomas so."

"Yes, sir."

Colonel Morgan tried to hide a smile, noting his junior officer's discomfort, seeing the ruby color rise just above his uniform collar.

"Excuse me, sir." Humbolt rose, knocking his chair backward with the force. He stalked across the floor. Yanking back the tent flap, he stepped outside and came face to face with Corinna.

"Captain?" She backed up, not expecting to meet him.

"Well, McGinnis," Humbolt said through gritted teeth, "what's so all fired important that you shout loud enough to interrupt an officer's meeting?"

Corinna tried hard to recover her composure. The captain was a fearsome sight, the crimson flush in his cheeks betraying his anger, even though his words were almost at a whisper. The muscles in his neck stood out like steel bands, the scar now a jagged, white gash through the redness. She shook back her shoulders and faced his ire.

"I've come to see the Colonel about floors, Captain, that's what."

She hid a smile at the look on Humbolt's face. His shoulders sagged and his jaw dropped. He stared and shook his head as though he hadn't heard her.

"Floors?"

"Yes, sir. Floors. Like the one keeping you officers comfortable out of the mud in this rain. I'd like a floor in my tent, and so would the rest of the laundresses."

Corinna glared at him defiantly, in spite of herself. She hadn't intended to make him angry. But obviously she had. His fists clenched into rock-hard balls at his sides. His voice rose several decibels. "You actually thought asking for a floor was an urgent request?"

"Yes, sir," Corinna shot back. "I didn't sign up to live like a hog in a wallow. You're not-we shouldn't have to either."

"That's enough! I'll not have soldiers spending time building you a floor so your skirts don't get dirty. I warned you this wouldn't be a pleasant trip."

"That's true, sir. But you didn't say you'd go out of your way to make it miserable. Excuse me, Captain, for thinking you officers might actually care about the conditions of your troops."

"McGinnis!" A tremendous flash of lightening and a resounding clap of thunder drowned out his retort. The heavens opened and rain flooded down. Corinna spun on her heel. Gathering her skirts, she dashed toward her tent.

He sputtered, trapped by his own words. If she had only approached him privately, he'd have built the damned floor himself, but not this way. He couldn't publicly treat her that different. The deluge finally got his attention. His jacket plastered itself to his chest. He had to get out of this downpour and Morgan was waiting.

"Damnation!" he stormed, to no one in particular. "Hostile Indians all around and she's worried about a floor."

He spotted Robbie, cowering near the flap of the command tent. "What are you doing there? Musician's quarters are across the compound."

"Just tryin' to get away from the lightning, sir. I was on my way back from the cook tent. Honest, sir. I just jumped under here at that big crack of thunder, sir."

The drenched boy looked pathetic, but Humbolt was in no mood to be generous. He pointed a stern finger at the soggy flute player, growling out, "Well, you don't belong here. The lightning's gone, soldier. Head to your own quarters, now! Get out of this rain."

"Yes, sir," stammered Robbie, backing out into the rain. "I'm sorry, sir."

Humbolt stomped back into the command tent. The unsuccessfully hidden smiles told him everyone had overheard the conversation. He glared at all of them, silently daring them to broach the subject.

Finally, Morgan took the matter in hand. "Gentlemen, I believe we have an addition to the new fort's construction plan. Let us not forget to add floors for the ladies."

At that, the entire group dissolved into gales of laughter at Humbolt's expense. He glared first at one, then another. The laughter finally subsided. He slowly exhaled a sigh of resignation. At least the Colonel didn't seem upset by the unforgivable breach in protoColonel

Finally, Morgan waved a hand. "Sit down, Geoffrey. This rain's enough to make us all a little irrational. We have more important things to worry about. Richardson's report is not good. The Arickarees wouldn't talk at all, even fired a few shots in the air over him as the troops left their village. We need to make sure we're prepared for a possible attack."

"Yes, sir."

At that, the floor episode was forgiven, if not forgotten. The talk turned to what needed to be done to secure the perimeter, in case the 'Rees decided to attack openly.

Robbie made good his departure from the command tent; relieved the Captain hadn't questioned him further. He'd heard much more than he'd let on. He shoved open the soggy fly to the tent he shared with Timothy. He gave his head a shake, to sling back a shock of wet, mahogany-colored hair,

"Tim-Tim, I've got an idea." He grabbed a grayish piece of fabric, draped over Timothy's drum. He threw it over his head and rubbed vigorously, trying to get the worst of the water out.

Tim roused up on one elbow. "What? I ain't doin' nothin' in this rain."

"Listen to me. You said you wanted to do something for Miz Corinna for being so good to you when you were sick?"

Tim swung 'round and plopped his feet into the mud of their tent floor. Yawning and stretching, he ran a grimy hand through his unruly, curly locks. "Yeah. What'd you have in mind?"

"She wants a floor-."

"A floor?"

"Yep, a wooden floor for her tent like the ones the soldiers have been building. We could build it-we could!"

"Us?" Tim shook his head, auburn curls bouncing. "Nailin' with a hammer is a long ways away from beatin' on a drum, Robbie."

"We could talk to the cooper. He'd help us. He likes Miz Corinna, too. He'd know what spare wood we could use and not get in trouble."

Tim squinched up his face and rubbed his freckle-covered pug of a nose. "We could work on it after drills, I guess. Maybe we could surprise her-for Christmas?"

"That's right. Just right, Tim!" Grinning, the co-conspirators settled down to wait out the downpour.

Corinna could hear Artie and Arabelle's voices coming from Artie's tent. She dashed under Artie's awning.

"Artie? May I join you?"

"Come in, dear. You'll catch your death. Have a cup of tea."

"Thank you," said Corinna, lifting the kettle from under its cover. "How did you ever get hot tea in this rain?"

"The cook has a fire going under the big awning. We were able to get a kettle full of hot water. It cools quickly though, so pour and get the pot back under the cozy."

"Oh, it's lovely."

"Well, how did your talk go?" asked Arabelle. "Are we going to get floors?"

"I doubt it. I didn't get near the Colonel."

Artie laughed. "I'm not surprised. I told you he wouldn't care."

"Thomas stopped me. And Captain Humbolt came out to see what I wanted."

"Uh-oh!"

"He wouldn't even discuss it. Just yelled at me-said I interrupted some important meeting. He didn't like it when I pointed out that the command tent had a floor."

"You're lucky he didn't have your hide for being insubordinate."

Corinna grinned. The picture of Humbolt, glaring at her, soaking wet and fuming was still funny. "The only thing that saved me was a clap of thunder and the downpour. I just dashed off. He didn't come after me. I guess he didn't want to stand outside and get wet. We'll just have to get along without them until the soldiers have nothing else to do."

The three sipped their tea from tin cups, wrapping their hands around them to capture all the warmth possible, and contemplated the drips steadily dropping from the tent poles.

The bone-chilling drizzle continued. Camp life slowed to a crawl. Humbolt and Richardson walked slowly toward their waiting patrols.

"I tell you, old man, Morgan's out of his mind, sending us out in weather like this." Richardson shook his head, pulling his greatcoat around him to ward off the worst of the cold.

"We can't let down our guard, Cy. You know that. A little weather won't stop the natives. They're used to this-mess." Humbolt tried to shrug away the numbing cold settling in his bones. Even the rain chilled one to the bone. It was more like ice than rain. And it seemed to last for weeks. He'd never seen weather like this back East. "At least he ordered minimum drills to keep the soldiers out of it and allowed the laundresses to cut back. There's no sense in everyone freezing."

"Humph! Well it's too bad he couldn't be as thoughtful about us."

They stopped next to their waiting horses. "Come on, Cy. We have patrols to lead. Can't have anyone sneaking into camp in this muck."

Humbolt swung up easily into the saddle. Richardson followed and the patrols wheeled into two lines, heading for the now-slippery ridgeline to the top of the bluff, overshadowing the soggy camp.

The days melded into weeks as the rain-turned to ice continued. Corinna sat alone in her tent, thoroughly miserable, trying to brush the never-dry mud from her skirt.

"It's no use," she said aloud. "I'll never get the stains

out."

Scraping sounds outside her tent demanded her attention. Timothy's curly head popped through the flap.

"Excuse us, Miz Corinna. Could you step out here please, ma'am?"

Corinna couldn't help but smile. The tousled-headed youngster did so remind her of her darling baby brother, with those auburn ringlets dancing all over his head in the slightest dampness. "Whatever for Tim? It's wet out there!"

"Please-we have something for you."

"You do?"

"Yes, ma'am. Please come out."

Corinna gasped when she stepped out of her tent. Before her stood Tim and Robbie, balancing what looked to be a split-log raft.

"What in the world. . .?" She stared first at one, then the other.

"It's a floor Miss-a floor for your tent!"

"Goodness!" Ignoring the drizzle, Corinna walked out and around the wooden structure.

"Yes'm. Robbie overheard your conversation with the captain-beggin' your pardon for listenin'-and heard him say the soldiers couldn't build it. But he didn't say we couldn't. And here it is." Tim's words tumbled out in a rush.

"Timothy, what a wonderful surprise. How did you do it? In all this rain?"

Tim just grinned. He'd run out of words. Robbie spoke up.

"The cooper helped us. He had some nails they'd forged that weren't good enough and some logs that weren't straight enough for the munitions building. Helped us split 'em. We nailed and pegged and tied it. It's solid all right."

Tim found his voice again. "We could move your things, Miss. It should just fit in your tent. We measured, when you wasn't around."

"Oh yes, please."

With much scuffling and shoving, the boys got Corinna's things out under her awning. The split log floor laid nicely just inside her tent. They re-pegged the canvas tightly on the outside, then moved her belongings back into the protected space. Finally, Robbie held the tent fly open for her inspection.

"You see Miss-we even tied your trunk down to the floor. Nobody will be bothering your things. That trunk will stay put and you'll be high and dry."

"It's perfect," she exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight. "You are so sweet."

With that, Corinna planted a kiss on each boy's cheek.

Robbie shrugged, cheeks flame-red, trying to make light of the gift. "It wasn't that much, Miss. You been good to us- keepin' our uniforms clean. The others don't like to mess with us youngins-and you helped Tim get well. We knowed that-so we figured to do this for you. We're even finished in time for Christmas."

"Well, I think you're fine young men. Your mothers would be proud of you." Corinna stopped, a lump tightening in her throat. She brushed away a tear of gratitude at the surprising display from boys who usually showed no feelings at all.

"We'll be going, Miss," said Robbie, giving Tim a shove toward the walkway. "If you need anything else, you just let us know. We'll take care of it, you'll see."

"Thank you," she called after them. They tumbled their way between the tents, punching each other and laughing to cover their embarrassment at doing a rare, kind thing.

"Oh, my goodness," said Corinna quietly. She walked gingerly across the new floor. Her trunk fit next to her cot at the far end of the tent. The canvas sides extended to the ground, making the area almost waterproof.

What a present. My very own floor. Makes this place really homey-even if it is a tent.

Corinna surveyed her meager belongs. "It's a start," she said to herself. "Now it can rain and snow all it wants. I'll not ask for anything more."

Chapter Ten

Corinna made one final jab into the frozen water bucket, chipping off another small sliver of ice. "This is just hopeless."

"Now, don't say that," said Artie, brushing the swirling snow from her face. "The tea kettle is full of ice chips. If we can ever get a fire started, we can make some tea. That will warm us up."

"Nothing will warm us up," snapped Arabelle. "Nothing! I can't imagine why I ever thought I belonged out here. We're going to all freeze to death."

Arrabelle waved her hand toward the stacked wood surrounding them. "Look how much firewood is already gone. You mark my words!"

She shuddered in the driving wind. Her heavy hide cape couldn't keep out all the cold. "Come on. Let's go back to Corinna's tent. We can at least get up off this frozen ground. That is, if the princess has room for us commoners."

Arabelle's words stung Corinna more sharply than the snow's icy pellets. "Arabelle, you're always welcome in my tent. You and Artie both, you know that."

"Humph. " Arabelle led the way, struggling to keep the heavy hide around her, finally sinking to her seat on Corinna's trunk. Artie settled down on one end of the cot, wrapping Corinna's blanket around her shoulders. Corinna pulled a camp box inside the door of the tent, up onto the floor, and pulled the tent flap tight behind her. She sat down on the box, facing Artie and Arabelle, keeping her back to the flap and the awful storm outside.

"I still can't believe you managed to get yourself a floor, Corinna." Arabelle cocked her head and peered down her nose in Corinna's direction. "Now tell me again, just what did you do for those boys to get this?"

Corinna sighed. Arabelle would never believe her. "I told you. I didn't do anything. One of my musicians heard me ask for one. And when Humbolt said the soldiers couldn't build it, the boys decided to do it themselves."

"I can't believe those ragamuffins could do anything like this." Arabelle shoved one of the lacings with her toe. It didn't budge.

"They're good boys, Arabelle," said Artie. "Just a long way from home."

"Good boys wouldn't be out here. They'd be home with their families."

"Well, their hard work is keeping us out of the mud and ice right now, so I'm grateful, and you should be too." Corinna shivered, pulling her big buffalo coat tightly around her. Arabelle stared at the furry creation. "And what have you done to your buffalo hide? Is that another Indian gift?"

"No." Corinna laughed. "This is my own design. Like you said, that robe I bought was just too big. I could hardly lift it. So I split it. Lined my cot with half of it and made this coat out of the other half. What do you think?"

She stood in the tiny space, turning slightly in front of Arabelle and Artie. The buffalo skin, fur side in, wrapped neatly around her, overlapping in front. The top turned down into a furry collar framing her face. Her arms slipped through slits in the skin, giving her free arm movement. It hung below her calves, but did not drag the ground. A long strip of tanned hide secured the coat at her waist. She'd turned the fur to the outside around the edges, giving a very decorative appearance to a most utilitarian garment.

"You're quite the designer," said Artie.

"Well, I'm getting better with a knife. Senoma showed me how to cut and sew this heavy hide. It's warmer than anything we brought with us."

She pulled the coat close and sat down on the camp box again. The three huddled together, watching the ice in the bucket melt. Corinna peeked out at the driving snow. "Artie, this is even worse than the rain."

"Yes, it is. This snow stops everything."

"Do you think Captain Richardson will ever get back? They've been gone way too long for just a hunting trip."

Arabelle chimed in. "Long enough they're talking about sending a search party. Evidently that first meeting with the 'Rees stirred things up. The Colonel's worried."

"How do you know that, Arabelle?"

"Oh, I hear things. That trapper that came in yesterday? That was Hugh Glass. They say he don't come in till the very last minute. It's bad up river for him to be here this early. He told the Colonel he'd better go find his soldiers or he's liable not to get them back."

"Why not?"

"He says winter's mean up in the Yellowstone. Snow's ten feet deep all ready. Even the Blackfeet are moving down. The squad could be lost or dead if the Blackfeet find them."

Corinna pulled her buffalo coat in tighter. Even the thick fur and hide didn't keep out the cold that started from the inside; the icy fear of something happening to the soldiers. "It's too bad the Indians aren't all like the Omaha's."

"Most of them don't want us here," said Artie. "We're not always the best neighbors."

"Humph." Arabelle shivered. "A little civilization wouldn't hurt this god-forsaken land one bit."

The clatter of hooves outside caught their attention. Corinna peeked out and her heart dropped. "Colonel Morgan must have taken Glass's advice. Captain Humbolt is taking another patrol out."

"Humph," declared Arabelle. "If he's not careful, we'll have two lost patrols."

Arabelle's remark set Corinna's teeth on edge. "Geoffrey won't get lost. If anyone gets lost, it will be Richardson."

Arabelle leaned back and arched an eyebrow. "Oh, so it's Geoffrey, now. First name basis, are we? What makes you think he won't get lost?"

Corinna could feel her cheeks burning. Gritting her teeth she said, "Arabelle stop that. You know he's a much better soldier than Richardson."

"I know nothing of the sort." Arabelle sneered.

"Well, I do. He's drawn maps of the whole area."

"Maps?" Arabelle's voice took on a decidedly interested tone. Corinna wished she hadn't mentioned the tidbit of information Humbolt had shared. But it was too late now.

"He told me about them. He doesn't need a guide any more. He won't get lost and he'll find your captain."

"We'll see." Arabelle rubbed her hands together, turning away from the conversation.

"Well, I need to go over to the hospital," said Corinna. "We've got more than a hundred people down. I hope the captain is going hunting for game as well as for soldiers. We need fresh meat. Salt pork and wormy flour don't do much for sick people."

Kicking off her boots, Corinna reached into her camp box, pulled out two rolls of cloth and wrapped her feet in the long strips, from her now-worn out spring skirt. She pulled on another pair of woolen hose, then slid her feet carefully back into her normally too-big army boots. The wrappings helped to hold in the heat and ward off frostbite.

"Would you hand me those mittens, Arabelle?"

Peering into the crowded corner, Arabelle finally retrieved the rough, army-issue mittens from their place on the floor. "A lot of good they'll do."

"They're better than nothing." Tugging them on, she threw her heavy wool cape over the buffalo coat. Ducking her head, she pushed her way out into the rising storm. She'd long since given up trying to keep her skirts dry. The hem dragged across the top of the snow, leaving a wide trail behind her, like a gigantic beaver tail.

The icy wind beat against her face, stinging with every jab. Raising a protective arm, she struggled across the parade ground to the billowing hospital tents.

"Doctor, what can I do to help?"

Dr. Gale looked up, surprised at the voice behind him. "Whatever are you doing out in this weather, Corinna?"

"The same thing you are-worrying about the sick ones."

He smiled. "Well, we don't both need to catch pneumonia. My quarters are closer. You get back to your tent and stay there until the snow stops. I don't want to fish my best nurse out of a snowdrift, frozen to death."

"Are you sure, doctor? I'll stay and help if I can."

"I'm sure. The colonel assigned some of the healthy soldiers to help in here, since they can't do anything else. You might as well take the relief while you can get it." He motioned down the long row of cots. "We can't do much anyway. They'll either get better . . .or not. The soldiers can hand out water and try to keep them covered."

Corinna watched the soldiers moving among the sick; dipping water, trying to slake their fever-driven thirst. She could hear their teeth chattering whenever an icy gust whistled through the flimsy canvas. It was no match for the winter's icy blasts.

"They'll be back out on duty when the storm breaks, Corinna. Go-before it gets any worse."

Corinna nodded and stepped back out into the gale. The cold nearly took her breath away. The pain seared deep into her lungs. She buried her nose in the buffalo hair and took a few careful breaths, trying to warm the air through the fur. She raised her head just enough to see her way back across the parade ground. Leaning into the worsening wind, she forced one foot ahead of the other. The way back seemed twice as long. The trees around her groaned and moaned, bending and bowing to the storm. Branches scraped against one another. Their agonizing screech sent shivers down her spine. The snow swirled around her, deadly white, blocking out even the closest tents. Fighting the panic rising within her, she pushed herself forward, one foot after another, passing barely recognizable tent shapes. . .shapes quickly disappearing in the mounting drifts.

She finally forced her way into her tent-onto her dry tent floor. "Thank goodness for the boys."

Tying the tent flap shut, she draped a blanket across the opening to stop the worst of the wind. The snow, mounding against the tent walls, broke the worst of the blasts, insulating the small space. She quickly stripped off her sodden, snow-soaked skirt and petticoat. Next, she took off her boots and unwrapped her now-icy feet.

Shivering, reaching into the corner, she retrieved another buffalo robe. Thankful she'd decided to splurge on another skin, she spread it out, over her fir-lined cot. She laid her buffalo coat over top. Dressed in only her shift, she slid in between the heavy skins. The cot cradled her, keeping her heat in and the cold out. She'd learned that she warmed up faster, the less she had on.

The howling wind outside couldn't reach her. Gradually her own body warmth eased her shivering and the ache in her chest--"What a miserable excuse for Christmas".

Lying there, her mind drifted out into the storm, trying to imagine what Humbolt might be doing, hoping he was warm and protected. If only he could be there with her. The remembered heat of his kisses still warmed her. She longed to wrap herself around him, to chase the cold from his body with her own warmth. Would she ever get to do that? Would she ever share a bed with him? Would he make it through this terrible blizzard . . .would any of them?

Their disagreement over the floor had disappeared. He'd taken note of the floor, but had ignored it, not even asking where it had come from. He knew, she was sure. There were very few secrets in this camp, even as large as it was.

The Colonel hadn't insisted on any discipline for her visit to the command tent. Maybe things would work out if he came back, if this wicked weather weren't bent on destroying them all. She dropped off to sleep, protected against the worst of the howling blizzard.

The patrol wasn't faring as well. Humbolt shouted to be heard above the whistling wind. "Sergeant, let's make camp in that grove."

"Yes, sir, looks like a good place." Thomas wheeled the patrol toward a small stand of walnut trees, surrounded by scraggly cedars, barely visible in the swirling snow. It was useless for them to push on. The soldiers struggled against the gale, crowding into the grove, erecting branch lean-tos, covering the branches with canvass. They piled snow up the sides to hold the canvass down and keep out the direct wind gusts; their hands were stiff and blue from their efforts.

"As close together as we can get them, Sergeant. See if we can block the wind enough to get a fire started."

"Yes, sir."

Even Sergeant Thomas' best efforts weren't enough. The wind screamed by, snatching the flame before it caught. The too-wet wood smoldered, refusing to burn.

"It's no use, sir. We'll have no fire tonight."

Humbolt nodded, this would be a miserable a night. They'd lose the other patrol if Cy hadn't found cover.

The bugle blast tore a jagged hole through the icy morning air. Three day's snow lay on the ground, a white blanket stretching over everything in sight. Heads popped out of tents like gophers out of holes to see what new arrival was being announced.

"Oh my! The Captain's back. He has the other patrol with him." Corinna's voice carried down Soapsuds Row.

Artie was second out of her tent. "They're headed toward the hospital."

"Better the hospital than the cemetery." Pulling on her coat, Corinna rushed ahead to the hospital tents. Doctor Gale had not yet arrived. Summoning her sternest voice, she said sharply, "Private! Go to the storage tent. Get me more cots. We must get the men out of their wet things and into bed. They're almost frozen. And bring me the warmest blankets we have."

The soldier stared at her, unmoving.

Rising on her tiptoes, she stared him straight in the eye and hissed the words. "I said get me those cots. Do you want the doctor angry because you let these men get worse?"

"Uh-h- no, ma'am," the soldier stuttered, backing out of the tent. Corinna hurriedly re-arranged the space to accommodate more patients. The soldier came back very quickly with the cots, setting them up at Corinna's direction.

"Now, go! Find the doctor!"

"Yes, ma'am!" The soldier whirled around, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to get away.

She stepped out of the tent to meet the group. Humbolt saw her as he swung down from his saddle. "McGinnis! We need some help here."

"Yes, Captain. I saw you ride in. We're ready for the five I counted with blood on their uniforms. Are there more than that?"

"Yes. Captain Richardson has a severe case of frostbite. He'll need to stay here, too."

She hesitated, then said, "Fine. I'll make room for him."

Humbolt gave an order and the wounded men were carried into the hospital. He watched Corinna directing the proceedings within the big tent, getting the men settled in bed, cleaning dirt from their faces, checking their wounds, making them comfortable. His chest swelled with pride in her ability. She was turning into quite a capable nurse. A totally inappropriate tightening in his groin reminded him of how much he'd missed her. He couldn't think about her any more or he'd embarrass himself and her. This was neither the time nor the place to contemplate her virtues.

Doctor Gale walked in. He surveyed the new row of cots.

"Well, Corinna, you seem to have everything under control."

A small smile danced around Corinna's mouth at the compliment. "I tried, sir. They looked so bedraggled and miserable, I thought they'd feel better if they were cleaned up a little. None of them seem to be mortally wounded."

"What do you think, Humbolt?"

"I think she's right, Doctor. The first patrol got into a skirmish. We didn't lose anyone, but we've got a few arrow punctures. The worst may be Richardson. You'd better take a look. I think he may have frostbitten his feet. The last three days have been miserable."

The doctor nodded. "Corinna, hold his shoulders while I pull his boots off."

She nodded and moved to the head of Richardson's cot, pressing down on his shoulders. Doctor Gale took a firm hold on one boot and gave a quick pull. Richardson's scream pierced the air. He reared up on the cot, flailing at the pain, catching Corinna with a wild blow.

Humbolt rushed to her side. "Let me help. Are you hurt?"

She felt her lip gingerly. "It's not bleeding-I'm fine." Humbolt took her chin in his hand, examining her lip carefully, wanting to kiss it and make it better. She closed her eyes and let him finish his examination. His hand on her face sent surges of delight through her. Richardson's groan brought them both back with a jolt.

"I'll hold him. You're no match for him."

She relinquished her spot at the head of the cot and moved to Gale's side. He tugged again at the boot, then shook his head.

"Corinna, hand me a heavy surgical knife. I'm going to have to cut these boots. His feet have swollen too much. We can't just take them off."

She rushed to the equipment chest to find the knife.

"Oh, and there, in that chest. There's a bottle of whiskey. We need to quiet him. I don't want him to kick me while I'm cutting. Pour him a stiff drink."

Corinna handed over a cup full of whisky.

"Here, drink this, Richardson," commanded Dr. Gale. "This is going to hurt."

With the help of the whiskey and Humbolt's strong arms, Dr. Gale finally got the semi-conscious Richardson's boots off. Staring at the pasty, whitish-gray mass of flesh before him, he said, "You're right about the frostbite. I don't know if we can save either one. We may have to amputate them both."

"You might as well let gangrene set in and watch him die, Doctor," said Humbolt. "Cyrus will never accept losing his feet, never. He'd shoot me for letting you do it, then shoot himself as soon as he's able."

Gale raked his fingers through his hair. "Well, we'll see what we can do. Rinse his feet gently, Corinna. Let's see if we can get some color back into them-get some blood flowing again. I'll see to the others."

Gale walked away, leaving Richardson in Corinna's care. She looked down at the helpless man before her. The last traces of ill feeling for him drained away. He would be crippled for life or maybe even dead, if they couldn't help.

Humbolt slipped a protective arm around her. "I'll find someone else, if you don't want to take care of him."

She looked into his eyes. "I can't not take care of him. He saved your life. He needs help. It's just that simple."

"You are wonderful," he whispered. "I don't know where your strength comes from, but you're amazing." He kissed her softly, ignoring everything and everyone else in the hospital tent. For this instant, they were the only two people in the world.

She leaned her head on his chest, savoring the moment. What a pronouncement, what a public display that he cared for her. She couldn't speak. She clung to him, unwilling to do anything to break the spell.

"I must go," said Humbolt. "I must see to the rest of the patrol."

"Of course. There's nothing more you can do here." She watched as he slipped out of the tent, wanting with all her heart to follow him.

The hours slipped by. Corinna gently poured tepid water over the clammy feet. Richardson cried out again and again, while the cool water burned trickles over his even colder, reawakening flesh. The doctor moved from man to man, patching, bandaging and checking the wounded soldiers.

"Look, Doctor," she said, while he checked Richardson once again. "They do look a little better."

Gale studied the swollen appendages closely. "There may be a bit more color. But it's got to be a whole lot better than that. Watch for little black spots. That will be where the blood is pooling, not flowing as it should. Be sure to check each toe. Call me immediately if you see any black spots."

She nodded. "Do you want me to spend the night?"

"You might stay a while longer. We need to get as much color back into those feet as we can. Keep it up until they don't feel cold to your touch-when he can stand warm water on them. Then you need to get some sleep. The rest will just take watching and waiting."

"Will he feel better once I get them warmed up?"

"No. Unfortunately, if he can still feel them, he'll feel much worse. When the feeling returns, we'll know how much damage has been done. I'm afraid it will be very painful for him."

"Oh, dear. That sounds dreadful."

"It is."

Gale pressed a diagnostic finger against the swollen foot. A pale white spot remained when he withdrew his hand. "See that? The color should return immediately. Getting frostbite in a snowstorm is one of the worst things that can happen to you. It almost guarantees the loss of at least a few toes."

Corinna returned to her gentle bathing. He looked quite helpless lying there, moaning while she continued to pour water over his mottled, swollen toes.

Finally satisfied with the pink color and warm touch of most of his feet, she switched to warm water, to try to bring the color back to his toes. The pain of the warm water brought Richardson to full consciousness.

Eyes wide in agony, he reared up on his elbows. "What are you doing? Get away from me!"

He sat up and swung his feet down, as if to stand.

"Don't, sir. Your feet!"

It was too late. Richardson's scream echoed through the tent. He crumpled to the ground, groaning and swearing. Gale rushed to Corinna's side. "What happened?"

"He tried to stand up, doctor-he wouldn't listen to me! I tried to warn him."

"Get her away from me," Richardson shouted, "she's trying to kill me."

Gale lifted and shoved him back onto the cot. "No one's trying to kill you. You've frozen your feet."

"My feet? What's wrong with my feet?" Richardson stared down at his bulging appendages. He tried to move them. Pain was his only response.

"Oh God, no!" He fell back on the cot. "Not my feet!"

"Get a grip, man," said Dr. Gale sternly, shaking Richardson. "Miss McGinnis has helped you already. She's brought the most of the color back. From the pain you're in, we may be able to save them. But you're not out of the woods yet. We still have to see about your toes."

Richardson rolled his head from side to side, moaning. He ignored the doctor's encouraging words.

"Corinna, why don't you go get some sleep. I doubt that much more water will help. We'll just have to see what they look like tomorrow. If the toes don't get better, tomorrow may be a very long day."

Corinna nodded and left, wrapping up as best she could against the cold night air. Richardson's predicament had left its impression. What was left of the night passed very quickly.

The next morning, Corinna put on as many layers as she could, to help keep her warm during the day. She shoved her way out of her tent, not wanting to disturb the snow too much. The blanket of snow outside actually helped keep the air warm inside her tiny space.

"Well Corinna, are you washing at all today?" Arabelle shouted.

"Not today. Captain Richardson is in the hospital. I'm needed there."

"Richardson?" Arabelle whirled around to get the latest news.

"Yes. He was out of his head last night. He froze his feet during the storm. He may lose them if they don't get better."

"Oh, goodness, that's terrible." Genuine concern rang in Arabelle's voice. She didn't want anything to happen to her best news source.

Corinna made her way to the hospital. The tramping of the troops had stamped out snow roads all over the camp. Her skirt no longer dragged the top of the drifts. The cold snow screeched and scritched underfoot, sending chills up her spine. It was still 'way below freezing.

"How's our patient, doctor?" she asked, seeing Gale bending over Richardson.

"Not good, I'm afraid." he replied, waving her toward them. "If you look, you'll see the black spots I warned you about. A couple of his toes are turning black. There's no blood getting through to them."

"What do we do?"

"Wait."

"Wait?"

"Yes, wait. At least another day. If they keep getting black, they'll have to come off. I've already told the Colonel. Have you ever assisted in an operation?"

"Oh, no, sir."

"Well, it's time you did. I'll explain everything. I will need your help, Corinna."

Corinna shuddered. "I'll do my best."

"Are you squeamish where blood's concerned? I don't want you fainting on me."

"No sir, not usually."

"Well good. We'll wait and see."

Corinna's gaze traveled the length of the cot. "Is there anything I can do for him in the meantime?"

"No. The toes will either heal or they won't. There's nothing we can do."

Corinna shuddered again, then followed Dr. Gale to the other side of the hospital tent.

"Geoff-don't let them cut off my feet, please." Richard-son clung to Humbolt's arm with a death grip.

"Cy, I promise. Doctor Gale says he has saved your feet, but a couple of toes have to go. You're getting gangrene. Look down, man. You can see. They've turned black as rot."

Corinna and Dr. Gale stood back, letting Humbolt calm the stricken man.

"Promise me you'll be there watching. Don't let them cut any more than those two toes. You owe me that much!" Richardson waved a feeble hand at the big toe and second toe of his left foot, which by now were hopelessly swollen and black. The skin looked shiny and tight, almost waxy, ready to split with the infection inside.

"It's up to the doctor, Cy. He'll save as much as he can." Humbolt looked toward Gale. "Can I be of any help, doctor?"

"We can probably use your help. It's fine with me, Captain. It won't be a pretty sight."

"No worse than what we saw on the battlefield, when he kept an Indian from cutting my throat."

"Very well, you can assist, if you like."

Richardson lay back on the narrow cot, resigning himself to the inevitable. "Very well then, doctor. Let's get on with it. Bring on the bottle."

Corinna handed him the first of several cups of whiskey. Richardson finally slumped into unconsciousness, dropping the fifth cup to the floor. Rivulets of whiskey dripped between the tent's floorboards.

"Get ready, Corinna," said Gale. "We have to do this very quickly. We have to cut the toes off and get him sewed up, before the pain breaks through the effects of the whiskey. Guards! Lift him to the table, please."

At the makeshift operating table, Corinna stood by Gale's side, to hand him the instruments he needed. Gale expertly slipped a tourniquet around Richardson's foot, to stop any bleeding.

"I'm ready for the scalpel, Corinna."

She swung the knife handle into his hand, just like he'd shown her. But she couldn't help a grimace at the first stroke of the knife. Black clotted blood and thick green pus oozed out of the toe. Humbolt took a deep breath, tensing his stomach against the sight. "Quite a mess, doctor."

"Yes. That's why they have to come off. There's no saving them."

"Corinna, hand me a vessel hook, the one I showed you."

She swung the long instrument into his hand. He expertly snagged the end of a dripping vessel. "Hold it here, while I tie it off."

Corinna concentrated on keeping her hands as steady as possible, focusing on the instrument handle, so she couldn't see what was happening just below it. The smell of the rotted flesh assailed her nostrils. Fighting down the impulse to gag, she handed the doctor yet another hook.

Working quickly he tied off another big vein. Not much blood oozed. The others had already sealed themselves, causing the problem in the first place.

"Loosen the tourniquet; let's see if we're done with this one."

"Umm." Richardson moved ever so slightly.

"Hold him, Humbolt!"

Humbolt grabbed Richardson's shoulders as the pain began to make its way through the drunken stupor.

"We don't have much more time. Tighten it again." Corinna took another turn on the tourniquet. The doctor quickly cut through muscles and tendons, exposing the joint, separating the toe as easily as the cook separated chicken parts.

"Corinna, be ready with the needle and sewing cord, please."

She nodded, averting her eyes from the pooling blood. She could not escape the sickening stench of the rotting flesh.

"That's one," announced Dr. Gale, dropping the separated toe into the waiting basin.

The empty, soft thud echoed in Corinna's stomach. She fought down the nausea threatening to overwhelm her. She forced her gaze to Richardson's chest, counting its rise and fall, making sure he was still breathing.

"Needle, please."

Deft stitches closed the wound. The doctor stitched as fine a seam as an expert dressmaker.

The second toe followed. Vile, stinking blood dripped off the table to join the whiskey dripping between the planking. She ventured a glance down the table. She caught Humbolt looking at her, watching her every move. She tried to smile, but couldn't manage it.

The tenderness in his eyes leaped the length of the table. His gratitude at her caring so carefully for the man who had attacked her plainly showed in his face. She pressed her mouth into a tight seam and turned her attention back to the doctor's words.

"Just one more thread, Corinna," said Dr. Gale. "I'll finish the sewing; then we'll let him wake up. You can get some more whiskey. He'll need another stiff drink. We'll try to keep him drunk until the worst of the pain is gone."

She nodded, leaving the finishing tasks to the two men at the table.

Darkness covered the camp when Corinna and Humbolt left the tent. They walked in silence along the edge of the parade ground to the grove of trees by the river. The pine branches covered the ground inside the grove. The snow had not penetrated the heavy cottonwood canopy or the cedar trees. The space was surprisingly warm and sheltered. Once inside Humbolt caught her arm, turning her to him.

"You were wonderful today, you know that, don't you?"

She shook her head. "I was just trying to help."

He slipped his arms around her tiny waist and drew her to him. "He hurt you and you helped him anyway."

She leaned into the welcoming warmth of his embrace, letting it chase away the cold, ugly scene they'd just been through. "I'm glad you were there. Made it easier."

She buried her face in his chest, to block out the sights and sound of the operation still surging in her mind.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, holding her close, feeling her breath slow, her body relax in his arms. The warmth of their bodies pulled them together, erasing the gruesome scene. He gently tucked his fingers beneath her chin, tipping her face up to gaze into those lustrous emerald pools. "You touch me more and more every time I see you."

She leaned back, sliding her hands up his muscular arms. "Do I really, Geoffrey? "

Bending down, he whispered, "You touch me in a very, very empty spot."

His lips found hers, testing, seeking, acknowledging his unspoken caring. With a rush, he pulled her into a crushing embrace, never losing touch with her eager lips. The beating of their hearts pounded in time, more and more wildly. Her knees refused to hold her. They turned to jelly under the intensity of his emotion. She slipped her arms out of her buffalo coat, letting it fall to the ground, never moving from his kiss. She slid her fingers into his hair, pulling his mouth to hers, insisting on more from him.

He held her tight, rearranging the coat with his foot, kicking it open to receive them. Feeling her fiery curves pressed tight against him, he knelt down, lowering her to the ground, never losing touch with her mouth. And what a mouth. Her lips, swollen with passion, pulsed with every beat of her wayward heart. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip, teasing it to a pout.

She groaned and met his tongue with her own, inviting him to explore. He stretched out beside her, deepening his kiss, allowing his hand to slide gently over her shoulder, finally cupping one of her perfectly molded breasts. Its nipple stood high, awaiting his touch. He massaged the perfect point with his thumb, wanting to excite her even more, wanting to take her the next step.

She unconsciously stiffened and a shiver ran through her body. Feeling the shiver, he raised his head, "Don't be afraid. I want you, Corinna, more than I've ever wanted anyone in my life."

She traced his cheek with her fingertips. "I'm not afraid. It's just that-you're the first man in my life, Geoffrey."

He stared into her smoldering eyes. She might as well have thrown a bucket of cold water down the back of his neck. Her first man. What else had he expected?

"Your very first?" He took a huge deep breath and forced himself to stop. Reluctantly, he slid his hand away, back up her arm, to her perfect cheek. He brushed his fingertips across it gently, willing his body to stop its wild course. "Of course. I should have known."

He kissed her cheek gently, commanding his mind to cease and desist in its lustful imaginings. He could not escape the teachings of a lifetime, of the things honorable men do and do not do. He sat up, pulling her to his side.

"Is that bad?" Corinna stared at him, confused by this turn of events. Her body ached with desire, wanting to continue what they'd started.

"No, darling Corinna, that's very good. However, it does change things somewhat."

Heart pounding, Corinna gasped for breath. "You mean, you'd rather I'd be with someone else first?"

"No, no! That's not what I meant." Humbolt shook his head. "It's just that you're obviously a well-brought up young woman. Not a woman to learn about love this way. Your future husband should do the honors."

A long silence hung between them. "I think you're absolutely right." The shadows hid the darkening expression on Corinna's face. "Perhaps I've misunderstood your behavior toward me, Captain. I thought you were serious in your affection for me."

"I am. It's just that . . ."

"That what?" The cold, hard edge in Corinna's voice unmistakable.

"You just don't understand. . ."

Corinna squared her shoulders, anger replacing lust. "Oh, I understand. You want me; you just don't want to be my husband. You don't want to make any commitment to me, is that it?" She jumped to her feet, shaking off her powerful feelings for him, embarrassed at her own willingness to follow his lead.

He could see her inner fire blazing in those gorgeous eyes. "I didn't say that!"

He scrambled up, trying vainly to take her in his arms again, wanting desperately to kiss away the hurt in her eyes and anger in her voice.

"Don't." Corinna pushed him away. Dusting off her skirt, she tossed her head. "I'm not a camp follower, Geoffrey. You already know that I care for you. But I won't be used and I won't be an 'officer's companion', like Arabelle."

"But. . .," he stammered, " I can't. . ."

"You can do anything you want, Captain. You know that as well as I." Snatching up her coat, she stomped out of the grove. She held her head high as she crossed the parade ground, fighting hard to maintain her composure until she reached the safety of her tent. Once inside, she gave in to tears of frustration. He was afraid, of even the smallest commitment to her. He might care for her, even want her, but they were still worlds apart. . .

Sitting on the edge of her cot, she tucked her arms in around her waist and rocked to and fro, the hot, passionate feelings he'd caused replaced by a huge, aching hole where he'd ripped out her heart.

Humbolt paced furiously in his tent. He ran his tongue around his mouth, seeking the last taste of her. He lectured himself while he walked. "You weren't going to do this! She's a laundress! You can't love a laundress."

" . . .Afraid to make any commitment. . ." Her words lashed his mind. Laundress/nurse, so what? She was a woman any man should be proud to make his wife. What was his problem? "You're a snob, old man, as Cy would say. Your aristocratic upper crust is showing, and you're crumbling right in front of her very eyes."

Hearing the words out loud made them seem even worse. All the old values, the ones he'd lived with and believed in all his life, were falling apart. Position didn't matter out here. What you did, who you helped, how you lived, that's what mattered. Corinna was teaching him that. She was teaching him a better way to live-If you were going to live here. He certainly couldn't take her home. "And I don't want to."

The stilted reality of his home crashed in on him. His family would never get beyond the humble beginnings of Corinna's early life. They would never recognize or appreciate her boundless spirit and love, for all things. But now, he had to face the fact that he'd never really fit in there, either. His parents had been greatly relieved when he went away to the army, to keep him in some sort of respectable role for their second son. He had never fit in anywhere in their high-powered world of phony social status.

But what could he do that would convince her he cared. What could he do besides marry her? He couldn't get married, out here, on this assignment. He could get killed any day. He didn't want to leave her a penniless army widow. What kind of a life was that, even for a woman who seemed to embrace this new land with love in her heart for it. He didn't want a life out here. At least he didn't think so. But if he wanted her, maybe he had to consider it.

The fire burning in his groin would not be ignored. Sitting on the edge of his travel trunk, he doubled over to ease the ache of long-denied desire. Her face shimmered before him like a ghostly apparition. The imprint of her body, from their meeting in the grove, reasserted itself.

"What can I do?"

Clad only in his long johns, he stepped out into the cold night air. The shock of the cold chilled his body and eased the raging desire within him. He stared across the camp, toward the row of darkened tents by the river. The vision of her asleep in the moonlight combined with the feeling of her body next to his.

Now he knew what it was to hold her, to touch her, to want her. His past and his mind held him hostage as his heart and body screamed to join her-in that small space she called home. The cold finally reached his inner core. Shivering, he retreated into his tent, to sleep a fitful, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Eleven

Morning had finally arrived. In the medical tent, Corinna rested her hand on Richardson's forehead. "No fever!"

He stirred under her touch, but continued to sleep. The doctor's sleeping potion seemed to be working. She turned and nearly collided with Humbolt. She hadn't heard him come in.

"How's your patient?"

"Good morning, Captain." Corinna spoke very correctly, letting no emotion seep into her voice. "Captain Richardson seems to be doing very well."

She turned her back on him, refusing to meet his gaze.

"If he is, it's because of you, Corinna." Humbolt tried to move, to catch her eye.

She turned her head, again avoiding any connection. "If he gets well, it will be because of Doctor Gale's skill, not mine."

"Corinna, please, look at me."

She couldn't ignore the pleading tone in his voice. Very coolly, she turned, leveling a steady gaze at him. "What do you have to say to me, Captain?"

"I thought about you all night. I couldn't get you out of my mind."

"And?"

"And-I don't know, Corinna. I care about you more than I've cared about anyone in my life, but . . .'

"But what?"

"You love this country; you fit in here. I don't. My life was back east."

"And I don't fit in there, right?"

He hesitated a fraction of a second too long.

"I'm not fine enough for high society, am I, Geoffrey." It was a statement not a question. Her gaze drilled into his very core. He straightened and squared his shoulders.

"Unfortunately, my parents wouldn't accept you. They don't know you like I do, Corinna. They still think position and birth lineage is the only thing that matters. You wouldn't be happy there. And neither would I, any more."

Corinna inclined her head. Her icy stare thawed the merest fraction. "Oh?"

He nodded. "You've shown me how shallow my world was, and there's nothing there for me."

She allowed herself a hint of hope. "If you have nothing back there, then come into this world-with me."

His shoulders sagged just slightly and he shook his head. "I don't know if I can. I don't trust this country or these people. A soldier here lives his life from one day to the next, knowing every day may be his last day. That's no kind of life to offer anyone, especially someone you care about."

Corinna heaved a deadening sigh. "You're telling me I can't come into your world, and you won't come into mine."

"I'm telling you I don't know how to come into your world, and I don't fit anymore into mine."

"Well, Captain, when you get things sorted out, let me know. Excuse me, please. I have patients to tend to."

She walked around him, down the row of cots, not looking back, making sure he didn't see the tears burning in her eyes, threatening to overflow. Senoma's words echoed in her mind "If he's worth having, he will come to you."

Humbolt watched her make her way past soldier after soldier, smiling at each, caring for each. She deserved better than what he'd just said. Nothing he did came out right anymore, where she was concerned.

Damn! He had to go out again on patrol. No way to find time to talk more to her. Well, he'd go out again. At least he was still a good soldier. He slapped his gloves against his hand, turned and stomped out to the waiting patrol. He'd have to be gone all the time now with Richardson on sick call.

The cold winter days had blurred into a mind-numbing existence. Arabelle stood, watching Richardson trying mightily to right himself on his good foot, shaking and twisting, trying to gain a solid foothold for his new cane. He finally straightened up, catching her appraising his every move.

She spoke quickly. "Well, Captain, you look quite distinguished."

"I don't need your pity, woman." Richardson shifted awkwardly under his awning, balancing precariously. He had not yet mastered the art of walking on the frozen ground.

"It's not pity, sir," said Arabelle, "but a very sincere compliment. Most men who've lost part of a foot would claim disability and take to their beds. But you're up and around already. I think the cooper made you an elegant walking stick, sir. As fine as anything I saw in New York."

Arabelle carefully avoided calling the support a crutch or cane. Walking stick had a much nicer ring to it.

"Yes, well the cooper did an uncommonly nice job of carving on it. I'm surprised."

"Yes, sir. The dog's head looks quite real."

"You could have had the laundry delivered." Richardson motioned toward the pile of neatly done clothing.

"I know, sir. But I wanted to see for myself that you were up and around-see if there was anything I could do for you."

Richardson laughed coldly. "Not yet, Colter. I'm not that well. But soon. I'll send word the next time I want you to deliver the laundry personally."

"Yes, sir. I'll be waiting."

"You may go," said Richardson, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. He limped back into the interior of his tent, leaving her to stand out in the cold.

"Yes sir," called Arabelle, careful not to let her irritation with him show. Her money was dwindling, without the regular supply from visits to him. She didn't want to dip into her horde. She would need that to get away once spring came. One winter out here was more than enough. She turned to go, dismally contemplating the idea of actually doing more wash to earn some spending money.

"Colter." The captain's voice reached her. "Bring those clothes in here."

A smug, self-satisfied smile snaked across her lips. He was feeling better. She picked up the bundle and walked into the tent. He lay on his back on his cot.

"Put them down and kneel here, by my side."

With no hesitation, she did as she was asked. Reaching out, he caught the back of her mobcap and a handful of hair in his hand. Pulling her head to his, he kissed her roughly. She put up no struggle, allowing him to do as he pleased.

"So you want to do something for me? Fine. You have an exquisite mouth. Let's see what you can do with it." He turned her head away from his face, so she could see the full length of his body. His need was obvious.

Arabelle ran her hand suggestively down his side, over his hip, nudging the bulge. "I'm sure I can help, sir."

Keeping her eyes on his face, her fingers sought his fly buttons, fully awakening his desire. He turned loose of her hair.

"Then get on with it. If I can't go out to the Ponca camp with Humbolt, at least I can be comfortable here," he ordered, closing his eyes.

Arabelle smiled. This would be easy. And Montclair would be glad to know about the trip to the Ponca camp.

Thomas ducked at the singing sound of an arrow sailing overhead. "By the saints, Cap'n! You'd think we were tellin' 'em where we're goin'."

"You're right, Sergeant. This is the second ambush we've ridden into. They do seem to know where we're headed before we get there. And it's never the Indians we're going to see who're doing the attacking." He fired a shot from behind the small hill where they'd taken shelter. Their attackers had picked their ambush spot well.

"What do you make of it, sir?"

"Nothing right, now. But they seem to be more frequent since Andre left. I guess we misjudged him. We've got to get out of here. Hopefully we can outgun them. We'll talk when we get back." The two turned their attention to the arrows coming from the mass of trees on the hill.

Humbolt rubbed his hand over the back of his neck in frustration, while he paced in front of Morgan. He didn't like being on the running end of a fight.

"Yes, Colonel. We lost two men this time. I'm very concerned, sir. The hostiles seem to know where we're headed. It's like someone is giving them information."

Morgan raked a hand through his hair. "Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Well, if Andre were still here, I'd go after him. But with him gone and the attacks increasing-I don't know, sir."

"Well, you have my permission to launch an investigation, very quietly, of course. Just keep me informed. If we have someone who is passing information that's getting soldiers killed, we have to find him. We can't have spies in camp."

"Yes, sir."

Outside Morgan's tent, Humbolt looked around the snow-covered camp. He noticed Arabelle again coming from Richardson's tent. He'd seen her visiting many times since Richardson's operation. His lip curled in disgust.

"The woman will do any thing for money". He stared at her, watching her slip across the campground.

"Anything for money" rang in his ears over and over. "Even sell information, I'll wager," he muttered. "Cy could never keep his mouth shut."

He cringed when he saw her stop to talk to the trapper Montclair, who was still in camp.

"She'd sleep with a grizzly bear, if he had the right change." Humbolt shuddered and walked away. He had thinking to do. The camp was in danger.

Humbolt stood a few feet from Richardson's tent. The unmistakable sounds of "pleasuring" had ceased. The two inside would be dressed in a moment. He shifted his weight, juggling a half-empty cup of whisky. "This has to look just right. I have to be convincing." Glancing around, to make sure he didn't have an audience, he splashed some of the whiskey on his jacket. Dropping into an uncharacteristic slouch he smiled. "Get on with it, man!"

Humbolt flung open the flap of Richardson's tent, just as Arabelle prepared to leave after another of her visits.

"Cyrus, Cyrus old man, come on! Oh, 'scuse, me," he slurred, setting down the tin cup he carried, slopping its contents over the side.

"Geoff, what are you talking about?" Richardson gave Arabelle a shove toward the door.

"If we're going to get shot up again, you might as well come along." He waved the cup toward Arabelle. "Bring her with you-we'll trade her to the Indians."

"Oh, no you won't," cried Arabelle, darting out of the tent.

"Geoff, this isn't like you. What's going on?"

Humbolt took a long drink from his cup, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Damn Morgan. Wants us to head out again. Wants us to find Astor's men and escort them back to camp. Worried they'll be attacked like we were." Humbolt shook his head, speaking loudly, too loudly. "We'll just get some more of us killed."

"Well, I still can't ride. The foot bleeds whenever I try to get up on a horse."

"We'll miss you." Bleary-eyed, Humbolt shook his cup at Richardson, sloshing the last of the liquid out. "I need you to watch my back-like old times."

"When do you go?"

"Day after tomorrow." Humbolt raised the cup to his lips. Finding it empty, he slammed it down in disgust.

Richardson stared and shook his head. "You need to head back to your tent-sleep off whatever it is you're drinking. I'll see if the foot's better by then."

"Right. Got to be ready." Humbolt staggered out of the tent. Seeing Arabelle, still waiting outside, he laughed, "Sorry to interrupt. Maybe you'll come see me later."

He grabbed her around the waist and gave her a drunken kiss.

"Captain, really." Arabelle pushed him away. "I think you need to go. I don't associate with drunkards."

"Ha! You'll associate with anyone if the price is right, I'll wager."

He made another lunge for her. She dodged him easily.

"Oh well, I'll see to you after we find Astor's men. A couple of days on the north trail won't take long."

Arabelle perked up immediately. "The north trail?"

"Quickest way to Trapper's Loup. When I get back, I may find out what Cy finds so fascinating about you!"

He watched Arabelle's face, satisfied that she had absorbed the travel information. He made another seemingly drunken grab her direction. Arabelle dodged again and made good her escape.

A gasp echoed behind him. He turned around to see Corinna, arms full of his laundry, standing at the end of Officer's Row. Sick at heart, he raised a flippant hand to her, then headed back to his tent, unable to do anything more than leave her there staring at what she'd seen. He couldn't say anything more right now.

Corinna turned away, dropping the stack she carried. The sight sickened her even worse than the stench of the operating tent. She ran blindly away, not caring where her path headed. Jamie stopped her at the camp perimeter.

"Miz Corinna, what's wrong?"

She looked up into his concerned face. She fought to hold back the tears. "Oh, nothing, Jamie. I guess I've just been a fool."

"Oh?"

"I had mistakenly thought that someone cared for me, seriously. I've just seen proof that he doesn't."

Jamie's jaw set. "Then he's the fool, ma'am. If you care about him, he's the fool."

She looked up, grateful for his gentle concern. "Thank you."

"I mean it. I'd be honored to have you care about me, even just a little." Jamie swallowed hard, waiting for her reaction.

She smiled at him. "You've always been very good to me, Jamie. You're one of my best friends, next to Artie and Senoma."

"Well ma'am, if you ever decide you want more than a friend, you let me know."

She looked up at him, eyes shining. Why couldn't Geoffrey feel like that? "I'll remember that, Jamie. Right now, I don't know what I want."

"Yes ma'am." He held out a gentlemanly elbow. "Why don't you just let me walk you to your tent. No sense running around by yourself."

She nodded, allowing Jamie to deliver her safely back to her tent. With a nod, she disappeared inside. She wasn't up to talking to anyone, not even Jamie. The picture in her mind of Humbolt openly grabbing and kissing Arabelle was just too much to bear.

Corinna watched the small pot bubble over her fire. The onions cooked down to a thick syrupy liquid, just as Senoma had said they would. The onion syrup would mix easily into her portion of stew tonight. It should stop the bleeding of her gums, according to the Indian medicine man. Satisfied with the thick mixture in the pot, she pulled it back to cool, whispering aloud, "I'm not going to die of scurvy out here. The Indians don't."

She looked at the pile of laundry beside the fire. Humbolt's uniforms lay unwashed. She'd had to retrieve them. She didn't want to touch them, to be reminded of the scene she'd witnessed. Geoffrey with Arabelle. Hot tears rimmed her eyes. She forced them back.

"If that's what he wants, he can have her!" She gave the pile a vicious kick, sending the clothes flying. The pants flew into the nearby snow bank, while his dress shirt settled gracefully over the fire.

"Oh no!" She scrambled to yank it from the coals, before the precious material was irretrievably burned. The shirttail charred almost instantly. She would have to turn it up and mend it carefully. Perhaps he wouldn't notice that it was shorter than before. She stared at the white pants, soaking up even more dirty snow.

"I supposed I must do them," she said aloud. She trudged out, picked up the rest of the now thoroughly dirty uniform and walked down to the wash tent. This day would be miserable.

"Well, Corinna, I'm surprised to see you here," Arabelle said brightly

"I'm late. I usually wash early before I go to the hospital."

"And how are you and the Captain getting along these days?"

Corinna met Arabelle's remark with an icy stare. "You needn't be snide, Arabelle. We aren't getting along at all. I saw the two of you outside Richardson's tent. Looks like you're getting along with him just fine."

Arabelle smiled a smug, tight smile. "I tried to warn you. A man won't be put off forever, dear. Not when he has other choices."

"And I told you-I don't intend to be a camp follower, Arabelle. If that's what he wants, he's welcome to it."

"Well, with that attitude, I'd guess you're going to be very much alone." Arabelle snatched up her laundry bundle and stomped away. "Camp follower, indeed!"

Corinna scrubbed his shirt against her board until it tore. Throwing it down, she walked away. The laundry would have to wait.

Corinna stood beside Jamie's horse, handing him up his pack. "Do you have to go on this patrol?"

She tried to sound sincere. He'd been paying much attention to her, since their conversation.

"Yep. Captain Humbolt says we have to go out one more time. We have to get the trappers in before it gets any worse."

"Well, take care. I wouldn't trust him if I were you. He's not what he seems."

"If you're really worried about me, I'll keep a lookout."

She smiled. "Keep a good lookout, whether I'm worried or not."

She pointedly waved at him as the column rode out. "Take care, Jamie."

"I will, Corinna, I will." He smiled and waved back, deliberately calling her by her given name, watching Humbolt out of the corner of his eye.

Humbolt visibly winced, as though he'd been struck. Corinna waved again and turned away, not even glancing in Humbolt's direction. He watched her walk toward her tent. Turning back in his saddle, he met Jamie's rock-hard glare. Ice formed in his belly. "I'm driving her into his arms."

The thin smoke from the sputtering campfire curled above their heads. Humbolt sat staring into the white ash coals, mentally reviewing the next day's plan.

"Captain? Could I speak to you, sir?"

Humbolt looked around to see Jamie standing behind him in the shadows.

"Certainly, Jamison, Come, sit down."

"It'd be better, sir, away from the rest."

Humbolt stood up, curious at Jamison's request. He stepped back into the shadow. "What is it?"

"It's about you, sir, you and Miz Corinna."

Humbolt sucked in a breath. "What about Miss McGinnis?"

"Well, sir, she cares about you. And she's to good a woman for you to be trifling with her affection-sir. That's all."

Humbolt's fingers curled into silent fists at his side. "And what makes you think you can presume to tell me anything about what I should or shouldn't be doing, Jamison?"

Jamie took a step forward, giving no quarter. "I want you to know what you're doin' ain't right-sir." The words hung frozen in the air between the two.

"What do you think I've done, soldier?"

"You made Miz Corinna think you cared about her, then you dumped her for the Colter woman. It's all over camp." Jamie watched the change sweep across Humbolt's face.

His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. His voice dropped to a low rumble, shaking in suppressed anger. "Hear me, soldier. It's none, I repeat none of your business what I do or with whom I do it. Do you understand!"

Jamie stood up to his towering presence. "I used to be proud to serve under you-SIR. You'll forgive me if I don't feel that way any more. Any man who would treat Miz Corinna like that, don't deserve my respect. And he's a damn fool-SIR!"

Humbolt's quiet tone conveyed more anger than a hundred shouts. "Have you quite finished?"

"Not quite. Just so you know-sir. I'm doin' my darndest to make her see me-sir! I may not be an officer, but I'd never treat her like you just did-SIR!"

Humbolt's air whooshed out. Jamie might as well have thrown a sucker punch. The remark hit him deep, in the gut, ripping away at his careful facade. Struggling to maintain control, Humbolt scowled at the young man before him. His words hissed between his teeth. "That's enough, Jamison. This conversation is ended. My private life is none of your concern. And you're private life is none of my concern, either."

The glare between them could have set fire to the forest. Jamison finally turned and stalked back to where the rest of the squad had already bedded down for the night.

Humbolt sat back down by the fire, cradling his head in his hands. So, it was all over camp. At least his acting had been convincing. He had to maintain the charade a while longer, until this patrol finished, just in case he was wrong. Corinna's anguished face kept reappearing in his mind and in his dreams.

He'd convinced her, too well, perhaps. Young Jamison would eagerly comfort her, if she turned to him; that was obvious.

"But I don't want Jamison to have her!" The thought drilled itself into his consciousness. He spoke the words that had been eluding him for so long. "I love her. I want her, no matter what!"

The ache returned, clear and real. He rubbed his hand across his mouth, unconsciously searching for the taste of their last kiss. Laundress or not, he loved Corinna. He wanted her, even if it meant giving up everything he had even known and living out here in this wild, unforgiving wilderness, even if they could only have one day at a time.

"Oh my goodness, look." Corinna pointed toward the squad coming in. Horses with bodies strapped across them followed the column. More soldiers with bloody uniforms straggled into camp. Humbolt dismounted in front of Colonel Morgan's tent. The Colonel stepped out, surveying the bedraggled squad. "Well, Humbolt, how did it go?"

Humbolt swung down out of the saddle. "Could have been better, sir. We did find the Astor party. With their help, we were able to set up our own ambush this time."

"Good, Good."

"We do have several wounded troopers, though. They're already on their way to the hospital tents.

Morgan nodded. "That's too bad. Hate to have any of our troops hurt."

"Yes, sir. But our ambush caught an unexpected lot. Not Indians at all."

"Oh?"

"No, sir. The men in Astor's party-the ones who helped us-swear the men who attacked us work for the Hudson Bay Company."

Morgan's face took on a hard, grim set. "And what do they say for themselves?"

"Nothing sir, the ones we brought in are all dead. But one of them is the trader we've seen in camp; his name is Montclair."

Morgan nodded. "Perhaps we caught the little fish. The Hudson Bay Company may be financing them. Remember? Lisa said they wouldn't want us here."

It was Humbolt's turn to nod in agreement. That would explain things. "You're right sir. And we may still have a chance to prove that. We may have one contact left."

"Who?"

"Arabelle."

"Arabelle?"

"Yes sir. The laundress, Arabelle Colter. The one I planted the information with. I've seen her with Montclair more than once. She may know who else is involved. The only problem is I can't prove how much she knows."

"Well, bring her in here and let's see what she knows."

"With Montclair dead and Andre gone, it would be just my word against hers." Humbolt shook his head in disgust. "I don't have any proof that she passed anything to anyone."

"If you confront her, will she break?"

"Not right now, I'm sure. But if she was being paid, she's going to run out of money soon. Let's let a little time pass. I'll see what I can do."

"Very, well. Handle it your own way. At this point I'll be pleased if the attacks stop and relieved to think it's not the Indians planning them." Morgan turned and walked back into the command tent.

Humbolt walked to the hospital to see to his wounded recruits. "How are they, doctor?"

Dr. Gale look up then motioned him aside. "Jake will be fine. Just a flesh wound in his arm. A bandage and some rest and he'll be on his way. But Jamison . . ."

"What about Jamison?"

"He not good. He's lung shot. I can't help him. He's bleeding bad inside."

Humbolt pressed a tired hand to his forehead. "I was afraid of that. And he's a fine young man."

"They all are. It's too bad."

Humbolt walked up beside Jamie's cot. Corinna sat beside him, holding his hand.

"Jamison? Jamison?"

She shivered at Humbolt's hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, refusing to look at him. "He's beyond your orders, now."

She ran her fingers across Jamie's forehead. "Jamie?"

He turned his head toward her voice. "Miz Corinna?"

"Yes, Jamie. The captain is here to see you."

"Captain?"

"Yes, Jamie. You did a fine job, soldier."

A hollow cough wracked Jamie's body. He clutched his chest trying to sit up, then fell back, too spent to move.

Corinna put her fingers to his lips. "Don't try to talk."

Bloody foam burbled out of his mouth, covering her fingertips. He turned his head, eyes seeking Humbolt. He raised a feeble hand. "You remember what I said, sir. You remember what we talked about."

"I won't forget." Humbolt closed his eyes. He'd seen enough to know Jamie's condition.

"Miz Corinna?"

"Yes, Jamie?" She brushed the hair from his forehead, the blood on her fingertips making a crimson streak as she moved.

"Want you to know. . ." another wracking cough silenced him. His head rolled lifelessly to the side. A bit of red foam dripped from the corner of his mouth.

Corinna gave a little cry, covering her mouth with her hand. Humbolt reached to comfort her. She wrenched free from his grasp. "Don't you touch me. Don't act like you care about me now."

She left the tent quickly, seeking the privacy of her tiny canvass home. Humbolt bowed his head and stood silently by the young man's body. He finally turned and walked back to his tent. Arabelle had to be stopped.

A small group stood silently around the hastily constructed funeral pall. Jamie's body, now frozen stiff within its shroud, lay stretched out within the circle of friends and squad members gathered to hear the chaplain's final words. Corinna heaved a sigh and raised her head after the final prayer. Her gaze traveled across the circle and found Geoffrey staring back at her, trying to catch her attention. Deliberating altering her gaze she turned to Artie, slipping her hand through Artie's elbow and leaning her head on Artie's solid arm. "He was such a good friend, Artie. I'll miss him."

Artie patted her hand. "I know you will, dear. We all will." They walked up, arm in arm, to say a final good-bye. Corinna ran a gentle hand over the shroud she and Artie had so carefully stitched for the young soldier's last rest. Losing a friend out here was almost as bad as losing family back in Philadelphia. Corinna hung her head. "Doesn't it ever get any better?"

"Corinna?"

The quiet whisper of her name made her jump. She looked up into Humbolt's eyes, full of their own raw pain. "He was a very good man, Corinna. And he cared about you."

She steeled herself against the pain she saw. "I'm quite aware of that, Captain. I was a fool not to return his caring. At least he was honest with me."

She smiled the merest hint of a smile at the crimson flush spreading across his face. He shook his head. "I must talk to you. Alone."

She shot him a withering glance. "Are you going to explain your behavior with Arabelle? And her visits to your tent?"

He lowered his gaze and ran a defeated hand across his forehead. She squared her shoulders. "I thought not. You have no explanation. No, Captain. I don't think we need to spend any time alone, ever again."

She turned and walked away quickly, catching up to Artie, leaving the burial detail to move Jamie's body, carrying it to its resting place in the line of body bags along the cottonwoods lining the camp perimeter. The hollow sound of taps being played by the bugler settled over the entire camp. Humbolt watched her go, his heart surrounded by an icy grip, colder than the frozen ground below him. He couldn't tell her yet. He couldn't reveal the truth of the scenes with Arabelle, not until he'd resolved that situation. And by that time it might be too late for them - to late to rekindle that fire he'd felt in the grove.

"Sergeant, we're not ever going to get this ground open. It's froze clear to China." Jake heaved a sigh of disgust and leaned on the shovel handle. He nodded toward the row of patiently waiting bodies, each one in its own hand-sewn shroud. "Those poor souls don't know if they're on the ground or under it. Couldn't we just stack 'em up 'til spring?"

Thomas pulled his best command face. "Let's have a little respect for the dead, Jake. You were almost there."

"Well if I keep on like this, I may still be, Sergeant. I'm going to break this shovel before I get a hole big enough to put one body in, much less twenty-three."

Thomas had to agree. This work was futile. Burying the dead would have to wait. "I think you're probably right, Jake. Men, let's move these bodies to the grove. They'll be out of sight of the camp until the ground starts to thaw."

The burial detail heaved a collective sigh of relief. They began the dreary task of moving the bodies into the trees. Corinna watched the solemn line disappear into her sheltered spot. It would be hers no more, until spring. Her heart sank even further. One more treasured thing taken away from her. More and more people sickened every day. And one or two died, every day.

At least, the attacks on the patrols had stopped. No more soldiers had been killed. "But what good is that if they die from scurvy?"

Her suggestions to the doctor had fallen on deaf ears. Her gums had turned pink and solid again with the addition of the onion syrup to her food, but the doctor wouldn't hear of it. So all she could do was watch-watch as more and more sickened and died. She said a small prayer for the dead and turned back to the tent. She still had patients to tend. They were the only ones who needed her, now.

Arabelle paced in her tent, mentally reviewing the situation. The days were resolutely passing, even if slowly. Montclair and Andre were both dead. Her carefully saved horde of coins was of no use to her. There was nothing to buy. No one else would be coming up river; the channel had been frozen solid for months. A wracking cough shook her. She wiped the bloody spit from her mouth.

"This miserable country. I don't know why I came here." She paced again, shaking from chills that would not be stopped. A noise outside her tent startled her.

"Miz Colter?"

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"Captain Humbolt would like a word with you, in his tent."

"Oh, really?"

"Now." Thomas was in no mood to pamper this one.

She hurried off behind Sgt. Thomas, through the dirty, thinning snow. She peeked into Humbolt's tent. "Sgt. Thomas said you wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Colter, come in." She stood still as his gaze traveled the length of her scurvy-ravaged body. "You don't look well."

"Winter's hard, sir," replied Arabelle, warily drawing her hand along the hollow of her cheek, now much thinner from lack of food.

"Yes I imagine it is, now that your extra money supply has been cut off."

Arabelle cleared her throat nervously, "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

"I think you do, Colter. I think you do. You've been spying, Colter, selling information to people who don't want us here."

"Who told you that, sir?"

"I passed you information about out last trip. And you passed it to Montclair. That's why he's dead. And why Jamison is dead. I'm going to put you in the stockade for it, maybe even have you shot for treason. Unless you tell me who you're working for."

"Who says I'm working for anyone?" Arabelle's voice betrayed the slightest hint of fear.

Humbolt glared at her across his camp table. "I say you are. The only question in my mind is whether you'll be shot as a traitor or go to the stockade for the rest of your life. I ask you again. Who are you working for?"

Arabelle's defenses clicked into place. "It's not my fault your men got killed. You're the one who shared the information in the first place. You'll go to the stockade right along with me."

Humbolt smiled. She was quick. "Nice try, Colter, but the Colonel knew all about my scene with you. We'd planned it just the way it went."

Arabelle's hunted look gratified him. At least he had confirmed what he'd thought to be the truth. She had passed the information. But as he watched, Arabelle's face took on a confident, almost arrogant look.

"Perhaps, but I doubt that Captain Richardson was in on your plan. And he's given me information several times. Are you ready to shoot him, too?"

Humbolt's scowl deepened. "Don't try to bargain with me. Richardson didn't tell you about this trip, I did. And that's the charge I'll make stick."

Arabelle tossed her head. "Not good enough. I can still testify that he's given me information. If I testify, a court marshal panel will go easier on me and take Richardson down. It will ruin him."

Arabelle gritted her teeth and returned his stare, daring him to turn on his friend. She understood military devotion to duty and honor among officers. She could use it to her advantage, if she had to. The look that crossed Humbolt's faced gratified her for an instant. She'd been right. But the victory was short lived. His eyes darkened like thunderclouds on the horizon. He leaned close, riveting his gaze to hers. "You are brazen! Listen to me. You're lucky I haven't had you shot all ready. Tell me who's behind this or I'll put you out of camp right now."

He leaned back, tapping his fingertips together, assuming an almost casual attitude. "Yes. I'll just put you out of camp. That way, there'll be no trial, no chance for you to say anything to anyone. Morgan will accept anything I tell him about your disappearance. I'll have Sergeant Thomas escort you half-way to Lisa's and leave you out there, in open country."

Arabelle's eyes snapped wide open. She'd heard what happened to people who'd been forced out of camp. They never came back and never got anywhere else, either.

Sensing a weakness in her defense, Humbolt pressed the point. "You can find your own way down river, if some brave doesn't snatch you first. I doubt your beauty would impress anyone now. He'd probably just lift your blonde scalp, after he was finished with your skinny body."

Arabelle clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a cry or any impulsive words. The vivid pictures in her mind tortured her.

Humbolt swung around and stood up, towering over her. "And I'll put Richardson in the stockade, myself. If his flapping tongue got soldiers killed, that's where he deserves to be."

Arabelle considered her options and decided there were none. Humbolt's gaze allowed no compromise. She drew in a deep breath. "Very well, Captain. I can't tell you much. Just that Montclair said Andre is dead."

Humbolt arched an eyebrow. At least he didn't have to go looking for Lucian. "What happened?"

"He evidently died the night he left. Thrown from his horse, according to Montclair. The only other person I knew was a man named Lord Suthridge-Lord Reginald Suthridge. I met him in Pittsburgh."

"Who does he work for?"

"I don't know."

Humbolt jaw snapped into a tight grim line. "Don't you hold out on me. Who does he work for!"

Arabelle hastened to answer. "I don't know, sir. I really don't."

"Where is he now?"

"Montclair said my news reports were going to St. Louis. That's all I know."

Humbolt studied the truly frightened look now covering Arabelle's face. "Why should I believe you?"

"When I asked, Suthridge said I wouldn't have to lie if I didn't know any more about him or what he was going to do with the information. He just said he was a business man."

"Well then, what did this 'businessman' look like? How am I going to find him?"

"You saw him, sir. In Pittsburgh."

"I saw him?"

"Yes, sir," said Arabelle, frantically searching for any piece of information that might calm his anger. The idea of being abandoned out here terrified her. "At the dock in Pittsburgh. You called to me from the sternwheeler? I was standing with Andre and Lord Suthridge at the time. He's the English gentleman, with the monocle?"

A hazy picture of the man in question formed in Humbolt's mind. This might just be the truth. It all fit. He sat down at his camp table and leaned back on his chair. "Very well. Get out of my sight. You make me sick. Do you realize how many men your information passing may have killed? Do you have conscience enough to feel that?"

"I'm not like you, sir. I don't have an officer's salary to depend on. I have to make my way the only way I know how." Arabelle turned and fled from the tent.

Humbolt penned a note for Morgan. Astor's men were probably right. The Hudson Bay Company was more than likely behind most of this. General Atkinson was still in St. Louis. Perhaps Suthridge could be caught. It would be worth sending riders overland. Morgan would agree. They could decide what to do with the Colter woman in due time. She wasn't going anywhere in this cold. He walked to his tent flap. He could see Arabelle, walking down Soapsuds Row.

"I should court martial her," he said aloud, through clenched teeth. "But I'd have to court martial Cy, too." He shook his head, knowing he couldn't do that. He turned the story over and over in his mind, to make sure he could tell Morgan what he needed to know, without involving Richardson. "But, this makes us even. I'll not cover for him again."

Arabelle walked slowly toward her tent. "Self-righteous ass! What does he know about surviving!" She saw Corinna, working under her awning. An idea danced in her head. She stopped at Corinna's side. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out the few gold coins she had left.

"You'll never guess where I've been." She spilled the coins from one hand to the other. "I told you, darling, not to put that handsome officer off. He's not willing to wait for you forever."

The stricken look on Corinna's face gratified her lust for revenge. Humming a mindless victory tune, she walked on to her tent. "See if Corinna has anything to do with him now."

Chapter Twelve

Corinna surveyed the hospital with deadened eyes. She had no heart for anything since Jamie died. Humbolt had tried to talk to her, more than once since the funeral, but she'd refused. Nothing he could say had any interest for her. His actions and Arabelle's words convinced her that she'd been wrong, very wrong to think he loved her. The ache in her heart threatened to swallow her up.

A groan caught her attention. Dr. Gale sat beside young Timothy, wiping his brow, waiting for the inevitable. She trudged to his side.

"Doctor, this is dreadful. More are dying every day. We haven't had a shipment of fresh food in weeks and weeks."

Gale looked into those luminous green eyes, rimmed with tears for the dying. "I know Corinna, I really don't know what else to do."

The stench of death surrounded them. The hospital tent now extended into a long corridor of dying men and women. The grim reaper showed no favoritism. Troopers, laundresses, musicians, even officers, all were falling prey to the lack of fresh food. Military blankets did little to ward off the cold. There weren't enough buffalo robes to go around, even with the bundles the mountain men had brought with them.

Corinna gritted her teeth. "What good are all the soldiers, if we can't even save the children?"

She nodded toward the cot, where Timothy lay, staring and still. "And those musicians are still children-you know that!"

Her voice shook with anger and fear. Gale looked away, trying to hide the hopelessness he felt. "I wish I had an answer. Colonel Morgan is talking about moving the sick down river to Fort Osage, to get food and give them a chance to recover."

"Well, he'd better hurry-we've lost more than a hundred already."

"The weather has been easing. I've been keeping track of the temperatures all winter. We have to wait for ice out, when the river flows again. We can't put the boats back into the river before the ice is gone. The river ice has been creaking and groaning for days. It's got to move soon. We'll send them down as soon as we can, if they're not better."

Corinna looked again down the long row of cots. "They won't be better, they'll all be dead."

Gale surveyed the scene. "Well, they certainly won't survive an overland trek. Their only chance is by boat down to Fort Osage. It's been getting warmer. It's going to be an early spring, I'm sure of it."

She turned to face him. "I hope so. For their sake, I hope so."

"And what about you? You haven't been yourself since young Jamison died."

"He was my friend, Doctor. A very good friend. His death was senseless. Why would trappers kill one another? There's enough out here for every one."

"They evidently don't think so, Corinna." Doctor Gale tucked the sick boy's hand in underneath his blanket. "Greedy people have always schemed to get what they feel is their share of the riches. Their share usually comes at someone else's expense."

Corinna nodded, not up to finishing the conversation. The doctor peered at her intently, studying her face. "And what of Captain Humbolt? I thought the two of you were. . ."

"We weren't anything." Corinna snapped. "I was very foolish, Doctor. He's found company he's more interested in."

"What?" Gale stood, staring at Corinna. He'd turned a blind eye to their meetings and whisperings in his hospital tent. Humbolt's feelings for Corinna were obvious, to him at least. "Who?"

"Haven't you heard? He's seeing Arabelle-it's quite the camp story." Corinna spit out the words, hating every syllable, even as she spoke.

Gale gave her a long, hard look. "That's one camp story I have a hard time believing, Corinna. Who told you that?"

"Nobody had to tell me. I saw him kiss her, in public, in front of Richardson's tent. And he was staggering drunk as well."

Gale continued to stare, disbelief written all over his face. She clenched her teeth, determined to get through the tale.

"And if that weren't enough, Arabelle as much as said he paid her for her "favors", Doctor. He wouldn't make a commitment to me, but he'd go to her!"

Corinna stopped, unable and unwilling to go on. She'd kept all this in her heart, eating away, tearing at her gut.

Gale scratched his chin, shaking his head. "Well I must admit, that sounds bad. What does he have to say for himself?"

"I don't know. I haven't given him the chance. I can't imagine any explanation that would justify him visiting a camp prostitute, if he loves me."

There, she'd said it. She'd given voice to the idea that had eaten at her, bedeviled her, angered her ever since Arabelle's flash of the coins. She shot a look at Gale, daring him to speak in Humbolt's defense, yet hoping somehow that he could.

Gale looked at her, studying her face, turning her comments over in his mind. "Well, all I can say is, I've served several years and through a war with the Captain, Corinna. He's one of the most exemplary officers I've ever seen. The behavior you describe doesn't sound like him at all."

Corinna stood her ground, not giving an inch. "That's what's happened, nevertheless."

"My only suggestion would be to at least hear his side. I'm not sure I'd take Arabelle's word for anything. Sometimes things are not as they seem to be. There may be an explanation for what he did. You'll never know unless you hear him out."

She shifted on one foot, not ready to accept the well- intentioned advice.

Gale pressed the point. "Besides Corinna, you surely won't be any more upset than you are now, will you? No matter what he says?"

She let out a big sigh. Her shoulders sagged. "I suppose not. I wish I didn't love him, Doctor. Then it wouldn't hurt so."

Gale nodded, draping a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Talk to him. He's a good man. And he loves you, I'm sure of it. I've seen it in his face every time he looks at you. I can't believe he's suddenly changed."

Corinna managed a weak-half smile.

"Come on. Give me one of your sunshine smiles. It will help melt the last of the snow and ice."

Corinna grinned in spite of herself. "Now, Doctor, you're going too far. I can't command the weather."

"Maybe not, but your smiles bring the sunshine inside, to all of us. And they've been too long absent." To his relief, she smiled again, this time a real smile.

"All right. I'll let him talk to me. We'll see what he has to say. Perhaps your early spring will thaw the ice in my heart as well."

And the next day, as if at the doctor's command, with a resounding crack and a thundering roar, the ice choking the river began to move.

Morgan and Humbolt stood at the river's edge. The ice jam had been replaced with swiftly flowing, icy spring water, clear and swift. "We can be ready to leave tomorrow, Colonel", said Humbolt. "The river is clear enough to try it. We have the keelboats back in the water."

"Yes, by all means," said Morgan, glancing at the plans Humbolt had drawn up for the troop movement. "We don't want any more men dying. Make final preparations."

A stifled groan caught their attention. Humbolt noted Richardson's struggle to join them. Walking on the uneven ground seemed to be a major problem. Richardson's face, contorted and twisted, revealed a man in pain, as the weight of his body crushed down on the still-swollen foot. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he fought to maintain his balance. The cane was not much help.

Humbolt shot a glance at Morgan. Morgan shook his head ever so slightly. "Richardson, you'll go down river with the rest. Perhaps the doctors at the fort can help that leg."

"Thank you, sir," said Richardson, grateful to be leaving, his swollen leg a grim reminded of the winter just passed. He couldn't hide the drainage that constantly oozed from the septic wound in his foot. He'd hidden the red streaks chasing up his leg. The doctor would have taken the leg off weeks ago had he known.

Humbolt silently acknowledged the sinking feeling settle around him. It was obvious to him there would be no help for Richardson at Fort Osage-or anywhere else. Cy would be called to account for his actions, very soon, by a much higher authority than a military tribunal.

Morgan turned to the young officer standing at his side. "Berkeley, you'll command this group. Take that wife and baby with you. Get her some fresh food for that new little one."

The young officer smiled. "We'd appreciate it, sir."

"Humbolt. I need you here."

"Certainly, sir. Two companies should be enough to move the sick. We do need a garrison of healthy men here, even though the natives have been quiet. Whatever was riling them up seems to have disappeared."

Morgan nodded. "Although, perhaps you should go, Humbolt. You've looked a mite peaked to me, lately."

"I'm fine sir. Send the others. Besides, we need enough hands to move the camp back a little. The river's rising, a little more every day."

"Very well, then. Gentlemen, see to it. You'll leave at daybreak tomorrow."

Corinna and the others watched the last of the keelboats swung gently out into the swiftly flowing current. A spring breeze caught the sail, taking the boat into the watery highway flowing south. She turned back to the hospital tent. There hadn't been room for all the sick on the keelboats. She walked quietly to Arabelle's bed. Even though she tried, she couldn't hate Arabelle. Arabelle had helped her when she needed help. This land had robbed Arabelle of her generous side; Corinna would not let that happen to her. Arabelle needed help now. She could return the kindness Arabelle had shown years before. "How are you feeling now?"

"Miserable-what else?" rasped Arabelle, weak from vomiting.

"Won't you at least try the soup I've fixed? It's kept Artie and me from getting sick. It seems to help the boys I feed it to. I've been sneaking it to Tim and he's getting better. "

"Don't want any Indian remedy tried on me. I'd die first!"

"You may, Arabelle, you may. Please?"

"No. Leave me alone. I might as well die. Richardson should have taken me with him."

"I think so, too." Corinna's teeth clenched unconsciously at the mention of his name. He had convinced Berkeley to leave Arabelle.

"I took good care of him. I did his laundry right, didn't I?" Arabelle reached up a trembling hand.

"Yes, you did," said Corinna, grasping it, shuddering at its bony feel. The once beautiful woman lay on the cot, a gaunt shadow of her former self. Glassy eyes stared out of coal black holes in her face, skin stretched over bone, not a spare ounce. Scurvy was eating her up. Caked blood filled the corners of her mouth. She'd even lost a front tooth from her deteriorating gums.

"You're still healthy; you'll make it," said Arabelle, shaking Corinna's hand.

"I'm eating what Senoma showed me to eat," said Corinna. "It will help you, too."

"No, Doctor says you're just younger, that's all." Arabelle drifted into sleep.

Corinna slipped her hand from Arabelle's quietly and then moved away, outside into the evening sunset. The camp seemed empty with the sick and two companies of soldiers gone. The widening river stretched out in front of her.

She turned to the bluff rising behind her. The land loomed over her, almost threatening in its majesty. A dark rise to the east hinted at the matching bank on the far shore. The river wound like a snake back and forth across the huge plain. There seemed to be more and more water on the plain every day. She scooped up a handful of dark black earth.

"You won't frighten me away," she shouted into the emptiness, shaking the fist-full of dirt. "You won't make me sick either. I'm going to survive. I'm going to live here on my land."

The dark rich loam tricked through her fingers. Brushing the last traces away, she turned again and walked back toward the hospital. The remaining sick still needed her. Humbolt would have to wait.

The days drug on. The buds on the trees promised new green, but nothing had grown enough to be eaten. Corinna watched the parade ground from the hospital tent door. Humbolt still drilled his troops daily, even though their numbers were severely diminished. She could hear his wracking cough across the ground. "He's sick, too."

She watched him struggle to stay upright, to hide the signs of illness. She looked again and noticed that the once-tight fitting breeches now had spare room. "He's not eating right, either."

The ache in her heart welled up. "How could he want Arabelle? I should follow Dr. Gale's advice. I should talk to him, just as soon as I see to Arabelle."

That thought sustained her, all the way back to the hospital tent. The last of the beauty had long since drained from Arabelle's face, leaving a haggard shell. Her blonde hair lay matted and twisted, framing her face like a halo of nettles. Corinna wiped Arabelle's brow, trying to make her more comfortable. Arabelle roused from her stupor.

"Corinna, I'm done for," she whispered.

"Oh, don't say that. Please let me fix you some of my soup. You'll feel better, I know you will."

"Too late for that," murmured Arabelle. "Here. . .something for you."

Arabelle stirred, reaching a bony hand into the bosom of her shift, pulling out her now-worn account book. "Take this. There's money. . .Colonel has it. Don't waste yourself out here."

"Arabelle, I don't want your money. You'll need it."

Corinna struggled to sound positive; knowing in her heart the end was not far away.

"You deserve it. I hurt you enough. . .shouldn't have. wasn't your fault."

Corinna stared at the wasted figure, trying to comprehend what Arabelle was saying. "What are you talking about?"

Arabelle's frame shook with a death-rattling cough, choking up another mouthful of blood. Corinna helped her turn her head, to spit it out, saving her from drowning in her own fluids. Arabelle struggled, heaving with every word. " I. . .need . . .to tell you. . .truth."

"Truth? About what?" asked Corinna.

"Me. . .and. . .Humbolt,"

"Oh."

"Nothing to it. . .really!" Arabelle admitted, reaching for Corinna's hand. " . . .he needed takin' down a peg or two . . .him acting all righteous."

Arabelle started to cough again, clutching at her chest. The cough tore through her. "Called me to his tent. . .said I was spying. . .money I showed you . . .mine, not his."

"Sh-sh-sh, don't try to talk, you'll just make it worse," said Corinna, trying to hold her to ease the spasms, tears running down her face. Tears of joy at the revelations and tears of grief at Arabelle's agony. This was a horrible way to die.

"Don't leave me. . .don't want to die alone," Arabelle's eyes glistened. She caught Corinna's hand in her bony grip. "Please!"

"I won't go anywhere," Corinna whispered, holding her close. "Try to sleep."

"Umm." Arabelle's breathing rattled erratically. She dropped deeper into fitful sleep. Tucking the blanket in around her emaciated frame, Corinna softly crooned a wordless lullaby. The crackly breath evened out and lulled Corinna into a false sense of comfort, as she sorted out Arabelle's final words.

"He didn't really want her. It was all an act to catch her." The labored breathing grew gradually shallower and slower. Relief flooded through her heart for the explanation of his behavior. "He must be miserable. His plan may have worked, but it got Jamie killed."

She said to herself, "And I wouldn't even talk to him at Jamie's funeral. I must speak to him."

She sat back on her campstool, keeping a silent vigil at Arabelle's side. She rocked absentmindedly, keeping time with Arabelle's breathing. Her head nodded, sleep trying to claim her. Silence filled the tent. She sat up with a start. The breathing had stopped.

"Arabelle!" Corinna grabbed Arabelle's shoulders, shaking her, trying hard to bring life back into those staring, vacant eyes. Arabelle's head lolled lifelessly back.

Dr. Gale's voice intruded.

"She can't hear you, Corinna. She's gone."

Corinna turned on the doctor. "Why didn't you do something?"

"There's nothing we can do, Corinna. Our medicine won't help."

"No, but the Indian remedies would, if you weren't so stubborn. How many more have to die?"

Corinna turned and walked silently away from the heartache of yet another death.

Dr. Gale bent down and passed his hand across Arabelle's eyes, closing them for the last time. He walked to the end of the hospital tent, staring off toward Soapsuds Row. How many had died? He'd lost count-but too many, way too many.

Corinna stood in her tent dreading the day. "I don't want to watch any more die. I'm going to find Geoffrey, and tell him what Arabelle said." "Perhaps he'll forgive me for my conclusion jumping." she said aloud.

She stepped out into the daylight, to see a crowd on the parade ground. A little knot of soldiers surrounded a figure on the ground.

"Someone else is down," she grumbled, pulling up her skirt to rush to the crowd.

""What's wrong . . .Oh, no!" she exclaimed. Humbolt lay very still, on the ground. She dropped quickly, feeling his head. His fever nearly burned her hand. She swallowed hard. Why hadn't she said something? He'd been losing weight. She'd heard his cough. What if he died because of her stubbornness? She couldn't let that happen.

"Oh, quick, take him to the hospital tent. Quickly!" she repeated. Finally, two soldiers lifted the unconscious officer, unceremoniously carting him off to the hospital, with Corinna following close behind.

"Doctor, what are you going to do now?" Corinna trained her accusing stare on the physician.

" Just try to make him comfortable." Gale looked at her stricken face. "Do we have any vinegar left?"

"Vinegar?"

"Yes. It's acidic. A little vinegar water might help."

Corinna sat through the day, wiping Humbolt's brow with a dampened cloth, hoping to break the fever. "Corinna," he muttered over and over, "must explain. . ."

"Sh-h-," she whispered, kissing his cheek gently. "It's all right." The hours passed. Day blended into night. He continued to burn with fever and cough up blood. At day's light, she stood up, determined to do something. She disappeared from the hospital tent.

Within the hour, Corinna re-appeared at Humbolt's side, ready to do battle.

"Doctor Gale, I'm going to feed Captain Humbolt my soup. It certainly won't kill him, because I'm eating it. And it might help. Nothing you're doing has."

The good doctor stared at the tiny mite glaring at him, soup bowl in hand. "Well, Corinna, you may be right. He certainly isn't going to get any better my way. We know that. If you can get him to eat it, you have my permission to try."

"Thank you. He get better you'll see."

Corinna sat on the box by Humbolt's bedside. "Captain? Please Captain, won't you eat a little?"

Humbolt would not respond. She gently stroked his brow with a damp cloth, to soothe the fever. "I'm here, Captain?" He lay very still, oblivious to her words.

Finally she tried again. Leaning down, she gently kissed his feverish cheek. "Geoffrey? Geoffrey, listen to me."

His eyes opened slightly. "Corinna?"

"Yes, Geoffrey, I'm here."

"Corinna!" He tried to raise a hand to her face, but dropped it. He had no strength left. She ran her fingers tenderly across his forehead and along his jaw. He still burned with fever. Her cool fingertips took some of the fire out of his skin.

"Please, please eat for me Geoffrey; you must."

Corinna held a spoonful of warm liquid to his lips. He tried to turn away, but she caught his chin and held it gently, as she would a child.

"Please, Geoffrey, for me?" She offered the spoon again. He opened his eyes slightly and looked up into hers. Seeing the love overflowing in them, he sighed, then obediently opened his mouth for the lifesaving broth. He began to eat. Not too much, but enough-enough to save him.

"Doctor, we shall be calling you miracle worker," said Humbolt brushing the worst of the dirt from his uniform pants. "I feel much better."

"Don't thank me, Humbolt," said Dr. Gale. "Thank Corinna. She's the one who got you to eat and me to listen."

"Then it wasn't a dream. She was here."

"Night and day, until you started to improve. I sent her to her tent for some sleep earlier this morning. She's nearly exhausted. She's a fine helper. "

"What did she make you listen to?"

"To the natives and their remedies-to keep people healthy. There are plants here that keep people well in the winter, just like our citrus plants. They don't taste the same but they evidently work the same."

"That's amazing."

"Yes, it is. With the Colonel's permission we've started to feed everyone the native plants in our soups. We may be over the scurvy for this year."

"I hope so. I'm going to find Corinna."

"She'll be glad to see you. She's watched over you like a bearcat since you've been ill. Wasn't going to let me watch you die."

"Thank you again, anyway."

Humbolt walked out into the sunshine. The dull gray-brown of winter was giving way to the bright yellow-green of spring. The air had never smelled sweeter to him than now. What a beautiful country they'd come to tame. He smiled, realizing he'd included himself in that last thought. He turned toward Soapsuds Row. He saw her across the parade ground, in front of the cook's tent. His heart pounded. To think he'd been trying to deny the feelings threatening to overwhelm him at the very sight of her.

"Corinna!" His call echoed throughout the camp. She spun around and stood absolutely still-afraid to move lest it be a dream. He came across the space as quickly as his still-shaky legs would allow, enveloping her up in a great hug.

"Oh Geoffrey!" she cried. He swung her around, nearly sending them both to the ground. Her heart pounded, delighted with his claiming of her attention right here. "You mustn't-you've been sick."

He laughed, keeping his arms tightly around her waist.

"Say you accept my apologies," he demanded. "I'll not turn you loose until you agree to talk to me. I won't have you angry with me, after saving my life."

"Oh Geoffrey, you are better," she hugged him back; delighted with his display of affection, oblivious to the very public place they were in.

"I want you to marry me, do you understand?"

"Marry!"

"Yes, marry. I told you once; you're a fine match for any man. And that man is going to be me."

Her sparkling laughter danced on the air. He had come. Senoma was right. Here he was, declaring his love and wanting to marry her. The warm glow inside radiated out, enveloping her in the fires of love. "Of course, I'll marry you!"

"Good."

Humbolt enveloped her in another embrace, this time surrounding her mouth with his lips, taking away her very breath with his ardor.

"AHEM!"

Corinna looked around Humbolt to see Colonel Morgan staring at the two of them. She suppressed a giggle and raised her eyes. Humbolt winked the tiniest of winks and shifted her in his arms, turning to face his commanding officer, "Yes, Colonel?"

"Humbolt! Glad to see you out of the hospital, but. . ."

"Yes, sir. Glad to be out. You'll forgive me, sir, but I've just asked Miss McGinnis to marry me and she's agreed. Doctor says she saved my life. I intend to spend the rest of my days thanking her."

"Yes. Well!" The colonel cleared his throat and smiled at the beaming couple. "Perhaps you don't want to do it quite so publicly? You are in the middle of the parade ground, after all. And you're still officially listed on sick call."

Morgan smiled while he offered the gentle reprimand. They did make a fine couple. He'd taken note of the hours Miss McGinnis had spent with the sick and dying. A hardy young woman, good stock.

"Yes, sir. I'm sure we can find a more private place."

"Geoffrey!" Corinna's face turned as red as her hair. This certainly wasn't the reserved captain she'd dealt with up to now.

The Colonel waved them away. "Go!"

Humbolt took her hand and tugged her down the line of tents to his own. Within the privacy of his tent, Humbolt again took her in his arms, saying, "I dreamed of you all the time I was sick. I kept trying to explain about Arabelle and you just wouldn't listen."

He leaned against the edge of his camp table, standing her between his legs, pressing her against his chest. He nuzzled the delicate space between her ear and her shoulder.

"I know all about Arabelle and you," said Corinna gently, inclining her head, thoroughly enjoying the sensations of his tongue tracing its way across the top of her collar bone. "She explained just before she died."

He raised his head at the comment. "She died?"

"Yes, the night before you got sick. She told me she deliberately led me to believe you were seeing her, to take you down a peg or two. She didn't mean any harm."

Humbolt released her slightly, to look into those beautiful eyes as he spoke. "She did great harm, Corinna. Many people were killed because of her. She'd been selling information to people who don't want us here. I set a trap and caught her. That's why I couldn't tell you what was happening. I didn't want you to be involved with catching her. How did she die?"

"She wouldn't listen to me. She wouldn't eat the soup that I fed you. She'd always had to struggle, Geoffrey. No one ever looked out for her; she had to look out for herself."

"So have you, and you're very different."

"Well, yes. But I think I had a much better start than she did. I had a loving family to start with. She couldn't remember ever having anybody to love her."

"Perhaps. But her actions caused Jamie's death, as well as others."

"And he was such a nice young man."

"He let me know I wasn't treating you right." Humbolt pulled her to him again, remembering Jamie's reprimand. "Told me I was a fool not to care for you."

"Oh, my!"

"He was absolutely right," said Humbolt, holding her even more tightly to his chest. "I've loved you for so long. I've been fighting it. Telling myself all the reasons it would never work. But I think I've loved you from the moment I saw you in Philadelphia."

She snuggled against him and slid her arms around his neck, staring into those burning brown eyes again. "I know I've loved you since then."

He kissed her gently, very gently, then drew her tighter and closer. The warmth welled up between them. His tongue hungrily probed her lips.

A quiet groan escaped her throat. He nibbled down the other side of her neck, while his hands explored the small of her back, pressing her tightly to him.

"Oh!" Corinna's eyes widened, feeling the hardness of his love. Humbolt raised his head, looking deep into those sparkling emerald pools, still holding her tight. "Truly-have you never been with a man before, my love?"

"Never, I must confess." Corinna said blushing ever so slightly. "You have much to teach me."

"Then I must teach you correctly," said Humbolt, drawing a deep breath. "Our first time must not be a hurried affair."

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no. You're perfect. Your first taste of love must be perfect, and it should be on our wedding night." Humbolt kissed her again gently, forcing himself to reign in his raging emotions. "We'll wed quickly, if you agree. I can't wait much longer to have you," said Humbolt, kissing her a third time, forcing himself to deny the impulse to take her right then and there.

"Oh, yes. The sooner the better,"

He could see her eyes sparkling. "Then go to your tent now, before we ruin my good intentions."

"Are you sure you want me to go?" She pressed against him again mischievously.

He groaned and wrapped his arms around her tight, kissing her with all his might, trying desperately, to hang on to his chivalrous notions. He couldn't deny her or himself much longer.

"Yes. For now. A wedding won't take long. The Colonel already approves. I'll arrange the rest."

"Very well," Corinna said, smiling at him. "But we'd better wed soon." She stepped back, glancing down, smiling. "Can't have you walking around like that."

She delighted in having him want her openly. "I'll see you later, then."

She kissed him quickly on the cheek, then left. She hurried back to her tent, heart singing. Even the storm clouds to the northwest didn't dampen her spirits. "Let it rain up there. It won't bother us!"

She spied Artie on the commons. "Artie, I have the best news!"

"Goodness, you're all aglow."

"The captain just asked me to marry him!"

"What?"

"Yes. Just now. He's up and out of the hospital."

"Wonderful! I told you, remember? I told you he had his eye on you!"

"Oh, you were right. He kissed me right out on the parade ground and told Colonel Morgan we're going to be married."

Artie's jaw dropped. "What did Morgan say?"

"Just that we needed to find a more private place to do our kissing!"

Artie laughed. "Well, I never. Sounds like we need to plan a wedding."

"And quickly. He doesn't want to be kept waiting! Said he's loved me since we met in Philadelphia. It will be wonderful."

Artie tossed her head in a northerly direction. "Let's hope the weather holds. That storm looks ugly."

Corinna shrugged. "Some old thundercloud isn't going to ruin my wedding. I don't care if it's pouring. I'll be happy. Do you suppose I could get married in the dress Senoma gave me? It's such a special dress."

"I imagine you'll get married in whatever you want to, dear. The Captain won't notice at all, I'm sure. And it won't matter what anyone else thinks."

Corinna laughed. "That might be too much." She'd just have to introduce him to her new Indian ways a little at a time. "Let's go. The way he sounded, I wouldn't be surprised if we have a wedding scheduled by tomorrow."

Artie's laughter rang across the parade ground. "Men. Once they've made up their minds, they're always in a hurry."

They walked off, talking of dresses and music and camp food. The afternoon sun slipped behind a cloud and a light drizzle began to fall.

Chapter Thirteen

"Hurry! Hurry!"

"Now! Move now!"

Corinna awoke with a start. Shivering, in the midnight blackness, she raised her hand to her face. Cold, smelly water dribbled from her fingertips. Voices screamed orders and a bugle blared, calling everyone to wakefulness. She reached down and again touched water, cold, cold water far above floor level.

"The river!" she said aloud. Her sturdy tent floor was awash, covered with swiftly rising floodwater.

"Corinna!" Artie's voice echoed above the din.

"I'm all right," Corinna yelled back.

"Hurry, we must get to higher ground. It's a flash flood!"

"I'll be right there. I want to get my trunk."

Artie stuck her head inside Corinna's tent. "You don't have time. The water's rising now! Come on!"

Corinna swung around. The icy spring water, already knee deep, sent shock waves up her legs. "I'm not going without it! I'm not going to lose everything."

"Corinna, we have to go!" Artie disappeared from the tent opening.

Corinna dropped to her knees to brace herself against the swirling water. Her gown was no match for the rough boards. Bare knees scraped against the wood. Corinna struggled to her trunk. Reaching down in the blackness, she tore at the knots, trying desperately to free it from its tether. The boys had done an excellent job of securing it to the split log floor. The rope, swollen in the water, locked the knots into place.

"I'm going to keep what's left of my family," she screamed into the darkness. "I won't let it go."

Slipping on the greasy mud, Artie struggled up the bank. The higher ground seemed miles away, even though the distance was measured in yards. Horses, stock and soldiers milled about in the darkness, as soldiers funneled everyone up the trail to the top of the bluff. The occasional moonlight beam through the ominous thunderclouds was of little help, except to illuminate the ever-rising, ever-growing ocean of water covering the plain between the two river bluffs. Candle lamps flickered. Commanders started to count noses. The wind whipped and howled, pushing the floodwater to even greater waves and swirls.

"Oh, Captain! Thank God!" said Artie, gasping from the effort up the hill.

"Artie! Where's Corinna?" Humbolt demanded, his gaze searching behind her.

"She wouldn't come with me. She's trying to save her trunk."

"What! She'll drown in that water. It's rising too fast to worry with trunks."

"She's still down there, Captain. You have to get her."

"Right!" Humbolt turned and shouted to the soldiers nearest him. "You two! Come with me! Bring those lights!"

The three crashed back down the slippery bluff, sliding in the ever-worsening mud. In the candle-lamp light, they could see Soapsuds Row.

"Cap'n, look! The tents nearest the river! They're going under!"

Humbolt could see Corinna's tent still standing. Summoning all his strength, he shouted, "Corinna!"

Corinna looked toward the sound. "Geoffrey!

He could help her with the trunk. But the water now swirled waist deep around the trunk and her. She didn't have much time. With a sickening lurch, and a sucking sound, her sturdy tent floor began to move.

"A-A-E-E-I-I!"

Corinna grabbed for the trunk and hung on with all her might. The floor-turned-raft began to bob in the floodwater. The tent collapsed around her and fell away. The raft swung wide, moving along with the swelling river current.

Corinna saw the feeble candle lamps coming toward her.

"Geoffrey!" She screamed. The raft hit a swirling eddy and spun around, almost throwing her off.

"No!" She ducked her head, closed her eyes and hung on. The raft pitched and turned in the angry water. The wild flood carried her into the darkness. Her nails dug into the leather straps on the trunk. It was her only hope. "Geoffrey!"

Humbolt heard Corinna's cry and saw the raft head into the darkness. He started to run headlong after her.

The two soldiers grabbed him, holding him fast. "No, Captain, you can't catch her."

"She's gone, sir," said Jake. "You can't do nothin' on foot in that flood. You'll just drown."

"No!" Humbolt yanked an arm free. He had to go after her. She'd never make it alone in that water.

Thomas grabbed him again, while Jake struggled mightily to hold his other arm. "Come on sir, We got to go back. We're knee deep now. Out there, it's already over your head. You can't swim as fast as the river."

"Oh God, no!" Humbolt cried, straining to see in the darkness, listening again for Corinna's voice.

"Corinna!" He shouted her name again into the wind. "I've got to go after her." He struggled, trying to follow her, no matter what the danger. His own words, from long ago, slammed back into his brain. "I don't want to lose you to the river before we get started." No. He couldn't let the river take away his only chance for happiness without a fight.

"Come on, sir. We'll search once the sun comes up."

"No!" Humbolt swung wildly, trying to break the grip of the two soldiers. He didn't see the quick jab coming, one that knocked him cold.

Sergeant Thomas rubbed his knuckles against his jacket. Jabs still hurt, whenever they connected well. "Come on Jake. We got to get him up top. No sense losing both of 'em."

"Whatever you say, Sergeant." Jake hoisted the inert captain over his shoulder. Thomas steadied him and the two of them struggled back to where the troops were reforming.

"What's going on?" shouted Colonel Morgan, seeing Humbolt flopped over Jake's shoulder. "What happened to the Captain?"

"Beg pardon, sir. But I must put myself on report." said Sergeant Thomas.

"Report?"

"Yes sir, for striking an officer."

"You hit Captain Humbolt?"

"Yes, sir. We had to stop him. He was bound and determined to go after Miz Corinna."

And where is she, pray tell?"

"In the river, sir. We saw her go."

"Oh." Morgan drew a sharp breath. "Then she's lost for sure."

"Maybe not, sir," said Jake. "The last time we saw her, she was on her floor. . .sir."

"I see." Morgan shook his head. Anything was possible.

Humbolt shifted, rousing from the stiff blow to his chin. Jake swung him around and stood him down, next to the colonel.

Humbolt shook the last of the jab-caused cobwebs from his brain. He turned his fury on Thomas. "Damnation, Thomas! I'll have your stripes and your hide. Get a boat. We're going after her."

Morgan grabbed Humbolt's arm. ""I think not. Geoffrey. We'll have no heroics. We'll mount a search party tomorrow."

"But, sir. . ."

"No buts." Morgan shifted his gaze to the two soldiers. "Good job, Sergeant. You two may go. I'm sure you're needed elsewhere. I'll talk to Captain Humbolt."

Yes, sir." With quick salutes, the two headed toward their unit, reforming in the shadows.

Morgan loosened his grip slightly, giving Humbolt's arm a shake. "We can do nothing in the darkness. It won't do her any good if you drown. You have no idea where she might have floated, if she floated anywhere."

Humbolt yanked free. "Don't say that. We need to go now-not hours from now!"

Morgan faced off with his favorite officer. "Come with me. We've got lots of people to account for. Not everyone made it up here. We have more than just Miss McGinnis to find in the morning."

"But sir, the raft may not hold. We need to take a boat after her." Humbolt looked around for a boat and saw none.

"They're all gone-ripped away by the water. Captain! You have men to account for. I said, we'll mount a search party in the morning."

"But. . ."

"Do I have to put you under arrest and tie you to a tree? You're an officer! Act like one!"

Morgan glared at Humbolt, waiting for military training to do its work.

Humbolt stared angrily back at Morgan. Finally he dropped his gaze. Morgan was obviously right. He couldn't swim after her in the dark.

"Yes, Colonel," said Humbolt, raising his hand in a sorry salute to the authority figure in front of him. "Whatever you say, sir."

"That's better," said Morgan, a little more gently. "If she's still out there, we'll find her in the morning. Now, go find your men. If they're all accounted for, you can name a search party for tomorrow."

Heartsick, Humbolt turned away from the river. Tomorrow seemed a thousand years away. He couldn't wait until tomorrow.

In the darkness, Corinna fought to stay alive. Her little raft turned and bucked with the growling river. Sucking sounds assaulted her ears. Whirlpool after whirlpool spun by. The water roiled and tumbled, speeding along. Tree tops rushed by at eye level. The moon peeked out from behind the thunderclouds, giving Corinna a glimpse of her surroundings. At least the clouds continued to hold their rain.

The water shimmered and danced in the moonlight, stretching out across the flooded plain, now more like an inland sea. She raised her head enough to look at the trees that reached out for her like devils in the darkness.

A gigantic swirl formed beside her. A huge shape popped up out of the water. She sucked in a breath, staring at the huge, gnarled roots suddenly hanging over her head. The raft bucked with the wave, then settled down beside the tree that had just surfaced. The flood had come from up river, bringing this whole tree down with it. It swayed back and forth, overshadowing the raft.

Corinna stared in fascination as much as terror, unable to do anything as the snarl of roots rocked over her, then away, casting ghostly shadows in the increasing moonlight.

And just as quickly, another whirlpool took it down. Corinna stared at the deceptively smooth water left on the surface. No evidence of the giant tree remained. Corinna shivered, but not from the cold. "It could have taken me."

She didn't have long to think about it. Devil branches jabbed the back of her head, tearing at her hair and gown.

Ka-whump! The raft hit a huge, standing cottonwood tree with a resounding thud. Corinna flew backward, off the raft, into the tangled mass of branches.

She grabbed for a handful of anything to hang onto. The water tossed her about like a rag doll. Her hand closed down on a branch. The water tugged, trying to carry her off. She fought wildly to maintain her grip. The branch bent with her weight, completely submerging her in the icy water.

She kicked hard, and pushing up, her head broke the surface again. Gasping for breath, she spit out a mouthful of gritty water. She managed to hang on the branch, to stay with the tree. She caught a glimpse of her raft, still spinning from the collision, heading into open water in the moonlight.

Flailing against the relentless current, she got her other hand further up on the branch and pulled herself in closer to the tree trunk. Shivering, she forced herself to climb higher, into the crown of the big cottonwood, out of the still-rising water. The heavy bark of the old tree bit cruelly into her bare feet and hands. Warm blood trickled down her wrists from her lacerated palms.

The wind slapped against her exposed skin, whipping stinging branches against every inch. She bit her lip and scrunched herself tight in a crotch of the tree, well above the rising flood. Dripping wet, she had no protection against the wind. It sapped all the warmth she had. Shaking violently with every gust, she pressed her hands together tightly to stem the flow of blood from the deep scratches.

"I'm going to make it," she said aloud, to bolster her own courage. "He saw me. He knows I'm alive. I have to stay awake. He'll find me tomorrow."

A cold relentless fear gnawed deep with her. What if he didn't-what if he couldn't find her? What if. . . She shook her head, determined to throw off the doubts. She had to stay focused to stay alive through this treacherous night. Over and over again, she whispered, "He'll find me tomorrow." But the wind continued to howl and the river continued to rise.

"All present and accounted for, sir."

Jake's salute received a bare flip in return. "Very good. Are you sure all the boats are gone?"

"Yes, Cap'n. I'm sure. The only ones who might still have boats are the Indians."

"Indians?" Jake had Humbolt's complete attention. "Why the Indians?"

"Well, sir, they don't keep their boats at the river's edge like we do. Don't live there either. Not on the big river. They pull 'em up beside their teepees. Their permanent village is high and dry. The hunting camp, too. The boats were at the hunting camp near the river the last time we patrolled that way. I'll bet they still have boats. If you want to call 'em that. Bullboats. Them round things made out of buffalo hide."

Humbolt exploded. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I don't care if they're made of buffalo chips! If they float, we can go after Corinna. Thomas! You're in charge. Report to Colonel Morgan. Tell him we're all present or accounted for and that I've taken Private Samuels here as my search party. We're headed to Spotted Deer's village."

Jake's head spun around. "Couldn't we wait 'til daylight, sir?"

"Would you want to spend all night in that river, soldier?"

"Well no, sir. I guess not."

"Well then, get us some horses saddled. We need to get to Spotted Deer's people as quickly as possible. They might be willing to help us. She's part of the tribe, remember?"

Humbolt paced, waiting for Jake to get the horses. Would Spotted Deer help him? Would he even listen to him? They weren't exactly friends. Maybe not enemies, but certainly not friends. But Corinna was their friend and her life depended on him. He had to try.

The ride to the Indian encampment seemed to take forever. Spots of moonlight helped them along, but the ground was treacherous. The hummocks of buffalo grass and prairie dog holes were hard to see in the intermittent moonlight. Warming fires inside the teepees lit the way. Their glow beckoned the two horsemen into the camp. Several braves awaited the riders. They, too, had been watching the big river.

"Take me to Spotted Deer!" shouted Humbolt, swinging down from his horse.

Spotted Deer stepped into the center of the teepee circle. "I am here."

"Forgive my rush into your camp. I come to ask for your help. We have lost people in the flood. May we borrow your boats to search for them?"

Spotted Deer stared pointedly at the soldier while he considered the request. The soldiers had foolishly left their boats near the water. "Boats hard to come by. Not safe on black water."

Humbolt shifted his weight uneasily. For the first time, he regretted not taking the time to truly befriend these people, as Corinna had. He looked up quickly. "You know one of the missing. Miss McGinnis-You call her Moonlight Fire - the one who helped you?"

From behind Spotted Deer, a gasp escaped Senoma's lips. He flashed a disapproving look her way. "Quiet. Moonlight Fire is missing?"

"Yes. We saw her taken away by the water."

"She will drown. Not strong enough to swim against the river."

Humbolt winced at Spotted Deer's cold assessment of the situation. "She wasn't swimming. She was on her tent floor. It was carrying her away, like a raft. It was floating when we last saw her."

"Hmm." Spotted Deer regarded the officer standing before him. "Go. Sit. I must consider."

Spotted Deer motioned them toward one of the teepees. Following Senoma, he stepped back into his own teepee.

Senoma tried to guess the meaning behind the grim set on her husband's face. "Will you help our friend?"

"The water is angry. She is probably already dead. No sense risking our braves or boats."

Senoma stepped to his side. "But the young captain will take the risk. Not our braves. And boats can be replaced."

"He is a proud fool."

"He gives up his pride to ask for your help." Senoma touched his arm gently. "Would you not come after me if I were lost, my husband?"

"Hmmm." Spotted Deer ran his fingers down the curve of his wife's cheek. Their eyes met in a tender look. But his gaze quickly hardened. "Enough. Council must decide."

Senoma nodded and Spotted Deer stepped back outside, into the circle of braves outside the teepee holding the captain. Their conversation carried inside the small hunting tent.

"Can you understand them, Cap'n?" asked Jake.

"No. I wish I could." Humbolt stood, head brushing the sidewall.

"Think they'll loan us a boat? Think they'll help us?"

"I don't know. But I know it's Corinna's only chance. I'll take one, if I have to." He looked around. The interior of the tent was very spare: a couple of buffalo robes, skin bags, and the small fire in the center. Nothing much to help him if things didn't go his way.

"You can't do that, Cap'n. They'll kill you if you try."

"Then they'll have to kill me. I can't just leave her out there 'til the water goes down. If she's still alive, she'll freeze to death before we can get to her."

Humbolt clenched his fists in frustration. There wasn't even room to pace inside this tent. Finally, Spotted Deer joined them.

"It has been decided. One boat-that is all. We will only lose one boat to the black water. And we will send no braves. You must be the ones to go."

Jake cringed at the pronouncement. He knew nothing about paddling a round bullboat.

Humbolt breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Spotted Deer. I'm very grateful. We don't want to risk any of your people. We'll start now."

"No. At day break. You want to find her, not die. Only a short time remains. Senoma will wake you at first light."

Spotted Deer returned to his own teepee for the rest of the night. The camp noises quieted as the other settled in. Jake flopped down on one of the robes. Humbolt squatted beside the fire, staring into the smoldering embers, listening intently to the night sounds. After a short time, Humbolt shook Jake and whispered, "Let's go, soldier. They're all asleep."

Jake struggled to shake off the sleep overtaking him. "I don't think so, Cap'n. Look." A shadow loomed against the tent. "I think we still have company."

An unfamiliar face appeared in the doorway. The brave glared at them and uttered a few, clipped words, in his native tongue. Jake looked at Humbolt. "From the tone of his voice and the look on his face, sir, I don't think we're going anywhere. Not until he says so. And there's another shadow on the other side."

Humbolt nodded, seeing the dark spot on the teepee wall. He was forced to agree. He needed their help. They had the only boats on the river. He couldn't help Corinna if he got killed now. The two settled down on the buffalo robes to endure the few remaining hours of darkness.

Senoma found Humbolt pacing restlessly in front of the teepee in the breaking dawn. She held out a pouch. "Take this. If you find her, she must eat quickly. Icy water will take her strength and her life. This will help."

Humbolt took the pouch. "Thank you, Senoma. I'm very grateful."

"Come. The boat is almost ready." They walked through the bustling camp. Dogs and children were up in the morning light, following them to the water's edge. Spotted Deer looked up from his labors.

"Boat is ready. Take boots off. No boots on buffalo hide. Moccasins. Spread weight on branches frame."

"Shouldn't we start back at the army camp where we saw her last?" asked Jake.

"We're down river. She would have come this way." said Humbolt "If we put in here, we may be able to go up river in the flooded shallows, maybe catch a glimpse of her, if she's between here and camp, right, Spotted Deer?"

Spotted Deer nodded.

"If we don't find her, we can come back down river, toward Manuel Lisa's outpost. If she was carried that far, he may have seen her. She might be there."

Humbolt looked toward Spotted Deer questioningly. Spotted Deer shouted to a nearby brave. The brave raced off toward the village.

"Quiet Man will go. If she's at Lisa's, we will know. My people will search the bank between here and there. Come, we must go."

Spotted Deer joined Humbolt, pulling the boat toward the water. Senoma stared at her husband in surprise

Realizing Spotted Deer's intention, Humbolt said, "You don't have to come, Spotted Deer. The boat is more than enough." Spotted Deer aimed a bemused look in Humbolt's direction. "Have you ever paddled a bullboat?"

"No."

"Two of you not enough. One could not hold boat against the river. Must have three paddlers. Moonlight Fire came in the darkness to help us. We will help her-if we can." Spotted Deer finished, looking back toward Senoma.

Senoma held her head high, nodding in agreement. Her father, War Eagle, would be pleased with his son-in law's decision.

Spotted Deer shook his head, enduring the two soldiers' attempts to paddle the unfamiliar craft.

"Slow, slow," he said, taking a stroke with his paddle. "Hard stroke make boat spin."

Humbolt nodded and tried again, this time doing a little better. They finally practiced enough in the flooded grassland to get the boat headed in a northerly direction.

"Spotted Deer, the water isn't surging here. We can paddle up river without getting near the channel. We'll be able to see her."

"Maybe. If she on this side of river. Long way to quiet water on other side. May not see small one."

"Jake, keep a sharp look out. We have to find her."

"Yes, sir, Cap'n." Jake's voice sounded hollow, betraying his doubts about finding this particular needle in this watery haystack.

They paddled and paddled, each stroke more determined than before, past trees draped with debris from the army camp. Blankets and tent canvas hung on the branches of the huge cottonwoods.

"We should have seen her by now, Cap'n," said Jake quietly. "She wouldn't have gone any further than this old canvas."

"Hush, Jake," commanded Humbolt. "Keep looking!"

Spotted Deer remained silent, scanning the other side of the river.

"There. Look there," he said, pointing to a white splotch in the top of a cottonwood on the far side of the river.

"Is that her?" asked Jake. "I can't see that far. Could just be a blanket."

"May be her. White spot way above water line."

"We have to go look!" said Humbolt, paddling to send the little boat toward the spot.

"Not that way!" Spotted Deer shouted and dug in his paddle to counteract Humbolt's action.

Patiently he explained. "Must go up river, catch current and cross to her. Can't fight straight across, river too strong."

Humbolt's patience stretched to its breaking point. "Then we have to hurry. She surely can't hang on much longer!"

They paddled like madmen, to get far enough up river to catch the swelling current of the still-angry water.

"Now," said Spotted Deer. The three paddled hard to drive the bullboat into the mainstream, headed for the opposite shore.

Once in the current, they too spun and bobbed, heading across the broad expanse of swollen river.

"Be ready," shouted Spotted Deer. "Must paddle to quiet water before we get to her. Must go to her from shallow side."

Closer and closer they came. "Paddle," shouted Spotted Deer, "Hard!" The three bent their backs together, driving the paddles deep to send the bullboat into the quiet water on the eastern shore. Humbolt could wait no longer.

"Corinna!" He yelled her name as loud as he could. "Quickly! She could fall into the water before we get there!"

"She may not hear you. Cap'n," said Jake. "She may not be alive."

Humbolt's patience snapped. "SHUT UP! Don't say that again! Just paddle!" The knot in his gut cinched tight. The thought of her, lifeless in that tree, nearly strangled him with fear. She had to be alive; she just had to be. The splotch got bigger and bigger. A flash of red appeared above the white splotch.

"See, it is her!" Humbolt shook Jake by the shoulder to prove his point.

"Yes, sir. But she ain't movin'."

"Corinna!" Humbolt hollered again, desperately trying to cause some reaction in the tree. His voice penetrated the numbness in Corinna's brain. "M-m-m," she murmured, starting to shift. A branch poked her back to consciousness.

"A-h-h-ugh" she moaned, trying to turn away from the pain, too numb to really move.

"Corinna, don't move," yelled Humbolt, seeing her shift position. She was balanced precariously in the crotch of the tree.

She shook her head, trying to clear the numbness. "Geoffrey?"

It must be another dream. She leaned against the trunk. It was too much effort to open her eyes.

"Corinna, hold still, we're coming." They paddled wildly to cover the last yards of open water separating them.

"You go," said Spotted Deer, tying a leather thong around one of the lower branches to help hold the boat. "We hang on here."

Humbolt grabbed the bottom branches and pulled himself up, climbing hand over hand into the crown of the tree. "Corinna? Corinna!"

She raised her head groggily, toward his voice. "Geoff? Oh Geoffrey, you did come! I did hang on! It is tomorrow!"

She smiled and leaned forward toward him. Darkness closed in around her.

"Corinna!"

She slid from her perch in the tree toward him. With a mighty grab, he caught her around the waist. She hung limply over his arm.

"Dear God," he prayed, "let me do this!"

Heaving with all his strength, he thrust her back into the tree notch, then clamored up beside her. Settling himself, he slipped a loving arm around her waist, and pulled her to him. Her eyes still closed, she smiled and settled her head on his chest. He tried to brush her waterlogged hair from her face. She smiled again at his touch and raised her hand. He caught it and brought it to his lips. Seeing the caked blood on her palm, he cringed. What must she have endured over the night. Mud streaked her face and arms; red welts covered her tender skin. She'd fought the tree and won, won a place to stay in the raging river. She looked like a drowned rat-the most beautiful river rat he'd ever seen. Balancing himself, he shifted her inert form, trying to get a better hold on her for the descent.

"Corinna, please, listen to me," he begged. "Put your arms around my neck, and hold on. Please, hold on."

Corinna again stirred at his voice. "Geoffrey?"

"Yes, Corinna, yes." He gathered her in his arms. "Around my neck. Hang on," he whispered into her ear.

"Hang on," she whispered back, "I did hang on, so you could find me."

Reflexively her arms tightened around his neck. He had come! He had found her!

He choked back the love welling up inside. "Yes, you did hang on." He kissed her cheek. He had to get her out of here. Inch by tortuous inch, he made his way down the tree to the waiting boat. Jake reached for her, while Spotted Deer held the boat steady. The river current swelled in, as if trying to take her away one last time.

"Grab her, Jake. Don't let her go!"

"I got her, Cap'n. Get yourself in here, a'for this boat sinks."

"Boat not sink," growled Spotted Deer. "Good boat."

"Yes it is, Spotted Deer," said Humbolt, carefully arranging himself and Corinna on the buffalo robe in the bottom. "It's a fine boat."

He covered her with the second robe Senoma had included. She snuggled contently against his chest, the robe blocking the wind, warming her almost as much as having him near. Her pulse quickened at his touch, even though it was an innocent, gentle touch. They were together, that was all that mattered.

Mindful of Senoma's warning, Humbolt took a handful of the mixture from the pouch around his neck. Shaking Corinna, he said softly, "Senoma says you must get something down."

"M-M-M--no, " Corinna turned her head away from his hand.

"Come, now. Senoma's recipes worked before, you said so. Just a little."

Corinna raised her head, then nodded and took a bite of the mix. But that was all she could do. He didn't have the heart to push her. He tightened his hold and rocked her gently. How wonderful it was to have her in his arms again. He hadn't lost her to the river. They had won. She was alive and here and his. What more could a man ever hope for?

She leaned against him mumbling, "Tomorrow. You found me tomorrow."

Chapter Fourteen

"Well, you sure look grand," said Artie, stepping back for a better view. "It was real nice of Captain Berkeley's wife to give you this fine dress."

"Oh yes, wasn't it? She said she hadn't worn it since the baby was born. It still looks like new," said Corinna. The soft, cambric skirt billowed with her every move. "Everyone has been so nice to me. I lost everything in the flood. This is wonderful. I've never had such a nice dress for anything. It's a real wedding dress."

Corinna gently fingered the tiny pearl buttons running down her chest. "It's so pretty. Do I look like a bride, Artie?'

"You certainly do, my dear."

"Fit for a Captain's wife?"

"Fit for any man's wife-Captain or Colonel. You're lovely."

"And the big tent Colonel Morgan gave Geoffrey-we'll have the biggest "house" in camp." Corinna laughed. The supply tent was indeed much bigger than the sleeping tent either one of them had.

Artie laughed with her. "Well, you know, officer's quarters are always bigger than ordinary soldiers'. But the colonel is being very generous. Not used to one of his officers getting married on the trail, I'd say."

A bugle blew in the background. "Well, dear, there's your wedding march. Everything by the bugle, even a wedding."

The two joined the group of women waiting outside Corinna's tent. A wedding, especially a laundress to an officer, was an event to talk about for years. The late afternoon sun warmed them while they walked toward the commons area set up for the festivities. The camp had been moved up, high on the bluff, safely away from the meandering river.

The entire garrison, plus, many of the Indians had gathered for the event. Senoma and Spotted Deer had come as honored guests.

Morgan and Humbolt stood at the center of the commons, watching Corinna make her way past the crowd, hand resting on Doctor Gale's arm for support. The Doctor had offered to "give her away" in the ceremony.

Humbolt drank in her loveliness as she smiled and nodded to the well wishers on every side. The tightening in his chest tugged at him. She would soon be his, forever. "Colonel, isn't she beautiful?"

The Colonel smiled. "Yes, Geoffrey, she is. She will make you a good wife."

"I hope I can make her a good husband, Colonel. She's all a man could ever want."

"Or keep up with," whispered the Colonel, smiling. Humbolt nodded, knowing he would never tame Corinna's free spirit, just corral it now and then.

"She's all yours, Captain," said Gale, moving her arm toward Humbolt, once the two reached the center of the circle.

"I certainly hope so," he said, smiling down at Corinna, wrapping his hand around the tiny one she had slipped around his arm, catching her gaze, reveling in her radiance.

She smiled up at him, meeting his loving gaze. Her dreams of long ago were coming true, of her dark-eyed captain and her home in the new land.

They turned to face the waiting Colonel Morgan. Opening his well-worn bible, Morgan said, "This is one of the happiest events I've presided over. I've baptized babies and buried folks, but this is my first marriage."

The wedding vows were short and sweet.

Corinna's face glowed, repeating, "I Corinna, take thee Geoffrey. . ."

Once finished, Morgan beamed at the fresh-faced couple. "You may kiss your bride, Captain."

Geoff slid his arms around Corinna's waist. Her eyes glistened. Drawing her up to his height, he kissed her with the pent-up passion he'd held in since her wild ride in the river.

Arms wrapped around his neck, feet off the ground, she returned his kiss eagerly. The crowd roared its approval. The two remained in their passionate embrace, oblivious to the crowd. Finally Sergeant Thomas shouted, "Come on, it's time to celebrate. Right, Colonel?"

"Right! Bugler-Play "Peas in the Trencher"! Let's feed our new couple!"

The bugle caught their attention. Geoffrey set her down gently next to him, keeping an arm tightly around her, as if to make sure she wouldn't slip away again. The crowd swirled around them. Geoffrey kissed her again, ignoring the hubbub. Finally, Corinna said, "We'd better join the others. They'll wait for us to eat."

"I don't want to eat," whispered Geoffrey, running his hand suggestively down her back.

She felt the heat rise up her neck and snuggled next to him, under his arm. "We'll have the rest of our lives. Come, we mustn't be rude to people who've been so kind to us."

"All right," said Geoffrey, guiding her toward the waiting crowd, never losing touch with her. A huge table groaned with food. She stared at the abundance, amazed.

"Where did all this food come from?"

"From Fort Osage. When the sick soldiers got to the fort, they sent word down river about how bad things were. General Atkinson ordered their commander to send his supplies up here to us. He'll resupply their fort."

"Wonderful." Corinna turned to their waiting guests. "Please, fill your plates. There's plenty for everyone."

Privates stood next to captains while the food was passed out. Military protocol crumbled in the festive atmosphere.

"Here, Geoffrey, we must have a bite of the special cake the cooks managed just for us."

He opened his mouth wide and took the bite from her fingers, to the delight of the crowd. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him, insisting on a kiss to follow the bite. The crowd laughed and shouted encouragement.

Corinna blushed prettily, suddenly shy in front of all these people. Sounds of the fiddler caught her attention. "Oh listen, Sergeant Thomas is tuning up just for us."

"Well, Mrs. Humbolt-would you honor me with a dance?"

Geoffrey held out his hands to his bride.

"Certainly, kind sir," said Corinna. They whirled to the music. The happy crowd clapped and shouted while they twirled around the commons. She whispered into his ear. "I've dreamed again and again about sharing a dance with you."

"You needn't dream it any more," returned Geoffrey. "We'll share all our dances from now on."

"Now everyone must dance," said Corinna, at the end of their song. "You all must help us celebrate."

Darkness quietly settled over the dancing crowd. Night fires appeared on the perimeter. "Do you think we could slip away now?" asked Geoffrey, impatiently.

Corinna laughed, "We could try." Her body tingled in anticipation of the rest of the evening. They sidled toward the edge of the festivities.

"Oh no, you don't," said Artie, laughing. "You have one more surprise coming. You're not going to sneak off."

A crowd of revelers accompanied them to their honeymoon tent.

"Oh, Geoffrey! Look!" exclaimed Corinna. "My trunk!"

There, under the awning, sat Corinna's trunk, open to view, clean and sparkling, with its contents carefully folded and pressed. "Where did it come from? How did it get here?"

"We find," said Senoma, stepping out of the shadow. "Braves find little raft in shallows. We bring trunk to Artie."

"I took the key from your neck while you slept, dear -after they brought you in. You were out for three days. Plenty of time for us to get things all cleaned up. The trunk's a little worse for wear, but you didn't lose anything. You were sleepin' so hard that you didn't even know I'd taken the key."

"Artie thought it would be a great surprise," said Geoffrey, taking her hand.

"Oh, Geoffrey, it's marvelous."

Corinna dropped to her knees and ran her hands lovingly over the trunk. Tears of joy trickled unnoticed down her cheeks. She touched the white leather dress Senoma had given her. "I thought this was gone forever."

Senoma stepped to her side. "No. I clean. And these, too." With that Senoma raised a leather circlet, with Corinna's eagle feathers attached. "You should have them on today. This is your very special day."

Tears sparkled in Corinna's eyes. "Senoma, thank you so much."

Senoma smiled gently. "I told you before-you have the heart of a Princess. He would come." She nodded to Humbolt. "What do you say now, Captain?"

Geoffrey smiled easily, comfortable for the first time with their Indian friends. "I'd say I have the most wonderful wife on the prairie."

He glanced at Spotted Dear, then back at Senoma. "Of course, Spotted Deer might argue the point."

Spotted Deer almost allowed a smile and nodded. "They are both good women."

Humbolt's smile bounced from ear to ear. "That they are, Spotted Deer. That they are."

Corinna brushed back a tear of joy and knelt beside the trunk. Moving the leather dress aside, she caressed the embroidered white linen gown she and her mother had spent hours working on. Lifting the nightdress, she rose. Turning to Geoffrey, she said, "Could you stand to wait just a little longer? I want to be just right."

Geoffrey nodded, watching her disappear into the darkened tent with the precious gown in her hands. Snickers rippled through the crowd around the tent.

"Purty bad, Cap'n. Standin' on your own doorstep, on your weddin' night."

Geoffrey grinned at the ribbing. It was to be expected.

"Oh, she'll be worth waiting for," said another voice, bringing raucous laughter.

"Better make sure you got a floor, Captain. She might not stay otherwise."

He joined the laughter. "I don't know. I wouldn't want a floor to take her on another ride."

"Geoffrey?" Corinna's voice echoed from within.

"You better go, Cap'n. She's waitin'." Laughter again rippled through the crowd. He endured the teasing easily. Anything was worth enduring to be with her at last. Picking up the candle lamp, he stepped into the tent.

Corinna stood before him, her hair billowing like a scarlet halo around her face, her eagle feathers just brushing her cheek, the white linen gown almost touching the floor.

"You are an angel," he whispered, staring at her.

"No-Geoffrey, I'm real." She reached for his hand and blew out the candle. "Very real!"

They heard Artie shooing the crowd away. "Go on, give them some privacy."

Humbolt slid his arms around her waist, pulling her to him, wanting to feel her against him again. He carefully lifted the thong from her hair, gently dropping the feathers on top of the camp box. "We don't want to ruffle those feathers."

Corinna's infectious giggle echoed in the evening darkness. "No. I wouldn't want to earn those again."

"Do you think I can ever corral you to an ordinary house and home and a army wife's life?"

Corinna, exhaled a long low sigh and relaxed, reaching up, stretching the length of her body, so that every inch of her touched every inch of him. "I'm more than ready for a little calm in my life. And I can't think of anything better than an ordinary house and home with you."

Her adoring gaze fueled his desire, held in check for so long. His heart, mind and body connected, realizing at last, she was his. His lips sought hers, wanting her desperately, yet deliberately going slow, wanting to arouse her passions fully for their first time. He held the back of her head while his tongue probed her mouth. Corinna leaned into him, wanting him to feel the surging of her own passion.

He gently kissed the hollow of her neck, silvery white in the filtered moonlight. Carefully untying the ribbon holding her gown, he pushed it down, letting it drop around her feet. He followed the key's crimson ribbon with kisses. Her breasts grew firm at his touch. He cradled them in his hands, gently teasing one nipple then the other until they were stiff with desire.

Hastily, she unfastened the buttons of his shirt, wanting to touch him, wanting to feel his chest under her fingers, wanting to feel his heartbeat keeping time with her own. His breeches followed quickly. "My, you are not shy, my little one," he teased, delighted at her forwardness.

"I don't want to be shy with you," she whispered. Their bodies, sublime in their nakedness, fit together as though they'd been together for years. The intensity of her emotions throbbed through her. She tugged gently, pulling him down. She wanted to lie beside him. They stretched out on the pile of buffalo robes. Their body heat released the scent of the sweet grass padding below.

She ran her hand over his cheek, along his cheekbone and down his neck, caressing the long, thin welt. He shuddered at her touch. She kept her hand carefully covering the scar. "I want to make it right for you, to heal the wound in your heart you've carried for so long."

He drew back, but she followed her hand with her lips, kissing his neck ever so gently until he relaxed, allowing her to nuzzle the edge of his neck and collar bone, stirring his blood more than he ever thought possible.

"This must be the key to your heart, my love." he whispered, kissing the delicate spot underneath her key.

"Yes," she replied, lifting the ribbon from around her neck. "And it's all yours."

He raised his head and kissed her full lips again, sliding his naked body next to hers, pressing tightly to her, feeling her entire length again, as he had before.

Corinna responded unconsciously. Her body curled to meet him. Her hands slid over his hips and up his back, feeling the muscles ripple at her touch. His lips sought hers hungrily. His fingers caressed her again and again, bringing her to the brink with his touch.

Rolling above her, he began to caress her again, his kisses growing more and more urgent. She moved with him, spreading to receive him. He nibbled her lower lip, teasing her mouth open. He thrust deeply with his tongue, drawing her attention. He drew his fingertips across her abdomen, drawing tiny pleasure circles around the core of her heat. She arched toward him, shivering with pleasure. He could stand it no longer. His hips flexed quickly and he drove hard into the soft nest of curls awaiting him. She buried her face against his chest. Her nails dug into his back. He nudged her head back, to again reach her marvelous mouth. He covered it with a kiss, urgent and strong. He held her tight; his rhythmic pulses erasing everything except the rising passion within her. He drew his fingers down her body, awakening all her senses. Quickly pleasure filled her consciousness and she began to move with him. Long awaited desire swept over her, and a much-welcomed river of pleasure engulfed them.

As that river ebbed, he kissed her, again and again, as if to make sure she was still there. Finally exhausted, they drifted off to sleep locked in one another's arms.

The dawn broke gently on their first day together. He balanced on one elbow, watching her sleep. She finally stirred, prodded by the dawn's bright fingers stealing into the tent.

"Good morning, my love," he whispered.

She opened her eyes, smiling at him. "It isn't a dream. You're here."

"And I'll always be here. We'll have that home you've always wanted, in this big, new country you love. I may even learn to like Indians."

"Oh, Geoffrey, I love you so."

"And I love you. With all my heart."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him gently. She snuggled against him, even tighter than before, running a teasing toe down the outside of his calf.

A low growl escaped his throat. "If you keep that up, we may never get out of this tent."

She laughed. "Is that a promise, Captain?"

He slid a possessive arm around her slender, inviting waist, feeling their heat rising as they breathed together, matching heartbeats. "Yes, Mrs. Humbolt, it certainly is."

Their bodies entwined again to satisfy one another, to begin their new life in Cantonment Missouri.

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