Adadoda* (solo short)

[Patches McDuff]

Lovingly dedicated to Sgt. Smokepole--this one's for you Smokey! 


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*Adadoda - (Ay-Toe-Dah) Cherokee for Father.

http://www.wehali.com/tsalagi/index.cfm
http://www.native-languages.org/
http://www.cherokee.org/

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~Saturday August 1st 1874 ~ Early evening at the Southern Star~

Patches tapped the papers neatly into the folder and tucked it under the sling of her slowly healing left arm. This weeks reports were finally done. Including a full report of the attack on the Mission.

A bit awkwardly, using only her right hand, she plugged in the graphite key and checked the tape. That would automatically record any incoming messages that might come in while she was out of earshot, although she doubted there was anything left to message about. Since her left arm was still pretty much useless due to the stab wound she'd recieved during the fight a the Mission a little over a week ago, she'd done pretty much nothing but send and receive messages.

It was a good thing she enjoyed her job.

Once the key was plugged in and she was sure everything was in order, she turned down the lamps and exited the telegraph office. She would deliver the reports to 'Sleeps office then go scrounge something to eat.

Saturday nights at the Southern Star were usually "fend for oneself" nights. It was a night for socializing. Just about every Saturday night when they weren't on the hunt for some bad guy or other, Scarlet, Fritz, Rose, Johnny, Jimmy and Bo would head to the Ace for some good old fashioned celebration and libation. Sometimes they would all go, especially since 'Sleep wanted to visit Becca. They had become very close in the last few months.

Ella took her Sabbaths from sundown on Friday to full dark on Saturday. She spent that time studying or healing, as her faith would allow her to do no work on the Sabbath day. But Rose always made sure there was a big pot of stew simmering merrily away on the stove, and generally big fluffy biscuits--made fresh the day before--to spoon it over. Fine enough of a meal for a bunch of trail worn lawmen.

Patches smiled as she passed the lab. She could hear Bill and Ella speaking, apparently deep in discussion over some theological debate. This had become a habit with them. Seemed fitting on Ella's Sabbath and the night before Bill and Patches would attend Mass. It sort of kept one in "the mood".

Patches would sometimes sit in on such discussions but never when there was work to be done. Getting reports done and out by Saturday evening was her own rule. It allowed her to keep her focus in church, much preferring to concentrate on spiritual matters rather than codes, wanted posters, arrest reports or death certificates.

When she reached 'Sleep's office she rapped lightly on the door.

"'Sleep?" she called, then listened. Silence. Gently she pushed the door open and poked her head in. "'Sleep?" The office was silent, dark and empty. "Huh," she mumbled aloud. "Wonder where he went."

She figured he had probably gone to the house to eat. And that thought made her own stomach growl. So she laid the reports on his desk, straightened his blotter, and left. If he was any where near the kitchen she'd tell him she left the reports. Knowing 'Sleep, he'd prolly not want to look at them until tomorrow anyhow. It was, after all, a lovely evening.

Her moccasin clad feet made little noise on the smooth marble entry way of the house as she made her way to the kitchen. She could already smell the aroma of meaty stew and strong coffee. She quickened her pace, for once not stopping to walk the points of the huge black marble star in the center of the entryway (a game she played with herself similar to hopskotch, and something that Scarlet thought was just funny as hell. Patches claimed it was "good luck" and almost never failed to do it).

Licking her lips she quickly reached down plate and cup, dished herself up a healthy portion of stew over biscuits slathered with freshly churned butter, and poured herself a cup of coffee to wash it all down with.

"Gotta appreciate the little things in life," she said as she crossed herself, said a quick prayer and dug in.

As soon as she finished she rose and walked over to the huge double sink. She burped on her way and giggled a little. "Oh! Excuse me!" She said aloud although there was no one else in the room. Better out than in, her Daddy always said, but that was no excuse to not be polite.

Quicky she washed her dishes and set them in the rack to dry. The sun was just setting and turning the sky deep shades of purple and gold. She smiled, nodded to herself and refilled her coffee cup. Now was the best time to go sit on the veranda. Watch the sun go down and smell the acres of roses at the back of the house.

Yep. Life was good on the Southern Star. It was a place of grand beauty that reminded one that life wasn't ALL blood and dust and bad guys.

"Ah! There you are!" She exclaimed cheerily as she stepped onto the cobbled stone veranda.

Tensleep turned in his chair. His pipe stuck squarely between his teeth, his coffee cup in one hand. He smiled and stood.

"Here I are," he said. "Ya git them reports done?"

"Yessir," she said. "Left'em on yer desk. Mind if I join ya fer a spell?"

"Please do," he said, indicating a chair with a sweep of his arm. "Didja remember to eat?"

She took the proffered chair and rolled her eyes. "Yer gittin' ta be as bad as Ella," she teased. "Yeah I ate."

"Well sometimes ya fergit," he huffed. "An' I aint seen Ella all day so I wasn't sure she reminded ya." He looked at her. "Did she remind ya?"

Patches laughed. "Yeah, she reminded me. Five times." She shook her head smiling fondly as she got comfortable in the rocking chair and slowly began to rock. "Beautiful night huh?" She noted after a time.

"Yep. Right purdy."

One thing she loved about Tensleep. He always saw and appreciated the beauty in things. Even out on the trail. He leaned forward a bit and pointed. "Mockin' birds comin' out to play."

She followed his arm and saw them too. What a ruckus they made as they darted in and out of the branches of the trees! She couldn't help it, she laughed at their antics.

"How's the shoulder?" 'Sleep asked once again leaning back in the chair.

"Aw," she said lifting her arm a bit in its sling. "Pains me some but it's healin'. Ella says the stitches can come out Monday. Says it won't leave much of a scar. Acorse, she been puttin' one'a her potions on it daily. Stings like hell but smells good. Reckon I'll have to spend some time out on the range gettin' it strengthened up again."

"Reckon so," he said. "Lemme know when ya go. I'll go with ya."

"Alright," she smiled at him. "That'd be fun."

"Yep." He smiled, sipped from his cup and looked out over the land. Twilight was fast approaching, turning the world into a shadowed purple mass of wonder. A breeze blew the roses into rich waves of color and scent and both of them sighed with contentment. Neither realizing the other had done so.

"Patches?" 'Sleep asked after a long silence.

"Huh?"

"I been thinkin' about some stuff," he started.

She glanced at him sideways. "Don't do that," she quipped. "Always gits us inta trouble."

"Hey!" He defended, albeit good naturedly. Jokes like this were not uncommon amongst those that lived and worked at the Star.

Patches giggled. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm jus' hackin' on ya. Whatcha been thinkin' 'bout?"

"Been thinkin' 'bout the night of the attack on the mission," He sipped from his cup looking over the rim at her. Guaging her reactions no doubt.

She held her hand up. "It's all in my report," she said shaking her head a little. "In great gory detail." She was still upset at the loss of Brother Michael, God rest his soul.

"Even the part about that fella?" He asked.

She looked at him questioningly. "What fella?"

"The one you called "father". That fella."

"Oh!" She said, "him. Well like I said that's a long story. And no, not a lot of details of that is in my report, although he was there and thus got mention." She smiled.

"Well," he said. "I'm curious. An' I got time for a long story." He grinned. "An' so do you."

She looked at him cockeyed. "Curiosity killed th'cat yanno," she said shrewdly.

"Heh," 'Sleep chuckled. "Satisfaction brough'im back. Tell me."

Patches laughed. She loved the banter between herself and this crew. Kept things interesting. "Ya sure ya wanna know? Ya prolly heard stories like this a hundred times as well traveled as ya are. It's kinda tragic."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He settled back in his chair and relit his pipe. "I are all ears."

Patches smiled. "Well, lessee...where to start..."

"Try at the beginning," he quipped.

She looked at him sarcastically. "Before or after 'and then there was light'?"

'Sleep rolled his eyes. "C'mon Patches, who is he? To you I mean."

Ah. So thats what it was. 'Sleep, like everyone else on the posse, was simply trying to clear up a mystery. And he had asked her directly, which meant, by her own standards, she'd answer truthfully.

Patches smiled fondly and looked into her cup. "Father, friend, guardian angel, mentor." She said, then looked at him. "The white man calls him 'Sergeant Smokepole' cuz he's deadly accurate with that big ol' Sharps he totes. The Indians call him 'Little Skunk'."

'Sleep raised one eyebrow. "I heard some strange names b'fore but...Little Skunk?"

Patches chuckled. "Donno the whole story on the name but I reckon it might have somethin' ta do with things that happened when he was a baby." She wrinkled her nose. "But even with a name like that he's very much respected among the People."

"Which People?" 'Sleep was genuninely interested now, his whole demeanor had changed.

"Cherokee," she answered right away. "He was an Elder, Aniwaya Clan. Clan of the Wolf, the protectors. You know Cherokee?"

"Some," he said. "Sounds like a good clan for him."

"Oh yeah," she said emphatically. "He gets a little cranky when something he loves is harmed." THAT was the worlds biggest understatement! The last time someone had tried to harm her, he scalped him, gutted him, and cursed his eternal spirit. On the up-side though, the guy deserved it.

"So how'd ya find'im?" 'Sleep asked.

Patches laughed. "I didn't. He found me. Literally."

"Really?"

She smiled. "Really."

"How?"

She rocked back and took a long drink of her coffee. Her eyes narrowed as she collected her thoughts.

"It was January, Month of the Cold Moon as the Cherokee call it," she began. "1866. Not real sure of the day cuz I was real sick. Prit near dyin'. I do remember it was snowin' that day though. As much as it ever snows in North Georgia anyhow. I remember thinkin' the snow had come early, and it was like a curse that came with the carpet baggers and yankees. Like they brought all that frozen hell down with'em. As if the war wasn't bad enough...." she stopped taking another drink.

'Sleep didn't say anything. There was, after all, a right and wrong time for questions. His silence must have encouraged her, however, because she continued.

"After Atlanta burned there was one building left standing," she said as she looked out over the roses, her eyes getting far away as if she were seeing in the reds and yellows the flames Sherman dealt out like christmas candy.

"A catholic church, near Spring Street. Disremember the name now but I ended up in it. It was one of the few places indoors that one could get medical attention, manned mostly by nuns. I had a shoulder wound festering from a shot I took up on Kennesaw. Needed help and needed it bad. Took me a long time to recover, cuz of the short supplies and such. Figured it was better than any Yankee outpost. At least there I'd have some sanctuary. Stayed there pretty much till the end of the war."

She smiled some. "Reckon I got converted there. Them priests sure did know how to save your eternal soul!"

She drained her cup and set it down on the table between them. "After that though, there was nothin' left to do but go home. See if anything was left. I figured I was close enough. Daddy, Johnny, Buck and Ray would be there already if not shortly after. We'd rebuild, life would go on...."

Her words trailed off and she swallowed hard. A moment later she sighed. "But that aint the way it was. When I got ta Blossom Creek it was like a ghost town. There was nuthin' left. Our place was nuthin more'n a black scorch mark on the ground. The house burned down, the barn. Daddy's workshop. Everything. Gone. And there was no sign of any body bein' there for months. Not even game trail out back."

"Then the rains came. Seemed fitting in a perverse sorta way. I made a shelter of sorts, determined to wait. Surely Johnny woulda made it through." She shook her head. "A week later I was gettin' sick. My mamma died of pnuemonia when I was a baby, we all got it. Rain and cold and me don't get along well."

She sighed. "Figured I'd best git back to Atlanta. Get some healin' again, maybe check with the army outposts. They might know what happened to my Daddy and my brothers. Never did make it that far. By time I hit Codge's place right outside'a the city, I was fevered and coughin' and weak as a kitten."

"Who's Codge?" 'Sleep asked when she paused.

Again that fond smile. "Codge was the fella that taught me everything I know about telegraphin' and bein a courier. But that's a story in itself. Let's just say there aint nuthin' he didn't know." She chortled. "He's the worlds biggest information hound known to man. Magic on the key. He gave me my first job when I was 11 years old."

"How old were ya when the war ended?"

"Sixteen," she said. "A month away from seventeen."

"Dang," 'Sleep muttered.

"Yeah," She said reaching for her cup. She'd forgotten it was empty. "Lemme go git more coffee, ya want some?"

"Yeah," he said handing her his cup. "Thanks. Why don'tcha bring the pot?"

"I'm on it," she said ducking back into the house. 'Sleep smiled. She was always "on it".

She came back shortly with a hand full of cups and coffee pot. 'Sleep rose to help her as she was carrying all that one handed. He took the cups and put them down then took the pot and poured. They both settled back into their chairs.

"I wasn't sure which was worse," she said with a little shrug. "Seein' our house and lands burned or seein' Codge's place in shambles. But I wasn't exactly thinkin' straight at the time neather. Fever had gone way up, like the fires of hell burnin' in my head. Weather had turned cold. It was a time of extreme opposites.

"I come across a dead Reb sergeant nigh on towards midnight in a ditch b'side the road. Stole his coat to try to keep warm. Was too danged weak to build a fire and that might alert whatever yankee soldiers were in the area. So I curled up under it, wet wool and all, under a mimosa tree back away from the road. Figured to not wake up the next morning, but that was alright. The south was dead, my family was prolly dead. At least this way I could join'em."

She took a deep breath and smirked. "But no. The priests told me that God would provide, and He did." Her smirk turned into that fond smile again. "He sent me Smokepole A.K.A. Little Skunk. Like a dagum miracle he appeared outta nowhere...."

[Patches McDuff]

Dawn had come late, bringing the cold gray light to dimly illuminate the gray clad man on the gray dapple Appaloosa. He blended in well. A shadow amongst the shadows, his stocky figure only evidenced by the faded yellow Master Sergeant's chevrons on his battle worn uniform and only if one knew to look for them.

The chevrons and the earth, the only things not gray on this morning. The earth looked like blood. A giant streak of life spilled from the very heart of it, frozen in the gray.

His countenance as grim as the day, his natural discipline kept him serene in the saddle. His shoulders and hat brim were flecked with accumulating snow, yet sharp blue eyes observed everything. He didn't feel the need to move around much. Best to conserve what little energy he had left for the rest of the journey home.

Home. The thought was like a warm fire burning steadily in his mind. He hoped the village still wintered in or near the same place.

His eyes flicked and his hands twitched the reigns. The horse stopped, head hanging down. An old woman was crossing the road, dressed in black and leading a skinny cow. She looked up at him fearfully for an instant, and the haunted look in her faded eyes made his heart hurt.

He nodded once, slowly. She simply turned her head and walked on, eventually disappearing into the bushes.

Another small movement of his wrist and the horse moved forward, plodding along slowly, as if he were wading through something thick and nasty, three feet deep. Another step, and another, in a long line of steps taking him slowly and painfully--home.

A flash to his right caught his ever observant eye. Was that light glinting on metal or color? He stopped, finally lifting his head to take a deep look into the surrounding bush. Something...bright. Yes. But not shiny. Where was it?

Then the sound came. A strangled cough followed closely by the soft russle of bush. A groan, almost as soft and small as the snowflakes.

But the bright flash was revealed for the second time when the bushes moved. Yellow amongst the gray.

Curious now, his knife whispered from its sheath, ready in his hand. His other stopping the horse. Slowly and quietly he dismounted, ever ready for an attack from an enemy. Cautiously he went in, parting the bushes with his free hand. His sences all on the alert.

And there it was, the sergeants jacket, bundled under the mimosa tree. Looked to be a good jacket too. He relaxed and went to it. He could use another coat. His hand grasped the collar and lifted.

He stepped back, knife coming into battle position. Under the coat was a thin face, a shock of red hair plastered to it. The pale lips opened and another cough ensued.

He knelt down, uncovering the figure more. A boy. A young boy, gaunt and obviously very sick. He was clad in soaking wet leather clothing, his body curled protectively around a CS couriers pouch. One of the many "civilian volunteers" that risked their lives on the battle fields delivering messages between generals and sergeants like himself. Boys like this one "volunteered" for many reasons, the most common being "too young to fight". He wondered breifly how much action this one had seen.

The cold must have roused him then, for his head turned. His eyes fluttered half open. Eyes of the deepest green.

"Daddy?" He whispered.

Smokepole couldn't help but smile. As much as he ever smiled. He had sons, and missed the calling of his name. Adadoda in his language.

The green eyes glassed him, fevered mind attempting to make some kind of connection with what he was seeing. The eyes lit on his chevrons.

"Sergeant," the boy raised his hand in a shakey salute. "I'll be movin' on sir." He attempted to roll over and push himself up, but was laid flat by a horrible fit of coughing.

His experience must have been vast. His words spoke of that in a single sentence. Most couriers were not treated well by the regular army. "Move on boy!" was heard a lot, gruffly shouted when the courier was perceived to linger too long. It was best to do what you are told less you get your ears boxed. Nevertheless, they were invaluable to everyone.

Smokepole frowned. He had watched many young couriers die on the battle fields. And all for a simple scrap of paper and a fancy seal pressed in wax.

"Not today, Little One" Smokepole said. Something stirred in the older mans heart. He wrapped the boy in the coat, his fever burning even through the cold wool thicknes of it, picked him up and carried him to his horse. He was feather light and very small. Nothing more than a skeleton with skin. "Today we find you some help."

He rested the boy across the saddle and mounted in one fluid motion. He urged his horse onward, this time at a little faster pace.

[Patches McDuff]

"Dang..." Tensleep muttered.

Patches had her hands wrapped around her coffee cup as if she were feeling the cold from all those years ago...still.

"Yeah," she said taking a drink.

"The boy was you I take it?" He said, looking her up and down. Kinda hard to believe anybody could mistake her for a boy.

She chuckled. "Yeah. Hair was shorter then, just growing out. Lack of a steady source of food made me kinda skinny I guess. Baggie clothes and a strategically placed leather strop took care of the rest."

Tensleep coughed in his hand and wriggled a might in his chair. Patches just grinned.

"More'n one way ta skin a coon, I guess," he said. "So did'ee take ya to a hospital er sumpthin'?"

She leaned forward and poured herself another cup of coffee. "Nope." She said smartly. "He took me home. To his village in the mountains. Prit near right on the Tennesse-Georgia-Carolina border." She straightened up and thought about that for a moment. "Nah. That aint right. Reckon it was further north than that." She nodded once then continued.

"Donno how he kept me alive during the trip up there though. I was kinda in and out the whole time and according to him it took over a week to get there. I vaguely remember him building fires and drinking alotta stuff that smelled like burning pine sap and tasted like grass smells right after a rain." She shrugged then grinned. "Kinda like some'a the stuff Ella comes up with."

Tensleep laughed and raised his cup. "Ella. Bless her heart. So where'd ya end up?"

She smiled. "A little Cherokee village on the side of a mountain just covered with that beautiful yella pine. Yanno, the one's that're forty foot tall and seem to stand like sentinals? Don't remember riding in except it was at night. I remember the voices just a little." She snorted a bit. "I thought they were angels. The Cherokee language is just beautiful spoken."

Tensleep nodded and contemplated the bottom of his cup. He'd thought the same about some of the People's languages he'd heard a time or two.

"So at what point did he find out you was a girl?"

Patches laughed. "I heard this story so many times its almost like memory. And I surely would'a loved ta see his face when Silver Tree told'im!"

'Sleep raised his eyebrows. "Silver Tree? Oh wait." He held his hand up and closed his eyes a moment. "Doan tell me, lemme guess. Village Medicine Woman right?"

Patches grinned. "You got it! Woman was a saint I tell ya. Older with silver streaks in her hair. Patient as the day is long, and wise. Very wise. Prolly the wisest person I ever met. But she had a sence of humor too. Its said she went and got Little Skunk herself....."

[Patches McDuff]

Little Skunk sat crossed legged on his bearskin contemplating the objects before him. The fire flickered comfortingly and it was warm, if not a bit lonely, in his wigwam. His sons had not yet returned from the war, and this caused him a great deal of concern. He was using the mystery of the objects to distract him.

When he and the boy had arrived, he was met with much joy and he was glad. Yet it was dulled by the fact that his sons were not among the throng of people come to greet him. Then dulled a bit more when they discovered his "guest" was white.

His people were never ones to refuse healing when needed and the boy was obviously near death. If there was a chance to save a life, even that of a white man, the Great Spirit would look on them favorably. There would be much debate however, if the boy did not die, about what to do with him after he healed.

Little Skunk had handed the boy to Silver Tree without first dismounting. That was when he noticed the boy's belt buckle. A yankee US buckle worn up-side-down so that it read "S n". Southern Nation. A way to use what dead yankees no longer needed without getting those on your own side confused. This was especially common with civilian volunteers who didn't wear uniforms of either blue or gray. Towards the end of the war, Little Skunk had seen many such buckles worn this way, obvious uniform or not. The Blue Army had much more "stuff" than the Gray Army ever had.

Taking that along with the CS couriers pouch, it was absolute which side the boy had riden for. Yet another mark in his favor. If he had obviously been a yank, Little Skunk may not have stopped, let alone brought him home. More likely he would have stolen the coat and left the wretch there to die, not being worthy even of a mercy killing.

The things found in the boy's couriers pouch, told a more telling tale. Spread in a half circle around his knees were a few stubs of pencil, a half-full notebook, some loose papers, a match safe, a quarter of a quarter peice of hard tack in a small canvas bag, a silver watch with a braided horse hair chain and a little silver fob --obvioiusly a good luck piece, a rosary, a small bible with burned edges, a battered, torn and dog-eared code book with a faded blue cover, and lastly the pouch itself.

Yes. This one was loaded with experience. Odd for one so young. He was either extremely skillful or extremely lucky. Either way though, the condition of the items told Little Skunk that he had definately come through most if not all of the war.

He picked up the code book and thumbed the pages. Standard military issue although he doubted whatever commanding officer he rode under had given it to him. There were not many of these available. He supposed the boy had picked it up off a fallen comrad somewhere along the line.

There were neat notes written in the margins. This one was apparently well educated. Not only could he read and write, but he could also 'cypher'. It appeared alot of the notes, especially toward the back pages of the book, were also written in some kind of code. But not any code military or otherwise that Little Skunk recognized.

Suddenly Little Skunk's head was full of vision. He heard the screetch of an eagle echoing through the recesses of his mind, saw a wave of huge wings. White feathers with black tips, sharply contrasted against the clear blue sky.....

He put the book down, shaking his head just a little. The vision cleared.

He picked up the loose papers and leafed through them. Notes mostly. Tidbits written when time would allow. "Things to remember" so to speak. But then there were the drawings. That intrigued him. There were two of them. One of a tall bearded man, older, wearing a generals uniform. The other of a cabin in the woods.

Interesting to say the least. Pictures speaking words not unlike the written notes.

The last of the loose papers had a crumbling, red wax seal on the bottom portion of it. Words written in thin scrolling hand.

"Go home Patches" and below that a signiture. "General Joseph E. Johnston." The boys last orders. And probably the only message he'd ever read.

Little Skunk sighed. This alone spoke of stubborn loyalty. Orders with couriers generally contained orders for others, not themselves. Was he so reluctant to leave his commanding officer that the man had to ORDER him to go home? Probably.

He picked up the little notebook and flipped the cover. In neat hand was written: Patrick A. McDuff. Ah! Now he had a name for the boy assuming this was his notebook. He thumbed the pages. Probably his notebook. The hand writing was all the same.

Many pages were missing, torn out. But most of those that remained had writing on them. His eyes skimmed the writing, little tid bits jumping out at him.

"Home is where the heart is but where the hell is my heart?"
"Jimmy died today. God rest his soul - May 1863"
"Horse came up lame, was grounded for a time."
"Jesse shot in Vicksburg, need to reach Ol' Joe."
"Ride like the wind Patches, he said. So I did."

That last one caused him pause. Suddenly so clear in his mind the picture of the little man atop a thundering yellow horse, dodging flying cannon balls, leaping through billowing smoke, face grim with determination to simply get the message through.

He closed the book, not willing to linger too long, and picked up the pouch.

He ran his fingers over the heavy CS stamp. The pouch was worn but well kept. Turning it over in his hands he could see where repairs had been made, scrape marks on the flap where it had brushed against a stiff branch or something of the like.

He lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply. The scent of new leather was now long gone but other scents remained. Gun powder, woodsmoke, bacon, charcoal, blood.

Yes this boy, this Patrick A. McDuff, had seen more than his fair share of action. And bravely too no doubt.

He went to set the pouch down but it somehow flipped in his hand. When it did the flap came open and there appeared something shiny. Curious, Little Skunk lifted the pouch once again.

When he had emptied its contents earlier he hadn't dumped it. He'd reached in and taken the items out one by one. What he failed to notice was a pocket sewn into the very back between the two verticle belt slits. This metal thing had slipped out of said pocket when the pouch turned up-side-down.

He picked it up, ever the more curious, and was surprised. In his hand lay a tarnished but still readable Pony Express Carriers badge.

Surely the boy was too young to have riden for the Pony Express. Perhaps he knew someone who had. Or perhaps he wanted to but never could. Either way, this was very strange. And why keep it hidden in a pocket so obviously an addition to a standard issue pouch?

"Hmm," he mumbled out loud as he replaced it. "More questions."

Almost as an after thought, he picked up the heavy silver watch. The horse hair chain was hand braided. He wanted to believe Patrick A. McDuff had made it. Perhaps from the hair of the tail of his own horse. The horse that bravely and faithfully carried him onto the fields to deliver those messages.

He held it up to his ear. It was not ticking. He popped the cover. The watch had stopped at a little past three. But that was only a minor note made to himself. More prominant was the small picture in the cover. A hand painted portrait of a beautiful woman.

Little Skunk leaned closer to the light of the fire, drinking in all its tiny details. Perhaps Patrick A. McDuff was in love? No. The resemblance was too pronounced. More likely this woman was his mother.

He wound the watch. Nothing happened. He smiled. A boy keeps a broken watch only to remind himself of his mother. That alone spoke volumes.

"Little Skunk." Silver Tree's voice from outside the wigwam, startling him out of his revery.

"Yes?" He called back.

"I must speak with you," she said. Her tone was not to be denied. He rose, pulled on his coat and ducked outside.

"Is it the boy?" He asked, concerned. Why else would Silver Tree come to his wigwam herself instead of sending one of her daughters? It must be urgent news. Either the boy would live, or he had already died.

She looked at him seriously. "Walk with me," she said, then simply turned and began walking.

[Patches McDuff]

He turned up his collar, and fell into step beside her. It was still cold, but the snow had finally stopped.

"It is about your guest," she finally confirmed. She was leading him toward her wigwam but taking a round about way of doing it.

"Will he live?" He asked.

"No." She answered. Little Skunk sighed.

"Is he already dead?"

She tilted her head, looking forward still. "No."

He looked to his feet. "Then there is no hope." Why did this upset him so? His mind flickered to the objects in the boy's pouch. So much pride, loyalty, bravery and love in those things. It was unfair he should die.

"There is always hope," she answered.

He looked at her. "If he will not live, and he is not yet dead," he said ruefully. "Then there is no hope. He will die soon."

"No." she said, sucking thoughtfully on her teeth for a moment.

Little Skunk stopped. "No?"

She turned to him "No." She said as a matter of fact. "Your guest walks in two worlds. One of the obvious, the other, hidden. And when one wishes to hide something, the best place is in the open. Where everyone can see it."

Little Skunk was thoroughly confused. "You speak in riddles, Silver Tree," he said. "I do not understand."

She placed her hands on her hips. "Get your head out of the white man's world, Little Skunk," she scolded, tapping his temple with her finger. Still though, her eyes sparkled with just a touch of mischief. She pointed to her wigwam.

"He will not live and he is not dead because he is not a he at all." She turned with a flair of her furs and began walking again. Little Skunk stood rooted to his spot looking down and mulling over what she had said. Once he realized she was several yards away from him, he jogged to catch up.

"What are you saying, Silver Tree? I have brought home a ghost?" He asked flat out. By this time they had reached her wigwam, set far apart from the others. She smiled, lifted the flap, and swept her arm, indicating that he should go inside.

He ducked inside and was instantly assaulted by the strong scents of herbs, sweetgrass, and sage. A fire burned brightly in the middle, her daughters looked to him and smiled before returning to their work.

On a pallet made of bearskin and pine needles lay the boy, sleeping. The women had cleaned him up, and treated his wounds. His arms and part of his chest were covered with painted symbols, as was his forhead.

Silver Tree went to him, beckoning Little Skunk to follow. Once they had reached the pallet, she knelt, brought out a cool cloth and gently dabbed his face. He stirred, but only a bit.

Silver Tree, looked up at Little Skunk at the same time grasping the edge of the bearskin that covered the boy.

"Generally, Little Skunk," she said lifting the skin, yet never taking her eyes off the standing man. His eyes lit on a totally naked figure. "Boys don't have breasts."

His face must have shown his shock, for Silver Tree began laughing, as did her daughters. She let the skin down, once again covering the sick young girl.

"He's a she?" Little Skunk said softly. He could hardly believe what he'd just been shown. He'd heard rumors of course, of girls and women cutting their hair and dressing in their fathers or brothers clothing so that they could fight in the war, but they were just rumors! Weren't they?

His mind raced and he sunk to his knees. He reached out and touched the hand of the Little One, just now realizing he'd--er--SHE'D--been wearing a knitted cap this whole time. Her hair was now coiled loosely over one shoulder. It was a lot longer than he'd realized. She must have had it tucked under the cap. Looking at her face, he wondered how he'd missed it the first time. Of course in order to keep her warm on the trail here, he'd kept her clothed and wrapped in that coat, not even noticing her belt buckle until they rode in the night before.

He stood and looked at Silver Tree. "Will she live?"

Silver Tree smiled kindly her eyes flashing. "Yes."

"She will not die?" He asked.

Silver Tree shook her head. "Yes. She will not die."

He glanced down at the sleeping redheaded girl. "There is hope?"

Silver Tree took his arm and led him out of the wigwam. "There is hope. You may come visit as soon as the fever breaks."

[Patches McDuff]

Tensleep had stood as he listened to Patches tell the story. His pipe was clenched in his teeth. He had set his cup on the chair when he had risen. As he listened he had been breaking small sticks and placing them in the chiminea* where he lit a small fire. Once the fire was burning 'Sleep placed the coffee pot on the grate to warm.

"So how much longer did the fever last?" Tensleep drew slowly on his pipe.

"What did you see when you came to? What were your thoughts? I have so many questions. 'Course stuff like this doan ever really come clear 'til later. Often wondered what it was like ta be close ta death. Ain't never been there myself. Wounded yeah, mostly scratches an' such. But ta be sa close ta goin' over...."

*chiminea - Mexican pottery fire pot, see : http://www.thebluerooster.com/grapestyle.html

[Patches McDuff]

Patches sat back and contemplated the fire in the chiminea for a moment.

"Dang," she said finally. "I guess I never really thought about it. I remember it was like a dream. Real hazy and confused. I guess I might have been delerious. I seem to recall a lot of things that might not have really been there..."

She stopped, her voice trailing off faintly, like a breeze blowing by.

"Like?" Sleep encouraged softly.

Patches head came up and she smiled, slightly embarrased. "Like the angels." She said looking at him. "Or at least the things with the big white wings. Silver Tree later told me I was visited by a great white owl, the messenger, the one that carries the spirits of the People to the Great Spirit. And later still she realized my totem was the White Owl, but at the time I thought they were angels. Angels with voices that told me things."

"What kinds of things?" Sleep asked facinated inspite of himself.

Patches snorted. "Like to hold on, to keep on fighting, to not give into the heat or the cold or the pain." She looked at him. "I reckon I took their advice. Especially when the fever broke."

"What happened then?"

Patches laughed. "I woke up with two fists fulla dawg..."

[Patches McDuff]

Floating, floating, floating. Weightless in the dark. Surely she must be dead.

No. The world swam into reality slowly, in the form of solidity. At first she thought she was surrounded by a cloud. Soft. Warm. Comfortable. But the soft surely must be feathers not clouds. Feathers of the angel wings carrying her to heaven. Big white sweeping things, those wings....

No. That wasn't right either.

Her small hands clentched a bit, feeling out the solidity with her fingers.

Fur. That's what it was. Fur, not feathers.

No angles? She must not be dead. Probably a good thing. One shouldn't discount the advice of angels.

Feeling like her eyes were filled with sand, she slowly opened them, a little at a time. Not so dark anymore, dim maybe, but not dark. Her vision was blurred, watery even. Her whole body ached. Every little breath a burning brand in her chest.

Damn. Way too much pain to be dead.

Something moved under her hand. Her eyes slowly glanced down only to see the black nose and round brown eyes of a rather large dog. It's head lay on her chest, patient, one paw over her waist, looking at her.

Another dog lay next to her under her left hand. The fingers of both hands were second-knuckle deep in their fur.

She sent a silent "thank you" to St. Francis. As always he was looking out for her, sending these animals to keep her warm.

She remembered the cold. It seemed to last forever. Hell could never have been worse than that intence, bone deep cold.

Weakly she tightened her arm around the dog. A hug -- as much as a hug could be in her condtion -- just to convay her gratitude for his warmth. The dog licked her chin.

The other dog turned around beside her and poked his head out from under the bear skin. Ah. More fur. Now things were starting to make sense. Bearskin over her, bearskin under her, a dog on both sides keeping her warm.

She smiled inwardly. What better way to wake up from the brink of death but with two new canine friends and surrounded by soft fur?

She took a slow look around as the left hand dog wiggled out from under the furs and went off. The other one remained perfectly still, simply continuing to look at her.

The fire burned low. It must be awfully late or awfully early, one of the two. But it was still warm and merry, bringing the kind of comfort only a well made fire can bring.

Where was she? By the looks of the rough hewn walls she guessed a cabin somewhere. As her vision began to clear she could see the things hanging on the walls. Herbs hung upside down to dry in bundles, animal skins on the walls, lots of objects she'd never seen before.

There was a clue. This was no hunters cabin. Everything in it was very female looking too. She could therefore eliminate a mountain man or trapper....

Then her eyes lit on a strange circular object hanging just above her head. A ring with some kind of net in side, feathers and bones hanging down.

"Aw crap," she croaked. "Indians." She immediately regretted speaking out loud. There was more sand in her throat than in her eyes it seemed. She must have spent God-only-knew how long coughing up both lungs and half her stomach.

Now there was some concern. Was she going to end up scalped? Prolly not. Not if they had taken the time to heal her up. The bowls of herbs and water next to her were sign of that. But why help a white? She tried to remember what happened, letting her mind slowly sift though the shadowed and hazy images.

She remembered home. Remembered the rain, the snow. The mimosa tree, the dead reb, the coat. After that things got real fuzzy. There was something about a man, yellow, chevrons.

Her eyes came open. Was that the dead reb or a live one? She was confused. Obviously SOME body had found her, but who? And why?

Ugh. Too many questions and not enough answers. But then again thats how things always were.

Her mind started to drift then, only coming back when a cool breeze and dim light floated across her. The dog looked up and "woofed" softly. The other dog layed down next to her again.

She was unaware that she had begun to doze off, her eyes had gone closed as her mind attempted to sift through the images, not sure which were memory and which were delusions.

Suddenly a gentle hand held the back of her neck, lifting her head. Cool water was held to her lips. She sipped greatfully even before her eyes could come open. When her eyes did come open she looked into a kind brown face.

The woman spoke to her, smiling, but she couldn't understand the words. She remembered the language though. At the time she thought they were the voices of angels....

Patches simply nodded hoping she was saying the right things. The woman looked up and spoke. Apparently there was more than one person in the room.

Someone answered then left. The older woman began to bathe her. Patches eyes following every move she made.

Then the realization hit her. She was naked. Which meant they obviously knew now that she was not a boy.

"Shit," she thought. "This is gonna be tough to explain."

The door opened again and there were more voices. Next thing she knew the Sergeant was kneeling next to her, taking her hand, smiling, happy.

"Hello, Little One," he said, his voice deep, soft, fatherly. "How are you feeling?"

[Patches McDuff]

Tensleep snorted as he stood to light the four carbide lanterns Bill had instaled in each corner of the veranda.

"What'dja tell'im?" He asked as he struck the match. He always thought that was a silly question, especially when the answer was obvious. Just looking at her would have told him the answer.

Patches snorted. "Told'im the truth," she said with a half smile. "Told him I felt like six yards of stir fried road apples comin' from the south end of a north bound mule."

'Sleep paused with the match halfway to the lantern, looking at her. "Ya said all that?"

She glanced at him mischeviously. "Well, I believe what came out was "shit". But you know," she winked. "Polite company and all."

'Sleep lit the lantern and laughed. "Silly girl," he said as he dug out his makins and repacked his pipe. Once it was lit and going nicely he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

"So?" He asked around his pipe. "How long did it take you to recover?"

Patches leaned back and sighed. "Dang. Forever. Yanno its funny how healin' works." She indicated her wounded shoulder with her chin. "Inna week'er so this li'l scratch here'll be right as rain. Takes a whole lot longer for a whole body to heal. It was prit near summer when I finally got outta that bed."

'Sleeps eyes widened. "That long?"

Patches nodded. "That long. And within the first two weeks I was goin plum stir crazy."

"Dang," 'Sleep leaned back in his chair. "I would be too. So whadja do?"

Patches smiled. "Same thing I always do in a strange situation. Stay put, observe, attempt to make friends. Little Skunk came to visit every day. We talked alot. At first it was just simple stuff. You know, name, where ya from, that kinda thing. But we both knew we had a lot in common, more than most folks I reckon, cuzza the war. Eventually we opened up to eachother and started tellin' stories."

She paused thinking, her face showing a range of emotions. She took a drink and swallowed hard. "I'd like to think we told eachother things that we'd not share with anyone else. Stuff I sure as hell wouldn't wanna repeat."

Her face relaxed and she smiled. "But that was part of the healin' process too I reckon. For both of us. With everyone else he was very serious and almost scary. Intimidating kinda. But with me he was relaxed and smiling, I even heard him laugh sometimes. He sure taught me a lot."

"Little Skunk taught you the language?" Sleep wanted to confirm.

"Yep. He told me once he was surprised I picked it up so quick. I told him I was just determined." She shrugged. "I guess it was more curiousity than anything else, at least at first. I still had those voices in my head. I wanted to know what they said." She paused contemplating the bottom of her cup. "More than that I wanted to know what they MEANT."

Tensleep was observing his deputy very closely. "Ever figure it out?"

Patches snorted. "Still figgerin' it out. Every now and then, even now, somethin'll happen and a little more'a that time will come clear. I reckon it's a life long thing. At least that's what Silver Tree said."

"Hmm." Sleep leaned back once again. "So whadja do while you were stuck in bed?"

Patches smiled. "Kept as occupied as possible. Once I had a better grasp on the language it wasn't hard to get Silver Tree and her daughters to teach me things."

"Like all that braidin' ya do?" He asked with a smile. She'd made him a beautiful lariat for his birthday this year.

"Braidin', beadin', tannin' small hides, sewin' of sorts, workin leather, weavin'," she replied. "Name it. Anything I could do without gettin' outta bed, I learned how to do. Little Skunk still has a dream catcher and a coupla pouches I made'im, far as I know."

"And ya still do alla that stuff." Sleep smiled.

"Yeah. I find it relaxing. Always have a project'er two handy."

"Kinda like Ella with her tattin' I reckon. Notice she does that while workin the telegraph."

"Yep," Patches chuckled. "We both do. Sometimes there's not much ta do between messages incomin' er outgoin'. Would rather man the lines though, just in case. Can't always count on the graphite key. I like doin' projects with Ella. Nice ta have someone there to share things with in that sorta way."

Tensleep smiled softly but didn't say anything. He knew it was difficult at best for Patches to feel feminine, especially with her job the way it was. He was glad that she and Ella and Scarlet had each other for sharing such womanly things.

"Anyhow," she continued suddenly. "Once I was able to get out of bed and move around the wigwam, Silver Tree started teaching me other things."

"Medicine?" Sleep encouraged.

"Yeah. I was really facinated. By time I got to the point where I could go outside, she was thinkin' on teachin' me all she knew."

Sleep raised his eyebrows. "Really? Did she?"

Patches refilled her cup and looked down. "Nah. Never got that far. By that time the tribe was still devided as to what to do with me. Little Skunk and Silver Tree were trying to figure out a way for me to stay, I guess they saw some things in me that would be helpful, and I sure as hell didn't want to leave. After all, I didn't have anything to go back to, and I found Indian life rather peaceful. On the other hand, not only was I red-headed and white, but I was also female. Tribe had lots of females already."

"Dang," Tensleep muttered. "How'd you manage to stay?"

Patches grinned. "By showin' off."

"Huh?" Sleep leaned forward. "Whatcha mean?"

Patches laughed. "Right around mid spring, Silver Tree and Little Skunk were still debating on who should adopt me. Silver Tree already had three daughters but she saw that I might make a good Medicine Woman and wanted to teach me. Little Skunk I think was just lonely. He had three sons that had still not returned from the war. It was the consensus of the Tribe and himself that they had all died. He wanted a family again, and he and I had become more than close. In fact, secretly, out of earshot of everyone else, I had already started calling him "Adadoda" or "Father". I guess it felt good to be someones daughter again, I wanted that family feeling too.

But there was trouble brewing in the Nations. Several rumors had come to light that the soldiers were once again planning attacks on the tribes there. We'd sent several riders to warn them, but they never made it."

"Wow," 'Sleep said turning his chair a little more to face her. He poured them both more coffee. "What happened?"

"Chief Mountain Bear held a pow-wow." Patches said. "I was allowed to attend because Silver Tree insisted, but I had to promise not to say anything and just observe." Patches cleared her throat and grinned. "But that trick never works...."

[Patches McDuff]

"STOP!!" Silver Tree's voice as sharp as her sudden movement, causing a flood of sudden silence. Patches uncovered her ears and shook her head a bit. "Arguing is not going to solve this problem."

Silver Tree had moved to the center of the circle, walking stick in hand. "We all understand we have probably lost some of our bravest, fastest men." She was turning in circles to look at each individual. "We understand this a grave duty, that our people must be warned. We undertand that we have attempted to do this and have met with no success. What we need now is a new plan."

"There is only one safe way to the Nations, Silver Tree." Running Wolf spoke up. Running Wolf was one of the tribes finest braves. Several men nodded.

Patches snorted to herself. That was silly. For every way in there were several ways out, thus several ways in.

Silver Tree looked at him, hand on cocked hip. Running Wolf was a brave man but not long on brains. "And that way is no longer safe," she said pointedly. "Is it?"

Running Wolf opened his mouth to retort, but decided he could not refute her logic. He sat down, pensive.

"What do you propose we do, Silver Tree?" Mountain Bear asked.

She turned to him, looking at him but saying nothing.

"I value your wisdom," Mountain Bear smiled just slightly. Silver Tree relaxed.

"Send in someone who knows the lay of the land well enough to take a different path. Disguise him so that he is not so obvoiusly one of our tribe." It was as simple as that.

Mountain Bear nodded puffing his pipe thoughtfully. He looked around the wigwam. "Who knows a different path?"

Little Skunk stood. "I do. I will go."

Patches head snapped up and she gasped softly. If Little Skunk went and died, she'd be lost!

"No." Running Wolf once again on his feet. "I am the bravest and fastest. Show me the way and I will go."

Several people in the room rolled their eyes including Silver Tree. Running Wolf was a glory hound with no horses.

"Sit down Running Wolf," she said flattly. "You are fast and you are brave but you also have a woman and children. And should a fight come here, we need your skills."

"I will go." Little Skunk offered again. It seemed so simple to him. After all he was older, had no family other than Little One, and he could easily disguise himself as a white. They'd never suspect.

Mountain Bear eyed him up and down. "You are an Elder," He stated flatly.

Little Skunk turned to him. "So?"

"So you are needed here." Mountain Bear held his gaze. "I cannot throw away one of the Counsil."

Little Skunk didn't know whether to be honored or insulted. His skills were obvioius yet Mountain Bear was right. In the hierarchy of things, Little Skunk was needed. He sat down, deciding to be honored. "I can show someone the way."

"You could," Mountain Bear nodded. "But who do we have to go that does not need to stay?"

That question brought impact to the whole. It was hard times for all tribes, men would be needed to hunt and protect, women were not even a consideration.

Patches, who had been thinking hard, shot to her feet.

"I will go." She said lifting her chin proudly, even though her stomache was full of butterflies. Every eye in the place turned to her.

"Many Colors! Sit down!" Silver Tree hissed, mortified.

"Forgive me Silver Tree," Patches said. "But I cannot. It makes sense." She stepped into the center of the circle. She addressed Mountain Bear directly, and not with downcast eyes. "I speak out of turn and without permission but I beg an ear."

Mountain Bears eyes flicked to Little Skunk who stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. He shrugged one shoulder. Mountain Bear guestured toward Patches with his hand.

"I am not a member of this tribe." She said still only adressing him. "But you have cared for me, made me well, fed me. For this I am grateful."

Mountain Bear nodded, slightly surprised that this little woman had such a strong voice and knew the appropriate way of speaking to an Elder.

"I have slept easy, and found peace," she continued. "For this I am also grateful." She bowed her head just slightly. "As I stand, I know I am useless to this tribe."

At that Little Skunk's eyes widened and his body jerked. Patches eyes never left that of Mountain Bear's however. She was intent on making her point known.

"I have not totem, no purpose, no clan. Yet I am grateful and thus would ask to be allowed to show my gratitude. I know the way. I am white and a woman. Who would suspect? I am light and fast. During the Great Battle of the Whites it was my job to deliver messages to those of great importance. This is my experience as I am alive to tell you today."

Mountain Bear raised his eyebrows. It was a good arguement. He nodded slowly thinking.

Patches straightened up. "Who can refute this argument? If I should die than your people will have one less mouth to feed."

"And if you live?" Mountain Bear asked.

"Then the message will go through, the people will be warned. The people will survive." She shrugged. Just that simple.

Mountian Bear smiled slightly, a spark showing in his deep brown eyes. She had asked nothing for herself which is what he had expected. He glanced at Little Skunk. "What say you Brother?"

"I see Many Colors as my daughter," he said after stepping forward. "I would not wish to see harm come to her. But her words are wise. If it were my decision to make I would let her try, though her loss would affect me deeply."

Mountain Bear nodded. "Silver Tree?"

"I cannot refute her argument," she said. "She came to us as boy and we discovered she was not. She is light and fast. She knows the way. I believe her heart is in the right place. I say let her go."

"Enough!" Running Wolf shot to his feet, his skin redding with anger. "You cannot send a woman to do a mans work!"

Patches bristled but said nothing. She would not dishonor the men before her, her Father or this gathering. Still though, she couldn't help but flair a bit herself.

Running Wolf pointed accusingly at Little Skunk. "You seek favor with the Elders as to whether the woman stays or goes. If she were to survive and come back the Elders would vote her into this tribe and our blood would be weakened further." He turned to Mountain Bear. "Isn't one half breed enough? Send them both away and I will go!"

"Running Wolf, SIT DOWN!" Mountain Bear, who was never one to raise his voice in any situation, shouted. "Little Skunk is a respected member of this tribe. I will not have you insult an Elder in my own wigwam under sacred pow-wow! Remove yourself!"

Little Skunk turned to Running Wolf. "Glory will not help you save face, Running Wolf. We all know about you. Do as you are told and leave."

"I will leave," Running Wolf said softly after a moment. "But if you do this thing you will all be sorry." And with that he pounded out of the wig-wam.

"I will deal with him later," Mountain Bear spoke. He looked at the other Elders in the circle. "What say this Council."

He looked each one in the eye and each one slowly nodded. Then he looked at Patches.

"What do you need?" He asked plainly.

"A fast pony, and rations for a week," She said.

Mountain Bear nodded. "How will you go?"

Instantly she knelt and began sketching a map on the floor. "I will go this way." she said marking the route noting the locations of the known military outposts as well as pertinent landmarks. "And come back this way." She outlined another route. It did not escape the notice of the Elders that although her way would take a bit longer, it would avoid most of the military. The way back was more remote yet, faster travel.

"When will you leave?" He asked once his understanding was correct.

"Before dawn," she said once again standing. "The sooner the better."

Mountain Bear nodded. "You may go." He said as he lit his pipe and puffed. His word was law. He looked up at her. "I wish you well," his eyes lit up, "and a safe return."

Patches grinned, then nodded. She turned and walked out of the building.

Outside, Little Skunk cought her elbow. "Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked in English.

"Yes, Father," she said. "It's the only way."

"Come then, we'll find you a pony." Together they walked to the stand of horses.

An hour before dawn she was dressed in her old leathers, her hair tucked under a hat, looking for all the world like a young boy again. She mounted the paint pony and settled herself into Little Skunks saddle. She looked down on him.

"Take this," he said handing her a Colt's '61 and a pouch of munitions. "Be safe Little One. Come back to us."

"I will Father," she smiled tucking the pistol into her belt. "No worries." She leaned down and hugged the older man. Surprisingly enough, he hugged her back.

Then she simply turned and looked ahead. "HYAH!" She shouted and the horse got moving.

Little Skunk looked after her until the darkness swallowed her....

[Patches McDuff]

'Sleep picked up the coffee pot and poured both cups full again. After placing the pot back over heat he knocked out his pipe and began to fill it.

Patches sat looking into the night, some distant memory occupying her mind.

"Long way to tha Nations girl. How did it go? Shoulda been lotta boys tryin' to find their way home. Some o' 'em mighty sore 'bout Lee's surrender."

Tensleep puffed his pipe and then sipped the hot coffee.

Patches head had snapped up when he mentioned discharged soldiers.

[Patches McDuff]

Patches looked into her empty cup, forcing herself to relax. She set it on the table and leaned back with a sigh.

"For the most part we avoided each other, to tell the truth." She looked out over the roses that could no longer be seen. The rich fragrance was strong though, letting her know they were still out there dispite the darkness. Tensleep reached over and refilled her cup.

"I never was sure which was worse, the war itself or the aftermath." She continued absently placing her hand over her heart. "They kinda stayed together in groups of 4 er 5 or so. Sittin around small fires or walkin back home. Didn't see'em up close alot. I was kinda careful to avoid any trouble. Made my heart hurt though, seein' those boys with their pride stripped from'em." She sighed heavily, then picked up her cup.

"Only ran into one ambush," she continued her eyes narrowing. "Reckon I was lucky."

"What happened?" 'Sleep asked sitting back.

Patches turned toward him, coffee in one hand, her other elbow resting on her knee. "It was shortly before dusk on the second day out," she said. "I was lookin' for a place ta hole up for a few hours. Git some sleep, rest my horse, that kinda thing. I come up onna thick stand'a trees and was pickin my way through it when outta the blue here come three fellas...."

[Patches McDuff]

"Hold it right there boy!" Said a gruff looking older man as he stepped out from behind a tree. Patches horse, startled, danced backwards a few steps. The bushes russled on the left and right and here come two other men. The man in front of her toted a rifle, the other two--pistols. They were all wearing a hodge-podge collection of Confederate military items.

"Whoa, easy Mister," Patches said. "I'ma jus' passin' through."

"Ya done passed through," He said taking a step forward. Patches horse whinnied and skitted to the side. "This is as far as yer goin', least ways with thet horse."

"Sorry Mister," She said trying to calm the horse and look at all three men at once. "I got someplace I need ta be."

"Not taday," he retorted, leveling his rifle at her chest. "Taday you give up yer horse'n yer supply to the Army of the Confederate States of America. Join with us and we'll letcha live, either way though, thet horse is ours."

Patches was shocked but only for a second. She slipped her hand under her coat under the guise of calming the horse, who still danced under her. "War's over Mister, Lee surrendered." She stated trying to buy some time. "Don'tcha know thet?"

He grimaced at her, his mustach barely showing his teeth it was so long. "Lee surrendered," he said. "We din't. Now git down offa thet horse."

Just then the man to her right stepped up and began rifling through her saddle bag. "Boy's got stuff Clem," he said. "Food, ammunition, might be some medicine here."

"Thets Captain, dagummit!" He hissed at the man. Patches glassed his uniform. Rank said Corporal. His eyes flicked back to her.

At that moment Patches saw her opportunity. She flinched her leg against the horse who skittered sideways knocking the man at her saddle bags for a loop. His pistol flew from his hand as he landed backward a few feet away, hitting his head on a rock.

Patches lifted her elbow, pointed Little Skunk's '61 as close as she could to the man on her left and pulled the trigger. She felt the hot flash burning her shirt, side and part of her thigh. A gaping hole appeared in the flap of her jacket, but a bigger hole appeared in the shoulder of the man. He too fell backward dropping his weapon.

Quickly Patches wheeled her horse drawing the pistol at the same time. She pointed it at the leader, even as the horse moved toward him. Surprised he stepped back, raised the rifle and pulled the trigger but the shot went wild.

By the time he'd realized what he'd done, it being only a single shot rifle, she and the horse were on top of him pushing him back.

"Drop the rifle," she ordered. "Do it NOW!"

He shook his head and began to smile, his other hand reaching under his coat. She nuged the horse who's flank rammed him. He spun, falling down. Rolling over he crab walked backward, the rifle forgotten.

"Clem!" The other man screamed. "He done shot me Clem! I'm shot!"

"Shut up Jed!" Clem hollared back.

"I'm shot Clem," he moaned. "Gonna die Clem!"

[Patches McDuff]

Patches felt behind her with her free hand, digging in her saddle bags. Her eyes never left the man infront of her, her gun never wavered, but she wasn't going to let this situation get any worse than it already was.

Her hand came back holding a small canvas bag. This she tossed at the "Captain".

"There's bandages and some medicine in thet bag," she said. "Go tend ta yer man."

Slowly he took up the sack and gained his feet. He went to his man, Patches and the horse right behind him.

"Shut up Jed," Clem said as he ripped open the mans shirt. "Ain't bad."

"You damn skippy it ain't bad," Patches said coldly. "Dang ain'tchoo boys had enough killin fer one century? War's over Captain. Go home er go west, but just go!"

He looked up at her thinking about a smart retort, but by that time the boy and the horse were gone....

[Patches McDuff]

"That the only trouble you ran into? Couldn't have been that lucky."
Tensleep sipped his coffee and watched Patches.

[Patches McDuff]

"Luck kinda runs in the fam'ly. After that I just ran like hell," Patches snorted. "Ran like the devil himself was after my sorry butt." She shook her head. "Well... until we run acrost a stream that is. Horse needed a drink I reckon. Smelled that water right out. Was way after dark by that time and that burn in my side was stingin' sumpthin awful! Horse knew where to go though, he had it right. Got us to a stream and I was able to cool off that burn then turn around and eat some. Fed him, fed me, hell we just sat there for I donno how long. Shakin like a leaf I was."

"Were ya lost?" 'Sleep asked. He'd been on the run a time or two. At night when you couldn't see the landmarks all that well it was easy to get disoriented.

"Yeah," she admitted although she hated it. "A little bit. Got my bearin's come light. Prit near ran into a Yankee out post though. That wouldn'ta been good."

"No it wouldn't." He admitted. "So what happened after that?"

She shrugged. "Got myself as close to the Nations as I could get without bein' seen. Then it was time ta change clothes." She snickered.

"Change clothes?"

"Yep. Had ta turn myself back into an Indian, otherwise they'd've run me off or run me through...."

[Patches McDuff]

She sat braiding her hair, the last embers of the fire glowed dimmly. Wrapping one thick lock around the other rythmically until she was able to tie them off with strands of died leather. Yellow, red, white, black. First one then the other, the whole while her mind chanting what she would say to them over and over in Cherokee.

Once done with herself she stripped the paint pony of Little Skunk's saddle and tack, stashing them under a rock out cropping. Once her deed was done here she'd recover, change and start the journey back home.

Home. As of this past winter she never thought she'd hear her mind speak the word again. Home.

She bent down gathering the leather skirt of her dress around her calves and placed her hand in the ash of the fire. Then she placed her hand on the horse's flank. Medicine hand. Good advice from Adadoda. They would recognise the sign of the tribe on the horse long before they recognised her as one of them.

She wove a strand of turquoise into the pony's mane-- gift from Silver Tree--added a few feathers--eagle and owl, then mounted bare back.

"Ready boy?" She asked the horse. Old habits died hard and there were times when her horse was the only one she had to talk to.

The paint bobbed his head as if in answer and she urged him forward.

Dawn was well on the rise when she reached the Nations. She saw no scouts or look-outs and thus rode in as if she belonged there. She had nearly reached the first stand of dwellings before some one called out and a very large group of men came running.

Patches swallowed hard as they approached not sure if they were going to listen or kill her. She stopped the horse and waited. Three men pushed their way to the forefront.

"Greetings Great Ones! I am Many Colors daughter to Elder Little Skunk," she called out before anyone could say anything. "I come with an urgant message for the Chiefs from Cheif Mountain Bear of Aniwaya Clan..."

[Patches McDuff]

A larger tough looking man wearing feathers in his long braided hair and cradling a staff in his arms stepped forward.

"Chief Mountain Bear is my brother," he said, suspicion dripping from his words. "He would not send a woman. And I know Little Skunk. He has no daughters."

Patches looked at him straight on. "Forgive me Wise One. Little Skunk and I are not related by blood, but by experience. We came through the Great War seperately, yet together, until the end when sickness came to claim my life and Little Skunk honored me with the healing of the People." She amazed herself that her words came out flat and calm, the opposite of what she was feeling in her stomach. "Cheif Mountain Bear sent many braves each moon for many moons, but they failed. Some never returned. I come with this message to honor the People for saving my life."

His eyebrows rose. "You come of choice?"

"I do." By this time another man had come up to inspect her horse. Her body tensed when he approached but her eyes never left that of the Cheif before her.

"Pony wears Medicine Hand," the man beside her said. The Chief's eyes glanced at the horse, taking in all the tiny details. Unshod pony, Medicine Hand, turquoise, feathers. Then he looked her over carefully, drinking in the colors and patterns on the beading of her dress, the colors of the leather that wrapped each braid. Yes her hair was fire red and her skin pale, her eyes of deep green, yet even her demeanor spoke of the People.

"You are either very clever or are telling the truth," the Chief decided. "Do you bring sign?"

"I do," Patches said as she very slowly reached into a pouch at her hip. Tugging it free from her belt she tossed it to the Cheif who caught it one handed. She waited patiently as he opened it and spilled the contents into his hand. "Chief Mountain Bear asks that you accept these tokens as proof that his message is of great importance," she continued.

He held up a long leather thong. From it dangled two bear claws with a dark stone arrowhead between them. He knew it. It was an item he himself had made for Mountain Bear when they were boys.

A half smile crossed his face and he looked up at her. "Come. We will talk."

[Patches McDuff]

A half smile crossed her face as she watched Tensleep lean back and whisper "Dang!" for the eightieth time. She chuckled a little.

"Toldja I was lucky."

"Ya darn right yer lucky!" He said. "You always seem to just walk right in and get the job done."

She snorted. "Not always," she said. "But for the most part I reckon so. Rumor has it we're blessed, us McDuffs. Somethin all Irishy and superstitious." Not to mention her brother Buck that was another story. "I reckon they pretty much think the way I did. Looks like an Indian, smells like and Indian, must be Indian. At least the Cherokee are that way. Aint so sure about Pawni an Crow."

"Hmph," 'Sleep agreed. "So what happened next?"

She shrugged. "Delivered my message at pow-wow, rested a night, rode back home."

He raised one eyebrow. "That simple?"

"Well..." she admited. "Not really. Took me longer to get back than expected cuz I ran straight into the Yankee forces on thier way to the Nations. I was able to avoid'em by ridin around but that took me WAY outta my way. Prit near turned back so I could go help seeins as they had plan now but I didn't figger that'd go over so good."

"Betcha Little Skunk was worried sick." 'Sleep said. He'd have been.

"I reckon so," she said. "Cuz when I finally rode in he was standin in the exact same place I'd left him....."

[Patches McDuff]

"Staring at the trees will not bring her back, Little Skunk," Silver Tree spoke by his elbow.

Little Skunks eyes narrowed but did not look away from the two 40 foot pines that marked the entrance to the camp--sentinals in the fading light.

"I will her return," he said softly. "I have lost too much family already."

"If she returns she will be adopted into a clan and become one of the People," Silver Tree said after a thoughtful pause.

"When," Little Skunk corrected, "she returns."

Silver Tree patted  his shoulder. "I have seen her totem. He will come if she returns."

Little Skunk tore his eyes away from the trees to look at her. "When, Silver Tree. What is it?"

Silver Tree smiled and turned to go. "Listen for those who talk in the night, Little Skunk. You will know. I will save food for you. Do not linger too long less your moccosins take root in the ground."

He almost smiled. Surely it would look as if he were rooted to the ground. His feet firmly planted shoulder width apart, his arms crossed over his chest, his back straight. He'd stood like this for hours waiting, each day at dawn and dusk. And he would continue to do so until she returned.

The core of his very being was discipline tempered with patience, yet his mind whispered prayers to the Great Spirit calling on the one strength that never failed him--faith. He mused that if his children learned only one lesson from him, Little One included, it would be that. Discipline, patience, faith.

And now the sun had set and twilight was upon him, bathing his oak-still form in purple shadows. It would be dark soon and he would turn and go to his wigwam and build the fire and eat, all the while still willing her return.

He looked up at the sound of large flapping wings, saw the branches of the pine russle as the great bird landed within its shadows. His eyes searched the branches for long moments but he did not see the Great Horned Owl until it spoke to him.

Just as Silver Tree's words came back to him, he heard another sound. The sound of unshod pony. His eyes left the owl and a great joy rose in his heart as Little One came between the two trees. He was unaware of the owl as it flew off.

Greatly relieved he stepped forward as she walked the pony up to him. He held her in his eyes for a moment. She was dressed as one of the People, her hair in braids over each shoulder. A large lump sat behind her saddle, and furs were draped over the saddle horn. The horse bore the medicine hand and turquoise.

"Father," she said in greeting, barely able to contain her smile.

"Little One," he practically breathed.

"I bring gifts from the People in the Nations," she indicated the furs. "They have brought me luck."

He eyed the furs. Rabbit for speed, Coyote for cunning, and the "lump" on the back--Buffalo for strength. Her saddle bags were brimming also.

Just then somewhere behind him someone raised the alarm. He was barely paying attention but later he thought it was one of Silver Tree's daughters.

"Many Colors!" The voice shouted. "Many Colors has returned!"

He could feel the people of his tribe rushing to gather behind him, but his eyes never left the girl on the horse.

Finally, oblivious to the chatter and excitement, he stepped forward. She looked tired, but otherwise unharmed. He reached out to her. She could no longer supress the smile that threatened to crack her face--it had been long since she smiled. And although his face was set in seriousness, his eyes sparkled his pride.

He laid his hands gently on her waist, her hands fell to his shoulders. He lifted her as if she were nothing from the saddle, and much to everyone's surprise, instead of setting her lightly on the ground, he took  her in a warm hug.

A raucious cheer went up from the crowd behind them.

"I have missed you, Father," she whispered in his ear, barely containing her tears of joy. No words could have warmed his heart more. "But I was successful."

"You have done well my daughter," he whispered back.  He set her on the ground and put his arm around her.

"Many Colors," he shouted, "My Little One, my daughter has returned! Tonight we celebrate!"