leave here with a bad impression of you.â
She was not leaving here, not unless his ploy failed, and if that were to come to pass, sheâd leave with money, food, and an escort even though he would regret having to lose another cowhand for days on end. Mostly heâd regret losing Lisette.
Leaning his elbow on Willensstark, he crossed his ankles. âSay, do you know how to shoot a rifle?â
âNo.â
âThen I guess thereâs no use in giving you one. âCourse, you need some sort of protection against redskins and coyotes and predators like them, you being in the middle of nowhere. Excuse me. Youâre at a gravesite, if you wanna count that. Middle of Comanche country, too. Iâve tried to be hard-hearted about burying good men along the way, but it still hurts.â Gil grimaced. âThis is my third trip up this cowpath, and Ernst and José and Willie make the eighth, ninth, and tenth casualties.â
He watched the fear she tried to hide. Pleased for getting to her but regretful for his means of persuasion, Gil offered, âMaybe you ought to take a rifle anyway. Iâll load it for you. Who knows? You might get a lucky shot.â
Her fingers tightened on Willensstarkâs lead. âIâIâll hide during the day. I did it before, and Iâll do it again.â
He fingered a blond braid lying over her breast. âBoy howdy, would those redskins love to get their hands on this. Itâd be quite a coup for some hatchet-faced brave, having a blond scalp decorating his tepee.â
Her face ridden with fright, she pulled up her shoulders. âYouâre trying to s-scare me.â
âMaybe I am getting carried away. Theyâd think first before scalping you. No doubt theyâd find a better use for all this blond bounty.â He gave Willensstark another pat. âWhy donât you tell me which route youâre taking? If Adolf Keller never sees the whites of your eyes again, I can tell him where to search. In which redskin camp, that is. You ever gotten a whiff of a tepee? Phew.â
âCows smell, too.â
He chose not to reply to her statement. âComanche men like being waited on hand and foot, so itâs a good thing you donât mind hard work. Squaws do everything but the hunting and warring. Well, sometimes they do those, too. Whatever keeps them occupiedâoutside of keeping the buffalo hides warm on a cold nightâtheyâve got a papoose strapped on their back and a passel of younguns squalling at their feet.â
âIf a woman is looking out for her own husband and children and home, I doubt she resents the work.â
Damn, his schemes werenât working. Yet he replied, âSee, youâre already thinking like a squaw.â
âNo, Iâm thinking like a woman.â
âGlad to hear you donât make a distinction. Itâll make life easier. I hear the Injuns are fine ones for needlework, what with their beading and so on. Those braves, why, I bet theyâll let you keep your needles to stitching, though I donât think they hanker for ribbons and lace and frou-frou on their headbands.â
If looks could have stitched Gil McLoughlin, he would have been tattooed with embroidery.
âItâll be tough, Lisette, breaking the news to Adolf.â
âYou wonât be needing to tell him anything. Iâll write from Chicago.â
âHow you gonna get there? Not on that, I hope.â He gestured at Willensstark, who brayed.
âHe got me here. Heâll get me away.â
âRight. Say, one more thing. When the Comanches capture you, better not try to escape. They donât take to that sorta stuff. Iâve heard theyâre not as bad about cutting off womenâs noses as they used to be. âCourse, you can never trust gossip.â
Her face whitened during his oration; he was glad for it. âI saw a couple of noseless white women toting