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was disappointing, but not unexpected.
    Poor Judith. Deborah’s distress mounted. If she could only manage to converse with her new captor, perhaps she could ask him to buy Judith as well. Her fears for her cousin were as strong as her fears for herself, but together they might draw some comfort from one another.
    Refreshed, but still frightened, Deborah walked silently beside the girl back to the tall tent. She surveyed the tent drawings she’d seen earlier more closely. Figures representing men and horses at war were scattered across the hide, and odd squiggles that looked like insects formed a neat row. She counted seventeen before the girl motioned that she was to go inside.
    Deborah was surprised at the size of the interior. It was much bigger than it looked from the outside, and neat in spite of the dirt floor and crude furnishings. Soaring poles braced the stitched animal-hide cover, and the structure was tilted slightly toward the front, giving more headroom in the rear. It was roughly oval, with a stone-ringed fire just off-center. Only embers glowed red and gray between the stones. It looked as if all cooking was being done outside in the warm weather.
    Rather shyly, her pretty companion motioned for Deborah to be seated on a pallet of hides and blankets; then she ducked back out the open flap of the tent. As Deborah knelt slowly on the pallet, she wondered what would happen to her now, and where her new captor had gone. He was not inside, nor had she seen him outside as they’d approached from the stream.
    Nervous and afraid, she waited. Insects buzzed annoyingly close, and she swatted at them. Children laughed outside, sounding like children anywhere. Deborah smiled at the thought. She shifted position when her feet began to grow numb from kneeling, and sat down with her legs drawn up in front of her chest.
    Something brushed along the back of her neck, and she half-turned, squinting at the unfamiliar drifts of fur hanging from the framework. It was varicolored, in different shades of brown and black, some of it long, some short. The strips seemed to be attached to ovals of hide that dangled from a thin, bent-willow circle.
    Deborah stared until an uneasy feeling crept over her, and she began to feel a tightness grow in her chest. Those fur strips—they were too long to belong to an animal. Not any animal she’d ever seen. Her mind refused to accept the logical explanation, and all the color drained from her face as she tried to find a more acceptable interpretation of what her eyes told her she was seeing.
    Scalps. Dear God, she was looking at human scalps. The long, silky strands of some of the hair was unmistakable, and she bent her head and gasped, fighting nausea. As the nausea receded, panic blossomed, and she had to curb her desire to run screaming from the tent out into the camp. That would do her no good. And it would only attract unwanted attention. She closed her eyes until the faintness passed, and wished she’d never come West.
    Not that wishes did much good. If they did, she would be at home in Natchez and sitting on the porch sipping cold lemonade from an elegant glass. The air would be thick with the sweet fragrance of magnolias and honeysuckle instead of the stench of burning meat. And she would not be terrified that her own hair would soon hang from a pole in one of these odd-looking tents.
    Deborah closed her eyes again and recited Bible passages from memory.
    If God was listening, He needed to do something quickly, she thought, then chastised herself for her hasty prayers. She should have learned patience as well as humility.
    Time passed, and Deborah’s reluctant survey of her surroundings grew more curious. There were no more grisly discoveries, though she did not search very hard. Mostly, she sat and waited. And tried to repair her garments. Her torn gown gaped open revealingly. She tried to tie the torn edges of her bodice together. It was no use. It covered her, but only