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for you."
    "Of course he's here. I may have lost my favorite traveling dress and the better part of the last two days, but I have not lost my mind." Or had she? She suddenly had to wonder as more wildly colored lights exploded in her head. With a sigh, she tried to explain. "Uncle Armstrong is a very important officer. Now, please, will you—"
    "An officer, ma'am?"
    "Yes, he graduated from West Point. His name is George Armstrong Custer."
    "General ... Custer? Brevet Major General Custer, ma'am?" the soldier gasped, clutching at his chest.
    "Yes, I suppose that's what he could be called. Most of our friends just call him the General." She shivered as the young man struggled to get over his shock, then began stamping her numb feet. "Please take me to him before I freeze to death."
    "Yes, ma'am, right away, ma'am." The officer snapped to attention, suddenly awed by his find. "You must be the gal General Custer has been so worried about. He's had his troops out looking for your body since yesterday.''
    "My body?" She sniffed.
    "Well, that is, we assumed you'd drowned. He's going to be mighty glad to see you're alive." In his excitement, the soldier saluted her, then whirled on his heel and started for the gate.
    Afraid he would leave her alone, exhausted and still fighting off the effects of the medicine, Dominique forgot her manners and called after him, "Wait for me, you nincompoop. '' Then she lifted the fringes of her dress out of the slush and stomped after him. "You're not leaving me behind. Being the hostage of a band of savages once is bloody enough adventure for me."
    Lieutenant Macky turned back, his thin features florid, his expression mortified. Again he saluted her, then stammered, "Sorry ma'am, I meant—that is, I didn't forget you. I was just going after a buggy." He reached out to take her arm, but she waved him away.
    "I can walk, Private."
    "That's lieutenant, ma'am." He grinned, looking sheepish and uncertain. "I only wanted to help you."
    "Oh, of course." She sighed. Ashamed of her waspish tongue, Dominique lowered her voice and assumed a more ladylike demeanor. "I know you're only trying to help. I'm afraid I'm a little on edge and not feeling too well after all I've been through. I also have a bruised chin and ribs that feel as if they're on fire. I'm sorry if I offended you, Private."
    This time Lieutenant Macky didn't bother to correct her. He offered his arm again. "Please, then, allow me to escort you to your uncle."
    But just as she was about to accept, Dominique had the strangest sensation she was being watched. She snapped her head around to the north and stared at the distant stand of juniper trees. Although she couldn't see them, she could feel the Sioux's eyes on her, watching, laughing.
    Dominique lifted her chin and her buckskin skirt and sashayed on past the lieutenant. "I appreciate the offer, sir, but I'm feeling much better now. Which way to the general's quarters?"
     
    The buggy turned out to be a mule-drawn cart with only two wheels and a hard wooden seat. It bounced and lurched down the mile-long hill separating the infantry garrison from the cavalry post situated in the valley below. By the time Dominique stood before the large wood-frame home, her backside was nearly as sore as her ribs. She quickly forgot her discomfort as she approached the front porch. A grand white stairway, built in the shape of a pyramid with the top removed, beckoned.
    Dominique sighed as her moccasin touched down on the first tread. "Why, this is just like walking up one side of a fancy wedding cake. Is the rest of the house as grand, sir?"
    "Oh, I wouldn't know, ma'am," he said as he knocked on the glass-framed door. "I've only been inside the parlor, but it's sure nice. Real nice."
    The wide door swung open to reveal a large colored woman. The maid stared through skeptical black eyes, then wrinkled her nose. In a voice that twanged like a southern guitar, she said, "What business y'all got here?"
    "Uh, the