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feed him. He accepted the warm potato soup with chunks of meat and beans. It was heavenly and his stomach cramped, desperate for more.
    “I don’t have one,” she said in a flat tone.
    “You live here by yourself?” he asked. “How old are you?”
    “And if’s I do?” she fired back.
    Jeremiah stared at her. She fed him a bit more. Now he knew he had fallen off the edge of the Earth. How was she even possible? It was as if she read his thoughts, because what she shared next confounded him.
    “You’re in Nicademus, it’s a Negro town. We owns it.”
    “Own it?” he laughed.
    She glared at him. “Sumthin’ I say funny?”
    “No. I mean, no. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he quickly added.
    “Then why you laugh?” Annabelle demanded.
    “It’s the fever, that’s all. I’m confused,” Jeremiah said.
    “Mmhm. You know you seems fine to me. Feed yer’self.” She put the hot bowl on his stomach and he winced. Jeremiah caught it before it spilled.
    “Wait, I didn’t mean to offend you. Honest.”
    “I gots something to tend to. If you know what’s best for you, you will stay inside. I haven’t seen the men that’s huntin’ ya. But I’m sure we will soon.”
    It was then that his predicament hit Jeremiah: his clothes and things were gone. Even his irons. “Wait!”
    Annabelle put on a floppy hat and some men’s boots that were obviously too big for her feet. Grabbing her rifle she headed for the door, ignoring him.
    “Wait! Where are my things?” Jeremiah called after her.
    She looked back with a sly smirk. “They my things now!”
    “Wait!” he shouted.
    She was gone. He made to rise and nearly pissed himself. The pain was so intense he fell back over. “Fuck!” he grunted. She had his gold. How did he even let it get this far? Forcing himself to his feet, he grunted and endured. He had to find it, and now.
     
    Annabelle put the rifle under her arm and headed south. She had seen a rabbit two days ago in her garden and was hoping to get lucky. Besides, she wasn’t too keen on spending more time with her bandit. He irked her.
    “Annabelle! Mintibaa ?”
    She turned to see Red Sun marching her way. Jessiemae was right behind him. Annabelle rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Shucks.”
    “Annabelle!” he shouted.
    “Yes, Red Sun. I hears you. Stop with your shouting,” she said.
    “Is it true? Is there a white man here? In there?” he asked her in Chickasaw.
    “Huh?” Annabelle replied.
    “Is it true!” Red Sun demanded.
    “It’s not true,” Annabelle said and shot a withering glare at Jessiemae.
    “I seen him with my own eyes. I helped ya tend ta him!”   Jessiemae quickly responded. “He a bandit, an outlaw. And he missing a finger. Like this man here! Like the one the Buffalo Soldiers were saying was on the loose and a posse was after.”
    Jessiemae shoved the wanted poster at Annabelle. She looked at the scraggly bearded image of a man. It was her outlaw all right. The missing finger was proof. She and Jessiemae discovered that the pinky finger on his left hand was gone when they mended him. Red Sun’s nostrils flared and his eyes blazed with rage. Annabelle may have her own cabin and independence, but it only stretched as far as Red Sun’s parental reach.
    Her surrogate father, he’d raised her the Chickasaw way since the day he rescued her. Red Sun was scared of no one. He’d faced the evil in men and walked away with their scalps. Brought up under his care, Annabelle knew not to push him far with her sharp tongue. Everyone knew. Red Sun plucked his hatchet from his back pocket and stormed toward the cabin. Annabelle’s eyes stretched.
    “It’s fine, he was just recoverin! I swear it!”
    Red Sun pushed past her and hurried up the steps of the cabin. Annabelle dropped her gun and ran after him. “It’s fine! It’s fine! I swear … there’s nuthin’ for you to worry over.” He threw open the door. Annabelle ran in behind him and stopped. The cot was