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by her. She was covered with dried mud, and he could not tell what her features looked like, or for that matter what color her hair was. A rivulet of tears made a trail down her dirty face, and struck a cord of pity somewhere within his heart. No matter how repulsive he thought her, someone somewhere must love her and want her back.
    Tajarez held out his hand to her, and Mara hesitated for only a moment before she put her hand in his. Something told her she could trust this man. He swung her onto the back of his horse with ease, and tried to overcome the revulsion he felt at being in such close contact with her. He did not even want to touch her.
    Mara tried to hold her body rigid, but soon found if she was to keep her seat she would have to hold on to the Indian. She had no idea what his plans were concerning her, but at the moment she was too tired to care. She clasped her hands around his waist and leaned her head against his broad back.
    Tajarez looked down at the white hands that were clasped around his waist and gave an involuntary shudder. He felt her relax against his back, and frowned.
    They rode for hours in silence. Mara had fallen asleep, and when she awoke, they were traveling in the mountains. Although it was only late afternoon, the sun had dropped behind the mountain peaks, giving the illusion of sundown. Spring had not yet come to the mountains as it had to St. Louis. There were patches of unmelted snow, and the trees were still bare. Mara felt the cold through her thin cotton dress, and wished the Indian would stop to build a fire. She was cold, thirsty, and hungry. As though he could read her thoughts, Tajarez halted his horse near the bank of a small river, and dismounted.
    Mara slid from the horse's back and walked down the slope to the river. There was ice floating with the current, and she shivered and wrapped her arms about her shoulders for warmth. As much as she would like to be clean, she could not stand the thought of bathing in the icy water. Kneeling down, she cupped her hands and drank deeply. The refreshing water soothed her parched throat, and she felt somewhat better. She then washed some of the mud from her face and hands, hoping it would suffice until the morning.
    The Indian had built a fire and placed what looked like a small rabbit on a roasting spit. Mara sat down beside the fire, basking in its warmth. The juices from the roasting meat splattered on the fire, giving off a delicious aroma, and Mara could feel her mouth watering. It had been so long since she had eaten anything but the dried meat the two savages had given her.
    The tall Indian continued to ignore her. Mara, sensing his dislike of her, remained silent.
    When the meat was done, he removed it from the spit and sliced a portion, placing it within Mara's reach. Taking his share, he moved away from her to the other side of the fire, putting the distance of the campfire between them.
    Mara savored every mouthful of the succulent meat. She was sure she had never tasted anything half so good in her entire life. After she had eaten, Mara remained beside the fire, not knowing what was expected of her. It was a dark night, and only the campfire gave off a faint light. Mara curled up on the ground, not caring about anything. She was so weary, but she felt well fed for the first time in days, and the warmth of the fire soon soothed her to sleep.
    Mara awoke suddenly, feeling the man's hand on her shoulder. Sitting up quickly, she looked into the dark face, afraid of his intentions toward her.
    Tajarez, seeing her fear, gave her a disgusted look. If only she knew how safe she was from him. It was forbidden for him to bed a woman while on his quest, and even if it were not so, he would not touch her. Not only was she filthy, but white as well. Besides, he had never forced a woman to his bed. They had always been only too willing to come to him.
    Reaching for her hand, he pulled her none too gently to her feet, wanting to strike her for