Chapter 8

Lobo Negro stared at the cowboy for a long, silent moment.Slowly, the sharp tension in the chief’s face eased. The ghost of a proud, approving smile touched the corners of his dark mouth."A month," Lobo Negro said."A month," Maverick agreed.

That evening, Maverick established his camp not inside the main circle of wickiups, but fifty yards downstream beneath a grove of weeping willow trees near the riverbank.He did not sleep in a bedroll on the ground. He spent his first three hours of daylight the following morning cutting dry pine poles and weaving a sturdy, low-slung shelter, thatch-roofing it with river reeds and clay.He worked steadily, smoothly, his axe strokes ringing out rhythmically across the water. He didn't ask for help, nor did he offer unsolicited conversation to the people who walked past.By noon, Kee-dah walked down to the willow grove.She carried a wide, shallow woven basket containing three roasted river trout, a mound of cooked wild squash, and a small clay jar of cold spring water. She walked with her characteristic halting stride, her right foot dragging slightly through the grass, but her posture was straight and unyielding.She set the basket down on a flat granite stone three feet from where Maverick was stripping bark from a lodgepole."My father sent this," she said. Her English was clear, slightly accented, but completely confident.Maverick set his drawknife aside, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm. He looked at the food, then up at her face."Your father is a generous man," Maverick said. "But you don't have to carry heavy baskets down here on my account."Kee-dah’s dark eyes flashed with immediate, sharp fire. "I am not fragile, white man. I carry baskets every day."Maverick did not flinch, nor did he apologize. He simply stepped over to the flat stone, took one of the roasted trout, and took a bite."I didn't say you were fragile," Maverick said calmly, chewing slowly. "I said you don't have to wait on me. If I'm hungry, I've got hands. I can walk up to the fire and get my own plate."Kee-dah paused. Her defensive posture hesitated, her sharp expression softening by a fraction of an inch as she studied his calm gray eyes."My father told me what you said to him yesterday," she noted, her voice dropping into a quieter register.

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