down on the woman and her husband as they walked side-by-side along the road. A grey mule plodded beside them, flicking its ears at buzzing flies. New rations were strapped across the mule's strong back. The woman knew it hurt her husband's pride to beg for rations from the American soldiers, but she would not let them starve. She had known enough of hunger.
In the distance, she saw a cloud of dust slowly moving toward them. Shapes soon became clear within it. A small band of soldiers, no more than half a dozen. A patrol returning to the fort after a day roaming the desert. She had seen many such groups near the American fort. While she did not like them, neither did she fear them. They were enforcers of the American laws, but they could not interfere with the Dine. Their treaty said as much.
The woman and her husband continued walking along the road as it stretched across the land. The soldiers drew nearer, the cloud of dust billowing out behind them like a storm. Soon, she felt the thunder of the horses' hooves in the ground. They moved aside to let the soldiers pass, leading their mule into the scrub by the side of the road.
As they rode by, one of the soldiers pulled his horse around and rode toward the woman and her husband. He had the wide mustache favored by so many Americans, and his teeth flashed white beneath it as he smiled at them.
"Where might you be going?" he asked.
"Home," she answered. She had learned their speech while living at Hweeldi.
"Not with our food, you aren't," the soldier said.
"This food is ours," she said, laying a hand on the mule's grey coat.
"Grew it yourselves, did you?" By now, the other soldiers had gathered around the one that spoke.
"No," her husband said.
"That's what I thought," the soldier said. "Now just hand it on over and you can be on your way."
"It is ours," her husband said, standing to his full height.
"Not anymore, it's not."
The soldier spurred his horse toward them. Her husband pulled the woman out of its way, then turned back to the man. The soldier had taken the donkey's lead rope in his hand. Her husband reached for it, and the man cracked him across the face with his other hand. "Don't you threaten me, boy."
Her husband staggered back a pace, then stood to face the man. "It is ours."
"Then come take it," the solider said, drawing a revolver.
The gunshot echoed off the nearby mesa, followed by the woman's scream.
"Well, I guess that means we're walking back to town."
Victoria could only nod in agreement. She was afraid of bringing her breakfast back up if she tried to speak.
In front of them, Victoria's horse lay in its stall. Its eyes were frozen in the same terrified look she had seen the night before, but rust-colored blood now covered the straw beneath it. Looking at its lifeless corpse, Victoria felt a stab of pity for the poor creature. It had carried her faithfully out to this place, and she had let it die.
"Why did they do this?" she finally asked.
"Just making themselves a point, I expect," Cora said. "Can't have things go too easy on us." The hunter frowned, looking around the barn. "Sure wish they'd left me some of Our Lady behind. Seems fitting I should bury her proper-like."
"Maybe she isn't here," Victoria said. Cora shot her a questioning look. "Think about it. If the Indian woman really was in the form of your horse, she must have been with us back in town when we started. That woman must have killed your horse before yesterday morning."
"I reckon so," Cora replied. "Guess that means I got to have words with them livery boys when we're done with all this. No-good fools just let squaw spooks make off with horses like that. It's a wonder they ain't got my horse killed before now."
Victoria stifled a groan as she contemplated the long day ahead of them. "Do you really think we can walk back?"
"As long as your pretty little self can keep up," Cora said. "Won't be something you're like to go doing again just for the fun of it all, but it can be done."
"Won't we die of thirst before we make it back?"
"Won't die of it, but won't be turning down a bucket of trough water by the end, neither. We've got our skins, and I reckon the folks here left us some canning bottles