Kid slept the night in a warrior's tipi. He had a feeling neither one of them got much sleep for worrying about the other.
That morning found the most of the gathered around the iron kettles outside. They apparently ate as a community or starved as the case could be.
He saw the captive, who didn't seem to know she was a captive, standing and waiting her turn for her breakfast. He sidled up beside her and said, "Hope you like buffalo. They eat a lot of it around here, I'm told."
"So I've noticed." She turned to look at him and her cheeks went a flaming red. She was affected by the sight of his bare chest. It brought a smile to his face. It was nice to see that the physical attraction wasn't one-sided.
"Sir, your shirt," she said, looking away.
"I'm one of the tribe now, remember? Besides, you've probably seen fifty bare chests since being here."
"Well, yeah, but they're natives."
He laughed. "So? Our chests look the same if you haven't noticed. Theirs is a shade darker and not as hairy perhaps."
"Really," she said with indignation. "Can we talk about something besides chests?"
She wasn't like the typical church lady he knew. Most would have fainted from fear at being in this camp, and they certainly would not have sought to give this wild people religion, but she was the typical religious woman in terms of her prudishness. "I wasn't the one who brought it up."
Their turn came, and they were giving a helping of buffalo stew.
"What is your Indian name?" he asked as they walked away with the meal.
"I don't have an Indian name."
"You will," he warned.
She didn't believe him because she looked clearly unamused. "My name is Ruth McKenzie. I go by Sister Ruth."
"I'm Kid Cole, but like I said we'll both probably be going by something else soon."
She bowed her head and closed her eyes, not caring that the setting for her prayer was unusual. "We thank thee, Lord, for our daily 'bread' to us poor sinners. May it nourish our bodies and give us the strength to do Your work. In your Son's name we pray. Amen."
They ate their too-small helpings of stew in hardly any time at all. It only took the edge off their hunger, but it wasn't because they weren't part of the group that their helpings were small. Everyone received the same portions.
A woman came up to Sister Ruth. He recognized her as the wizen medicine woman. She had a small pot that she gave to Ruth.
"What is this?" Ruth sniffed the pot and made a face. In another prayer, this one more pleading, she said, "Oh, Lord, please tell me they don't want me to eat this."
He could smell it from here. It smelled like charcoal and buffalo tallow. It would be one way to clean out your insides.
Ruth took it and rubbed a little of the concoction between her fingers. "Maybe it's medicine?" She asked Kid because she couldn't ask the medicine woman.
He shrugged. He hadn't the slightest clue.
However, the elderly woman had picked up on their confusion. She made a motion of dipping her fingers in an imaginary pot and then running her fingers through her hair.
He laughed, understanding at once. "She wants you to rub it into your hair."
"Well, when in Rome, I guess," she said and proceeded to apply it. "It couldn't hurt, and maybe it'll make her slightly more friendly to me."
Kid observed the task. It was working to a degree. The auburn strands that glowed red in the sun were becoming more black.
The medicine woman had walked away. Ruth saw him watching her. "How come they're not making you put that gunk in your hair?"
He understood that part as well. "My hair's already black."
"You mean they're trying to make me look like one of them?"
"That's the idea. Less questions that way if the wrong people like the Calvary should see you among them."
"I think my blue eyes and pasty white skin will give me away."
"But are people going to see your eyes from a distance? And with all this time spent in the sun without a hat, you'll tan soon enough and pass for a half-breed."
"No, what I'll do is freckle and burn."
He was about to tell her she'd still look pretty but thought better of it. "Even so, black hair is better than brown or blonde or red for purposes of blending in."
"I reckon so."
They were interrupted by the translator, who was up on a horse. "We go kill." He pointed to Kid. "You come."
Another in the gathering party led over a mare that was a soft brown color with a dark brown mane and passed it off to him.
"That's a fine-looking horse," Kid said. He was stalling, trying to come up with a plan to avoid taking lives.
"Ain't it?" Ruth said dryly. "That's my horse."
"You know how to use bow and arrow?" the translator asked him, ignoring Ruth's claim of ownership.
He gulped hard. They clearly expected him to kill, not just come along for the ride. Did these people never rest? "No."
They returned him his gun from last night. Ruth was watching him with wide eyes as he mounted. "What are you going to do?" she whispered.
He liked that she assumed he wouldn't kill. If she'd heard of him, she wouldn't say that. "I'm not sure yet."
The translator pushed his way between them, both horse and man snorting. "Buffalo waits for no one."
They both sighed with relief. Killing a buffalo would be much easier than killing a person, or so he hoped.