Drowning…he was drowning…. He could feel himself sinking, the water closing in all around his body, lapping at his chest, arms, neck. Well, if he were going to die, this was the way to do it, because this felt so good. His body felt incredibly hot, but this water was doing a wondrous job cooling it. Perhaps the heat leaving his body was a sign that his life was fading as well. He really wished he did not have to pass these final moments alone, but it seemed that there was no one around…and yet…there was something, someone, there. Yes, there was a definite presence, for he felt a breath on his neck, a touch on his arm. He smiled, happy for the first time in an eternity. If he were to leave this world, at least there is someone there to care for and about him until he was gone.

Cool water dribbled over his face. He stuck out his tongue to catch a few drops. Metal met his lips at and water poured into his mouth. He drank, greedily, never wanting it to stop. The embrace of this cool water was enough to give him renewed strength. He leaned back and found himself in someone's embrace. He tried to open his eyes to see who it was, but his eyes were too sore and swollen to open the lids. "Hello," he croaked, but there was no response. He felt safe and soon settled into a restful sleep.

He woke sometime later, only this time he was lying on his back. He cautiously opened his eyes, pleased when there wasn't too much pain. He could even barely make out the dawning sky with just a few remaining stars overhead. Over to his left, a small fire was burning. He appeared to be resting on a pile of grass with a blanket covering him. An oversized buckskin shirt was the only thing he was wearing besides his long-johns, and he felt a little nervous wondering where his boots could have gotten off to.

Somewhere behind his head he heard some splashing and horse sounds. He realized with a jolt that his fevered memories were in fact a reality: he was not alone. He could vaguely recollect snippets of his wandering, but after so long without water everything had started to blur. The last thing he could remember distinctly was thinking a blood-thirsty Indian was carrying him over a shoulder…and that was completely ridiculous. Just the same, he waited tensely, long fingers toying with the blanket's edge.

He became aware of a presence just behind him when the hairs on his arms stood up. He listened very carefully but heard nothing but the crackling of the fire. He wanted to call out, to demand an identity, but felt too fearful. But surely if they had done this much for him, they would not be dangerous. He decided to take a risk. Gambling was always his thing.

"Hel—" A bout of coughing interrupted him, so he started again. "Hello, uh, sir. I know you're here." I know you're here? Not very eloquent. "I, I thank you, sir, for helping me. Well, sir, I have been lost out here for days on end and I really expected to die out here." He thought he heard the person shift or make some other sort of movement, which he took as a cue to continue. "I was beginning to get quite delusional. You wouldn't believe this, sir, but I envisioned a fearsome Indian warrior rescuing me, and—"

Like a vision from his worst nightmares, on the other side of the fire loomed the same Indian as the one from what he thought to be just a fever dream. He was wearing only a vest on his torso, revealing skin the color of bronze. As the shadows from the fire played over the man's impressive physique, the man on the ground shrunk back in terror as these muscles bunched and twisted as the Indian raised one arm. In his hand he held a wicked knife, the firelight playing over the steel blade. Fear rose in the man's throat as the Indian leaned forward, knife extended, over the fire…to cut into the meat roasting on a spit that he had not noticed until now.

Wasápe carved off a chunk of the jack rabbit. He had listened to what the man had said…fearsome Indian warrior? White men were all crazy. He stared across the fire at the man who, thankfully, had fallen into silence, big eyes fastened on Wasápe's knife. Wasápe walked around the fire to crouch at the man's side. The man flinched when Wasápe held out the knife, off of which dangled a piece of meat. After a brief moment, the man accepted the food, wincing at the heat on his fingers. He cautiously leaned forward until he was propped up on one elbow before attempting to eat a little. "Very good," he nodded dramatically, his voice too loud and each word drawn out.

Wasápe rolled his eyes. He spat out some Comanche words, saying something to the gist of "I like to race turtles on armadillos." He almost smiled when the greenhorn gasped in surprise and almost dropped his food.

"No no no no, I no speaky your tongue, noble sir." The man's eyes were nearly popping out of his head.

Wasápe shook his head. The time for games was over. "I am Wasápe."

The man looked relieved to have heard a couple familiar words. "Pleased to meet you, sir. Cooper's my name." There was that funny sound to his voice again, like everything was drawn out.

"Cooper?" Wasápe struggled to say. Strange way to say a word. He'd never heard anything like it.

"Something like that," the man smiled, and Wasápe discovered that he sort of liked the confident grin. It wasn't like most white men's smiles; this man's seemed genuine, actually friendly.

"Cooper," Wasápe began, noticing the pleased look on the other man's face when he said his name, "I got some stuff to put on your skin here. It'll help with the sunburn."

A herd of buffalo could have fit through Cooper's open mouth, it had come open so wide. He had nice teeth.

"Yes, yes, I can speak English," Wasápe groaned before the question was asked. "Now, sit up and I'll slap some of this on you."

Cooper looked astounded but managed to struggle up right. Wasápe picked up a piece of bark with the poultice he had mixed up. He scooped some up and applied it to Cooper's neck, face, and any other place that looked sore.

"You know what, Wa-saw-pay, that does feel rather soothin'," Cooper drawled. "You're a right-smart fella to have around."

Wasápe felt a bit of shock travel through him. Sure, his English was a bit scratchy, but he was still pretty sure that Cooper, a white man, had just paid him a complement. He ducked his head in embarrassment, but winced as the movement tugged at tender places. He tried to hide the discomfort by stirring at the mixture. Cooper was too observant.

The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, revealing the scene with clarity. "Say, friend. Seems to me you're not so fit yourself." The large Indian-man was obviously moving stiffly, and as soon as Cooper said those words, Wasápe seemed to get a rather uptight look about him.

Cooper gathered his legs under himself so that he could kneel. "Come here, now, let me have a look at you," Cooper said as he began doing an undignified crawl while gesturing toward himself with one hand. The movements seemed to make the other man very uneasy, and he started to back away. Cooper was very quick, however, even with his previous exhaustion, and his hand shot out to grab Wasápe's wrist to stop him. It did more than halt the big man, for Cooper heard him grunt just as Cooper felt hot moisture under his hand. He looked at Wasápe's face and was alarmed to see the man's eyes clenched shut, every muscle frozen in a mask of pain. The Indian pulled against Cooper's grip slightly, but every movement caused more pain to shoot up that muscular arm. "Hey, hey, friend. Calm down now. Just gonna take a look." Cooper grabbed hold further up the arm with his other hand before he peeled his fingers gently off the wrist. He gave a low whistle. "What have we here…." The skin was mottled with bruises and raw areas, some of which he had accidently opened. Now they were weeping clear liquid mixed with a little blood.

Cooper recognized the injury instantly. He glanced over at the man's other wrist to confirm. Yes, this man had worn shackles for some time. His eyes roved over the rest of Wasápe's body. From dark, haunted eyes to the moccasins that looked to be stained with blood seeping from the ankles, Cooper could see the brand of prison. He could even smell it on the poor fellow. Not to say that Cooper himself had ever seen the inside of one, but he had been in the company of many who had. His green eyes went up to meet the other's brown ones. "How long?"

Wasápe's eyes turned, studying a tree a distance away. "Long enough to know that the next time I think about proving my manhood, I'll settle with arm wrestling." His gaze settled back on Cooper's face, his expression completely blank. "Or maybe it should be Indian wrestling instead."

Cooper tried as hard as he could to remain serious, but hearing an Indian make a joke was too rare to be ignored. Soon his hearty laugh rang out, the one few could hear without joining. He was rewarded when Wasápe's eyes crinkled at the corners. He would take that to as a smile. "You know, Wasápe, I really don't think I can remember the last time I've laughed like this."

The Indian's face turned reflective. "I reckon I can't exactly remember the last time I talked to a white man without wanting to cut his throat." He fingered his knife as an emphasis of his words.

Cooper felt a chill on his spine. "Aw, now, my friend. It can't have been that bad. Free food, free beds…." His voice trailed off when he saw the other man's stoic expression.

Wasápe rose carefully, as if to avoid bending his back at all. "You take a turn there, then. Tell me how you like it after that."

Cooper struggled to his feet as well, staggering a bit. His legs felt as though they would rather not be in use at the moment, but he was too stubborn to listen to their complaints. "I'd rather not." He really needed to work on his tact. "Um…say, my sunburn feels rather wretched. What do you say we go on down to that creek there and wash up a bit? That cool water will feel right fine." He picked up the piece of bark with the poultice and almost toppled when the blood left his head. "Whoops! You know, that reminds me of the time I was on this Mississippi riverboat…."

Cooper continued to prattle on while gingerly walking barefooted over to the creek. He was pleased to notice the brave hovering a few steps behind. He found the man to be incredibly mysterious, and, as an exceedingly curious person, Cooper just could not let "Wa-saw-pay" keep any secrets to himself.

Cooper attempted to straighten the tent-like shirt, wincing as the rough buckskin bit into his tender skin. The garment was so large it kept slipping off one shoulder. He glanced over at his companion and noticed staring at Cooper's back as it was revealed by the baggy shirt.

"Ahem," he coughed, embarrassed. "I cannot believe that you did not see what is under this entire deerskin when you, uh, removed my own shirt before."

Now it was the Indian's turn to be self conscious. Cooper knew that if he told anyone, they would not believe his account of a fierce brave's face turning bright red. "Well," he muttered. "You was half burnt. I soaked you in this creek for a spell to cool you down." He finally peeled his gaze off Cooper's shoulder. "It was pretty dark then."

Cooper said nothing, which was rare. Rather, he simply stooped down at the edge of the creek and washed his hands in the water. The poultice itched his face and neck now that it was dry, making him want to wash it off. To do so, it would be helpful to take off the borrowed shirt.

He felt partly humiliated, but knew he should not feel so. He and this enigmatic English-speaking Indian had more in common than what could be expected. Therefore, without ceremony, Cooper pulled the shirt off, fully revealing his torso in the morning sun. He stilled with anticipation, waiting. He heard a slight intake of breath. Cooper looked over at the other man, a small smile on his face. "If I didn't know better, I'd wager your back looks a little similar to the chicken scratches decorating my own."

Wasápe crouched a distance from Cooper. "Chicken scratches…," he murmured. Though Cooper's injuries were not fresh, they weren't old either. "You said you'd never been to prison."

"Well, I haven't. These beauties were done, shall we say, outside yet inside the law."

"Huh?"

"I come from a town called New Orleans. Never heard of it? Hm. Well, anyway, I was a very nice gentleman there, good stock, you know. Made money here at there at gaming tables. A gambler can make real money there, with all the card rooms and river boats. Anyway, I also gamble in personal matters…to be specific, in women. Women are just more exciting when a bit of danger is associated with them, don't you think?"A blank stare was all he received. "Uh, yes, well, plenty of time for that later. The most dangerous girl in town was this cute little Mademoiselle named Colette. We really had a good thing going. She was…she was really something."

Wasápe frowned. "Why was she dangerous? Was she a woman warrior?"

"No, no, no! Nothing like that…but I won't dive into details. Anyway, she had a dangerous father. We had to sneak around like alley cats to ever see each other."

"Seems to me, if you were really interested in having her as your woman, the best idea would be to present her father with a gift. This was how things were done among the People. Horses, weapons, skins—"

"Pardon me, Wasápe, but people just don't trade for women anymore." Cooper's eyes trailed over Wasápe before he said, "Well, at least not in New Orleans…. Anyway, back to my tale of woe. Her father discovered us in a rather compromising situation…and she had some very large brothers…and, well, you can see the results." He thumbed toward his back. "Lashed me with a buggy whip and ran me outta town faster than an elixir salesman."

Cooper washed off the poultice, relishing the cool water on his skin. "And that's how come I wandered out here. Figured I couldn't make a living there anymore. Thought I would try my hand around Mexico. Learned Spanish from some pretty little Senorita once…but that's another story."

He got to his feet, wobbling a bit. He held out the massive shirt in two hands, feeling awkward in only long-john bottoms. "This is a right-fine garment, sir. I thank you for allowing me to borrow it."

Wasápe held out a hand for it, but Cooper snatched it back. "Nah-ah-ah!" He shook one finger in Wasápe's direction. "You took care of me. Now I will return the favor." He gestured at the piece of bark with the poultice. "I think that would do the trick for other injuries besides sun burn." Cooper bent, laying out the shirt like a blanket close to the fire. Kneeling beside and patting it, he said, "Lay down here, my good man, on that impressive chest of yours. Oh, and take off your vest."

Wasápe looked as though he was going to bolt for the hills, his mouth fixed in a stubborn thin line. Cooper put on his most trustworthy face, one that worked on hesitant women. "Come on, I ain't gonna bite."

Incredibly uncomfortable, Wasápe knelt in front of the shirt, still watching Cooper warily. "How can I hurt you?" the southerner said, reassuringly. "You're twice my size, not to mention I am half-starved and mostly naked to boot. No weapons here," Cooper promised. He held up his hands in a subservient position.

Wasápe blew out a breath before slowly reaching for the edges of his vest. He pulled it off, grunting a few times, his face contorting. By the time he got it off, he was panting and looked pale. He looked deep into Cooper's face, searching for deceit. Apparently he found none, for he eased himself down onto his stomach, coming to a rest with a sigh, his chin resting on his crossed arms.

Cooper's suspicions were confirmed, to his regret. Wasápe must have either been a trouble-maker or a target by some vengeful guard, or a combination of the two. There weren't very many inches of skin on the man's back that wasn't marked in some way, be it bruises or signs of floggings. Most of the bruising was beginning to fade into a sickly yellowish-green, but the lacerations looked to be very deep and had probably never been treated. A few had scabbed over, trapping infection beneath. "Ah...," Cooper began, nervously. He knew he had to open up those areas, but he also knew that Wasápe was a dangerous man and did not want to cause him any pain…for that could be hazardous to Cooper's health.

Wasápe turned his head, one eye squinting at Cooper. "Everybody in that stinkin' place rode me hard, just 'cause of my Comanche ways. Even the other prisoners set me up for things I didn't do." He turned his face forward again. "Whatever you have to do can't hurt me any more than some of the things that went on in there. Don't know why I'm trustin' you, but I am. Just get it over with."

Cooper, feeling butterflies in his stomach, went near the fire and found Wasápe's knife sticking in the ground. He wiped the blade on his long-johns before sticking it into the flames to sanitize it. He came back over to the man on the ground, whose eyes were staring straight ahead with an unfocused quality to them. "He must be retreating to a place in his mind," Cooper thought. He often did the same thing when situations were too painful to confront head-on.

The knife had cooled enough to begin. Cooper took a deep breath. "I'm going to start now." He received no response, so he took it as permission to begin. He chose a particularly festered looking slash and, holding his breath, drew the knife along the length of it. Wasápe's back muscles bunched in reaction, causing yellow puss and blood to come pulsing out of the wound. "Sorry!" Cooper exclaimed.

"Just…get…on with it," Wasápe said through clenched teeth.

Cooper swallowed hard and continued with the process. He sliced open all the cuts that looked like they needed lanced, then did the best he could to wash out all the puss and other debris. Finally, he was finished. He rubbed the poultice over all the open wounds before sitting back, breathing almost as hard as Wasápe. He looked at his hands, studying the mess that covered them. They started to shake, so he put them down.

"Cooper."

"Y-yes," Cooper stammered, feeling fatigue tug at him.

"What do you say we just take ourselves a little break here by this creek for a while. We can see Mexico another day."

We? Cooper wondered where that collective word had come from, but he didn't reflect on it for long. "That sounds marvelous, my friend. Let's rest."

The two new friends lay side by side, completely calm and relaxed in one another's presence. They were resting…finally resting.