Jane crouched behind the deadfall tree, next to Redhawk who spent his revolver. Indians paraded on the bluff until their bravery waned, as the spencer rifles from the men behind the wagons found their targets. Jane dug in, small as a mole with her fingers to her ears.

A cloud of smoke rose up from the bluff. The smell of sulfur lingered in the air. A gulf of silence followed, bringing smirks and smiles to the men's once startled faces. Then all eyes found Jane, who was the reason for them scouting the foothills in the first place.

Jane knew she looked ghostly. She was slick with mud from head to toe. But it didn't stop her from giving Redhawk a hug. She latched on to him and didn't want to let go. She breathed deeply, until her lungs hurt. When she pried herself away, she looked at him with her stark blue eyes, alive with freedom. "My husband, Jake...Is he..."

"He lives. Your husband lives."

Jane had stood, but then her knees wobbled. She put a trembling hand to her face, as if she replayed the last time she watched him from the crop of rocks in the canyon.

"When you were taken, he managed to hide in the reeds. Joseph and I were on a hunt when the party of Indians rushed into the camp. When I found Jake, we had to yank him off my horse. He was determined to go after you or die trying. I had to convince him that if he tried, they would kill you first and make him watch."

"Where is he? Is he close?"

When you were taken, I sent him back to get word to general Sully and his men. He aimed to bring the boys in blue along with a herd of horses to trade for you."

Jane was lost in thought with what the General once said after the church service, that her opinion of the Indians might change, if she'd ever been held captive. "How many?"

"Ma'am?" Redhawk seemed surprised.

"How many horses to trade?"

"Maybe, twenty."

"Just twenty? I would have reckoned they would throw in a couple egg laying chickens for me." She cracked a smile that surfaced through her muddy face.

Redhawk escorted her beyond the gauntlet of gazes, as if the men had never seen a freed white woman before. He bounded with her toward a wagon. He stopped her at the back of the canopy. Put his hands on her shoulders. His dark eyes made him seem reserved. As a scout, it wasn't his first exploit to retrieve captives from Indians. "Just in case, one of the women from the fort gave us clothes."

Jane had been so long in captivity she'd forgotten how she'd been living. Her deerskin was nearly shredded. She welcomed the blanket Redhawk wrapped around her shoulders. He helped her inside the wagon where she could freshen up and change.

While Jane surveyed the clothes, she noticed a hand mirror. She dared look at it, afraid she might not recognize herself. She took a strip of cloth and wiped away some of the mud that hadn't dried to her face. She breathed a sigh. For sure she'd changed. There was a wildness to her bloodshot eyes. Her hair smelled of smoked wood, and she searched for a comb or brush to get the knots out of her hair. When she found a brush, she found every stroke painful. Her hair looked like an abandoned bird's nest.

Jane heard the men call to order. Redhawk called to her from behind the folded flap. "I believe your husband and Sully's men are half a day's ride. We will retreat east until the sunsets. Whatever you need we will do our best."

She called out, as tears pressed against her eyes and she stared into the mirror. "I'm thankful and blessed the women at the fort thought of my safe return enough to give me clothes and such."

Horses stirred outside. The wagon jostled Jane about. Redhawk's silhouette could be seen beyond the folds. "Jane, you rescued yourself. No doubt you have a story to tell. No man here saved you. You saved yourself."

Jane stayed silent, as Redhawk backed away and the wagon moved. But her thoughts flushed like water on hard gravel over what to expect ahead. And then her mind flashed back to Little Deer. Had it not been for her faith and grit, she may not have made it. She knew then, she'd have to tell her white folks in Iowa what became of her. Then, she fretted over her husband, and the guilt he must have lived under.

As Redhawk's boy, Peter rode through the night beneath a blanket of stars on the prairie, she could only lay back on the pile of clothes and imagine the wonderous look on her husbands face to be told the news. She lives! She's alive and free.

The movement of the wagon wheels on the uneven terrain helped her sink into the pile of soft fabrics around her. She buried herself into the cloths and the smells of lavender and other perfumes filled her head until she fell asleep.

The wagon rumbled to a stop. It jerked Jane awake. When she looked out, the setting sun looked as if it set the mountains behind the men ablaze with a reddish glow. She couldn't put enough distance between her and the Indian uprising. Her thoughts turned toward her son. She imagined him on the McCord ranch looking at the stars and being told, she'd wish on the same ones.

There was nothing like breathing the fresh free air around them and to be in the company of a small army. She fell asleep as night surrounded them. Every now and then she heard the sound of men talking or catch the sweet smell of hickory wood on a fire. There was nothing left but for her to fall into a cavernous sleep until daybreak, the day she would lay eyes on her husband-the day she'd start a new chapter in her life.