Comanche Moon by Virginia Brown Page A

back to civilization. Surely, by now soldiers should have been able to find them. Had any been alerted? Was anyone still looking for them? It had only been three weeks since they’d been taken from the Velazquez hacienda, and rescuers could not have given up yet.
    Though not quite certain where they were, Deborah knew they were within a few days ride of Texas. Probably in New Mexico. If she and Judith managed to escape and went south, they could possibly find a main trade route. But if they were caught—the possibilities were frightening. Deborah had no illusions about her captor. He may not have treated her as harshly as he could, but there was a steely core to him that would not endure an escape attempt.
    When they made their attempt, she and Judith would have to be ready to accept whatever fate might bring them, and not turn back. The reprisals would be harsh.
    Sunflower handed Deborah a skin of water, and she drank deeply. It was best, she’d discovered, not to examine some of the containers and even the food too closely. Suspicious differences from what she had been used to would have rendered her unable to eat anything, and so she simply took what was offered without close examination. The water skin, for instance, reminded her of an animal intestine, and she dared not look too closely. She gave it back, and Sunflower took it without comment.
    Some of the easy companionship of the morning was gone, and Deborah wasn’t sure why. Perhaps her words had somehow disturbed Sunflower.
    “Kima,” the girl murmured, and Deborah followed her back into the blackberry bushes.
    Now the sun was directly overhead, burning down with a fierce intensity. Even the birds had quieted, and the droning of the insects seemed louder than before. Soft rustlings in the tall grasses seemed furtive, though Deborah thought it must be only the wind.

    She plucked a particularly juicy berry, dropping it atop the others in her basket. Her fingers were stained a purple so dark as to be almost black, and her hands and arms were scratched in dozens of places by the thorns. Her skirt snagged on a vicious thorn, and she turned, muttering softly about the inconvenience.
    A low rumble made her head snap up, and she’d opened her mouth to speak when Sunflower put a warning hand on her arm. The girl was stiff and tense, radiating a sense of urgency and fear.
    Deborah trembled. She’d seen the Comanche return with women from another tribe, and knew that the tribes often warred against one another, stealing women and horses with utter disregard. It would not be unheard of for a warring tribe to do the same here.
    Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest, and her knees went weak with fright. She hadn’t realized it, but her hand was on Sunflower’s arm, her fingers digging deeply into the girl’s skin. Sunflower tugged silently at her, and Deborah eased her grip.
    The rumble came again, and this time it was discernible as a male voice, deep and husky. It sounded amused, and there was a soft, feminine squeal.
    Deborah felt faint. Had an enemy caught someone unawares? Were there many of them? She followed Sunflower’s example, and sank slowly to the ground as noiselessly as possible. Thick berry branches hid them from sight of a casual observer and she prayed no one would know to look for them.
    Crouched under the thorns and fruit, they waited, and it seemed as if the voice grew nearer. Deborah sliced a glance at Sunflower and saw her eyes widen with sudden recognition. She gave Deborah a startled glance, then put a finger to her lips in warning.
    Puzzled, Deborah could not imagine the reason.
    Until the man came into view, and she saw Hawk. He was with a woman, one of the Mexican-Comanche women, and they did not seem to be fighting, as she’d first thought. Instead, Hawk had an arm around the woman’s waist, and she was giggling. Deborah stiffened.
    There was an unmistakable meaning to their actions. Even before she saw Hawk pull the woman’s loose