He smiled. "Have the questions begun?"
She didn't know whether to appease her curiosity or leave because he was not properly dressed. "I am not-I don't-"
He addressed her apprehension. "Makinna, this is the way my people dress. We are a desert tribe. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I will put something on."
She moved forward several steps to show him that she respected and accepted his cus tom. "Please, don't trouble yourself on my account. It is as you say, the way your people dress."
He indicated that she should be seated. "Why not make yourself comfortable?"
Tykota watched as Makinna sat down and commenced to nervously smooth impossible wrinkles out of her tattered gown. He moved out of the stream of moonlight and sat down some distance from her to ease her nerves.
"Thank you for mending my shoes, Tykota." She glanced at him and then quickly averted her eyes. "How ever did you manage it?"
"I am an Indian, remember?" A smile curved his lips. "We are good at making things out of leather."
She nodded.
"What would you like to know about me, Makinna?"
She raised troubled eyes to him. "First of all, I would like to say how ashamed I am for not thanking you for saving my life. There have been times when I am sure you would have liked to abandon me, and I thank you for your forbearance."
"You have not been a burden, Makinna. And there are still troubled times ahead of us. Before this is over, you may very well wish you had stayed behind with the others."
"Do you foresee great danger?"
"Yes, I do. The closer I get to my destination, the more aggressively the Apache will pursue me."
"We have managed to avoided them thus far. You have outsmarted them at every turn, and I believe you will continue to do so." Makinna said loyally.
"I wish that were true. But you see, Makinna, one particular Apache knows exactly where I am going. He is smart, and he can always place himself between me and my destination."
"Do you know him?"
"Yes."
She frowned. "Does he hate you so much?"
"Yes, he does. He has waited a long time for our meeting. He will find me, Makinna."
"You will know what to do if that should happen."
"I wish I was as sure of that as you are."
"What does he mean to do to you?"
His expression seemed pained. "He wants to see me dead."
"Why would anyone hate you that much?"
"There are many customs among the Indian, Makinna, that are difficult for the white world to grasp. This particular Indian and I share a bond that can only be severed if one of us is dead." His gaze met hers, and he saw the puzzlement on her face. "You cannot be expected to understand. Do not try. Now, what else do you what to know, Makinna?"
She leaned forward. "I want to know about your boyhood. Why did you leave your home? Why were you educated in England?"
He nodded. "My father, my Indian father, sent me away because... It was for the good of the people. On that, I can tell you nothing more."
"You were raised by a white man, yet you seem to have little love for our race."
"You are mistaken, Makinna. There are good and bad people in every race. I have found that many white men are not to be trusted, but the same can be said for many Indians."
"I have not found that to be true. I believe most people are honest and care about their fellow man."
"Do you?"
"Yes, I do. Tell me about Mr. Silverhorn."
Tykota raised his head and stared at the dome opening as if he were remembering something from long ago. "I told you before that George Silverhorn became like a second father to me, and his wife, Hannah, was the mother I never had. But in the first two years I was with them, I was very rebellious and ran away three times. Of course, since I was in England, I could not get back to my people without boarding a ship."
"So you stopped running away?"
"My father, George, made me a promise that he would buy land in Texas, so I could be nearer my people, if I would not attempt to run away again."
"And he kept his promise."
"Yes, Makinna, he kept his promise."
"And you loved being here again?"
"I did, yes. When we moved to Biquera Ranch, I was happy because they allowed me to spend summers with my boyhood friend, Santo, and my old teacher, Mangas. Sometimes my white friend, John Kincaid, who lived on the neighboring ranch, would join us. But after a while, there was some kind of trouble between John and Santo-I never learned what it was."
"Are you still friends with John?"
"I would like to be. For a time we were almost like brothers. He went to school in England with me. But I do not see much of him now."