Jack followed him into thegohwahand sat beside Cochise. He accepted a cup oftiswinfrom Cochise’s first wife, a woman Cochise’s own age, some forty-five years—but who looked closer to sixty. Tesalbestinay smiled and left.
“White Painted Woman has kept you in her embrace,” Cochise said.
“And Usen rides with you,” Jack returned.
They both smiled and dropped the formalities.
“Many winters have passed since last we rode together,” Cochise said. “It is good to see you again. I know when we ride together I can turn my back and have no fear. That is no small thing.”
Jack remained serious and did not smile at the high compliment, for that would be undignified.
“We have a mutual friend.”
“Who?”
“A woman more beautiful than many mountain sunrises. Her hair is the color of the midday sun.”
Jack choked on thetiswin. “Candice?”
“I do not know her name,” Cochise said, watching him with amusement. “She is very brave. I almost wanted to take her as my third wife—but I have enough problems with the two I have.” He was laughing.
Jack started. She had worked her wiles on Cochise too. “She already has two husbands,” he said. “And I’m one of them.”
Cochise chuckled. “Is this a new white custom? A man may have many wives, yes, but a woman many husbands?”
“No.” He didn’t see any honor in the situation. “No. I married her only to take her away from my cousin Hayilkah. He captured her. She thought her first husband was dead.” He grew grim as he thought about Kincaid.
“If you still want her, why do you not go and take her, as is the Apache way? You were married to her last—she is yours.”
He frowned. “I gave her a choice. Where did you see her? At the pass?”
Cochise nodded. “You gave her a white man’s choice. An Apache husband would cut off her nose. Or at least beat her for her infidelity.”
Jack didn’t answer.
“You also look like a White Eyes,” Cochise said disapprovingly.
“How so?” Jack smiled grimly. “Am I not dressed in the Apache way?” He gestured at his buckskin-clad body, at his warrior’s necklace.
“Buckskins do not make an Apache.”
Jack grew somber.
“Riding free with the wind makes an Apache.” Cochise drank the beerliketiswin. “Your actions speak the white man’s language, not Apache.”
“Yes and no,” Jack said.
Cochise smiled. “So you try to sit on top of the thorns? Foolish man! You must stand on the ground, on either one side or the other.”
“That’s easier said than done.”
“One cannot ride in Dos Cabezas and the Chiricahua Mountains at the same time.”
“I understand your point. I ride neither place.”
Cochise smiled sadly. “Look around you, my brother. Look with care and tell me what you see.”
“I see many brave Apaches.”
