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Spider would torture her when he finally recaptured her. Well, Colt didn’t intend to let that happen. She had suffered enough. He looked down into her suntanned face and her dirty, tangled yellow hair. Moonlight. So unlike the dainty Olivia.
    He thought about the perfumed lace hankie in his pocket. Beautiful Olivia, so civilized and sweet-smelling, not at all like this pitiful captive.
    It was the middle of the night when the patrol got back to the fort, but still, many of the inhabitants turned out to hear what had happened. The wounded man was taken to the infirmary, and Colt carried the struggling girl in and sat her on a bed there, too.
    The sleepy old doctor came in and the captain sent for Major Murphy. Colt stepped back and took a good look at the woman he had saved. She was deeply suntanned, but bruises and scratches showed up on her dirty skin. She was slender almost to the point of skinny, plus she was filthy and her yellow hair a tangle. She looked around at everyone, blinking in the unaccustomed light of the kerosene lamps. Colt felt pity for her and wondered if she could ever readjust to civilization again.
    Just then, the major, still buttoning his uniform, came in, along with the lovely Olivia, and the curious crowd melted back to let them stand by Colt.
    â€œSaint Mary’s blood,” the major sighed. “Who is this?”
    The girl only looked at him, blinking those pale blue eyes.
    Colt shrugged. “Can’t get much out of her, sir, except that she didn’t want to come with us.”
    The major moved closer and peered into the girl’s face. “Are you Cynthia Ann Parker?”
    The girl stared back at him as if having a difficult time with the English. Finally, she shook her head.
    â€œOh, maybe you are Hannah Brownley. Is your name Hannah?”
    After a moment, she nodded, then tried to get up off the bed where she sat. “Little boy. Must go back.”
    The whole crowd took a deep breath, and the major gasped. Olivia said, “Oh, the poor thing.”
    The major squatted and took one of her dirty hands in his. “My dear, don’t you remember? We were told your little boy is dead. He died right after birth.”
    â€œNo.” She shook her head and pulled away from him. “No.”
    â€œYou are married, right?” the major said.
    She nodded. “Spider.”
    A gasp from the crowd.
    â€œNo,” the major insisted, “your husband is Luther Brownley. You were captured while picking sand plums almost four years ago. Remember Luther?”
    She scowled and shook her head, then looked toward the door. “Go,” she murmured. “Must go. My little boy.”
    â€œGoodness gracious,” Olivia whispered and the rest of the crowd sighed in pity.
    â€œLet me try,” Colt suggested and squatted, took the girl’s hand in his. It was a hardworking hand with blisters and calluses, and long, shapely fingers that had seen a lot of toil. “Moonlight,” he said softly in Comanche, “you are safe now. Spider can’t get you.”
    A look of fear crossed her suntanned face. “He will come,” she said in Comanche.
    â€œNo.” Colt shook his head. “I will not let him take you. We will send for your husband and you can go back to your old life.”
    â€œNo.” Her voice was stubborn. “Not Luther.”
    Colt sighed and turned to the crowd, shook his head and said in English. “She may have been so brutalized, her mind has been affected.”
    â€œOh, that’s so sad.” Olivia began to weep big tears.
    The bald old doctor pushed in just then, having treated the soldier’s arrow wound. “Dag nab it, we need to give her a few days,” he said to the major. “There’s no telling what she’s been through. It may take her some time to readjust to civilization.”
    Now Olivia said in a mixture of scorn and annoyance, “You’d think she’d be