Chapter Twenty-Three
“Doodie, get a handful of soft mud from the creek. The reddish brown stuff. Then I’ll need some peppers. The little hot ones that grow wild on the north side of the hills.”
A contrite Max listens, lying supine. With his nostril binding tightly secured to a stake, his head is immobile, forcing him to crane his neck upwards. A nearby roaring fire heats. He can feel the swirl of the flames.
Due to his transgression, his bold escape, Max’s ankle rings are no longer tied to stakes in the soil. Instead he is bent at the waist, his feet high above and well spread with the deeply set rings secured to tree branches above.
“For now, I’m just going to mark you, Max. The Pawnee and other tribes will recognize my insignia and be more respectful should you choose again to be di
