Half white, half Apache, life had
not been easy for a girl of seventeen summers in the tribe of Little Squirrel.
Raped by outlaws, when her babe is born, She Who Flies With Doves, along with her daughter
and her own mother, are cast out to fend for themselves.
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Who Flies With Doves...
The land was a mixture of
flatness, rolling gentle
slopes, mountain ranges, gullies and arroyos. Brush and thorny branches
of acrid trees whipped at the women as they passed, many varieties of
cactus snagged in their hide skirts. Knee-high Apache moccasins
protected their legs.
It was fortunate that they happened on a trunk
among discards from settlers heading west. The clothing it contained
was well worn, but the women were grateful for the garments. Not so
with button up shoes, but they put them on their feet anyway. Combs
were also found, so they raked their long hair, and tied a tiny green
ribbon in the babe's fine red down. The cradleboard had to be left
behind, moccasins were hidden in the single bundle of cloths for the
babe. The more the travelers looked like white folks, the better.
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