She tried counting the scars and marks on my chest and back and gave up around two dozen. Some, like the dark snake on my neck, were now five years ol..., and a few like the still-healing bayonet wounds on my back were souvenirs of Dan Morgan's recent campaign in the Carolinas. The deepest of them still had stitches in it.She untied the rawhide strip holding my hair back and called out, "Martha." Shortly a stocky black woman appeared with a bucket of steaming water. Her forearms were bigger. " She wrinkled her nose. "Meet me on the southwest deck. I'll be waiting."The chief turned on her heel and walked out the door without another word. Her invitation was not open to debate. I was at her beck and call.I rubbed the stubble on my chin as I looked down at my dingy-gray whitey-tighties and sniffed my armpit. She might have a point.My hair was still damp as I took a seat across from Sheila at the cafe style table and awaited her instructions. I sipped from my cup and gazed at the. More

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