They would come back to the cabin, the skiff full of their catch, so tired that it hurt. Yet in the morning they rushed back, breathless in anticipati...n of what they would find waiting.Life and death permeated the place. Nothing ever seemed to be still. The wind was constant and relentless, pushing, teasing, and stroking her skin. The sea surged and fought with them, lifting and tossing the small skiff, its constant motion echoing and enhancing the tides that pulsed within her. The scent of the. I nibbled on those while I waited for the Indians to start their get-together. Some elderly Comanche in the biggest war bonnet I had ever seen was escorted to the place of honor and seated with much ceremony. I swear that there had to be at least 100 coup-feathers on that war bonnet, and that meant that he was either a very successful killer or a very successful war chief, or maybe even both. Anyway, I knew that my first bullet was reserved for him!Some other men were seated near that first. More

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