When I think about the Bear Paws, I also cain’t hep but wish maybe this time the ending will be different. Foolish, I know, but I wish it anyway. I know the ending too well, and I do not want to write about it.

My husband feels the same way. I’ve been showing him some of this manuscript as I go along. After reading what I wrote yesterday, he said he didn’t want to read anymore.

For several days, the Bear Paws figured prominently in our line of march. As we neared them, I began to see how the mountains got their name. Rising out of a relatively flat plain, a series of gorges and cutbanks radiated out from the center of the formation like gigantic digits. The land was gullied and eroded, with a stream running through it. Snake Creek, Hawk said. You’ll also see it spelled Bear’s Paw or Bearpaw, so take your pick.

Something else competed for my attention: hunger. We had so little to eat and I found it hard to direct my thoughts away from my stomach. I couldn’t ignore the fact that I was starving, no matter how hard I tried.

My traveling companions didn’t seem to be troubled as much as I was, raised as they were by the reality that you eat when you can, and starve when you can’t. The children were still learning this lesson, though, and I knew how they felt because I saw it in their eyes.

We pushed on, the wind blowing colder by the time we stopped in early afternoon, sooner than usual. The women set about putting up shelters, those who had any shelter left. Hawk saw to his horses, then squatted on his heels with other warriors. When Looking Glass joined them, Hawk gestured several times toward the ridges that rose above us. Looking Glass made some sharp signs right back and shook his head. Hawk left the circle abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, as I took our remaining blankets off the pony drag and set them inside our shelter.

“He’s not even going to put up any sentinels,” he said. He put his bow and arrows and the wrangler’s rifle on the blankets. “When I told him I would sit up there by myself, he laughed and called me a white man.”

“The last soldiers we saw were three days back and riding in the other direction,” I reminded him.

“I know that. I also like to think that I have learned more about soldiers since we started this little trip.”

His unease seemed to become mine. “You think we should keep going?” I tried to sound casual, because he was frightening me.

“I do. We’re only some thirty miles from Canada. I can stand another day or two without food.”