Which reminds me: Here is a good place for me to insert something I alluded to earlier, when I asked Bear Coat later, point blank, why didn’t they just blow us to smithereens. As I recall, he said something noble sounding, but the truth of it was that from the beginning of their flight to now, the Nimiipuu had also been pursued by journalists who knew a good story when they saw one. By the time the flight culminated not forty miles south of Canada and possible freedom, the American reading public had swung completely to the side of Chief Joseph and The People, fleeing oppression and only wishing to return to their peaceful life in the beautiful Wallawa Mountains of eastern Oregon and western Idaho.

Bear Coat, a man of vast ambition, didn’t dare blast the Nez Perce into oblivion. Yes. I will call them Nez Perce now because everyone else does. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. Oh, you sly dog, Bear Coat.

And that was that. Many readers had bought lots of newspapers to digest along with breakfasts of bacon and eggs, toast and cereal, and public opinion is a might thing. It is also somewhat fleeting, but that is for later in this story.

Throughout the afternoon, the sharpshooters came out of their firing pits, holding their precious weapons high and away from their bodies. They worked their way to the valley floor to join their families, those who had families left to join.

Bluecoats filed into our encampments, their rifles ready. It makes me shudder even now, when I think what could have happened if a child had moved suddenly, or someone cried out. I am certain we would have been mowed down by those troopers of the Seventh Cavalry, those Custer avengers. I saw it in their eyes.

Hawk was one of the last men out of the rifle pits. Even helped by a friend, he could barely walk. In fact, he stumbled and fell halfway down the slope. I wanted to run to him, but I was too terrified to move out of the surrender line. Friends helped him to his feet and he leaned on Poker Joe’s rifle, which I am certain was empty. His tired eyes lit up when he saw me.

He started toward me, then changed his mind, which broke my heart into a thousand shards, even though I understood why. He knew, and I did, too, that the less involvement any of The People had with me, the better for all of us. I don’t know when I have felt so low. I would have cried, but why bother? I doubt I had a tear left.

With the women and children, I watched as the men dropped their rifles in a growing pile, then moved forward toward the soldier camp. We moved along, too. Wait for it, wait for it, Lizzie Everett. Now.

“Goddamighty, Sergeant, look at this! A white woman!”