I sat down on the cot and stared into the blue flame of the lamp until spots danced in front of my eyes. The flickers of light leaped and sparkled until I blew out the lamp and sat staring into the darkness. It had been an awful day, one that had only gotten worse with the surrender.

I lay down and closed my eyes, feeling some measure of peace simply because the guns were silent. If there hadn’t been a guard outside my tent, I do believe I would have lit out for Canada.

Old Mary had said that White Bird was going to do precisely that. I hoped that Hawk traveled with him. I knew his horse was dead, but Fair One was out there in the darkness somewhere. He would never make it on foot, but Fair One would carry him away from this place, and, sadly, away from me. “It’s 303 McDermott Street,” I said softly. “Omaha, Nebraska. Please don’t forget me.”

I opened my eyes next morning to the sound of loud talking outside the tent. When I poked my head out, I saw one of my two guards staring at something in his hand while the other poked it. I looked closer, then threw back the tent flap and snatched the object from the private before he had time to tighten his grip.

It was Hawk’s Jefferson peace medal. He must have somehow left it here for me. He told me once that only a person with a warrior’s heart could wear it, and he gave it to me.

“Where did you find this?” I asked the trooper.

“It was right here in front of the tent.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I can’t imagine how it got here. I mean, me and my bunkie, we been watching your tent all night.”

Oh really? I put the medallion around my neck and tucked it down the front of my deerskin dress. It chilled my skin. “I believe it is a gift to me,” I told the guards. “I won’t tell the colonel about it. After all, we can’t have him thinking that you fell asleep while on watch, can we?” I rummaged around in Civil War stories I had heard. “I know that in wartime it is an offence punishable by death, and you seem to be at war with the Nez Perce.”

After horrified glances at each other, they nodded and resumed their stance outside the tent, protecting me from who knew what.

With this gift, I knew Hawk was gone. He must have left during the night with White Bird. I hoped he rode Fair One, because she had a gentle canter and he had a bad leg. Another storm prepared to break over the Bear Paw Mountains and I shivered to think of Hawk and the others struggling through snow. Please let him be riding Fair One.