Duncan and I met the chief at Enterprise, the county seat. He was glad to see us, and asked about our children and horses. Our little party drove out to the grave of Joseph’s father. The landowner had put a tidy fence around the grave and it looked well-tended. Joseph spent several moments in silence, gazing down at the little plot, a far remove from the many thousands of acres agreed upon by treaty in 1855 and then cruelly snatched away, which led to trouble and more trouble and finally, Bear Paw.

The chief looked so old and unhappy that I wanted to put out a hand to steady him. I didn’t, of course. One doesn’t live so many years with a Nimiipuu without learning what is right and proper.

We turned to go. Joseph gave Major McLaughlin the long stare. “Even this little piece of land would be enough,” he murmured. The major shook his head. Apparently, another grave there for Joseph was more land than the good citizens of the county thought they could spare.

It continues to rain on the just and the unjust. My heart is ever hopeful that the inequities suffered by indigenous peoples and others in this land of the brave and home of the free will be evened out. I also know enough about the white man to be certain it won’t happen in my lifetime.

We have done well. Our cheerful Millie lives in nearby Baker, where her new husband teaches. David, our eldest and one who follows the old ways, runs a logging concern to the east of us and is courting a Lapwai girl. Thomas, our youngest at thirteen, will probably stay here and take over when we are too old to manage. He has the same way with horses as his father. I’ve seen him several times in the corral, nose to nose with a horse, murmuring to it in the language of The People.

The only one I worry about is James, in his third year of high school. He has a scholar’s heart and wants to go to the agricultural college in Corvallis. I knew he will do well, but I worry. Of all our children, he looks the most like The People. I fear the way will not be easy for him.

I was trying to find a better box this morning for my chronicle and came across Duncan going through the desk. “What’re you looking for, oh man of mine?” I asked. (He likes that.)

“Some paper.” He didn’t look up as he searched the drawers. “Got to write a letter to Governor Chamberlain.”

I didn’t know he had connections like that. “Well well, do tell.”

“I got a letter on official stationery, even. He wants me to train one of our horses for him.”

I gaped at him. “Are you really going to do it?”