To his right sat a younger man who resembled him. I think he was the handsomest Indian I ever saw, and the Nimiipuu were, on the whole, quite handsome. He was Ollokot, Joseph’s brother.

By contrast, seated next to Ollokot was perhaps the homeliest person I ever laid eyes on. Toohoolhoolzote was the leader of a clan of Nimiipuu that roamed between the Snake and Salmon rivers. He was tall like the others, but hunched over to one side and cursed with thick lips and a nose that looked like it had been broken in several places. Chief Looking Glass had a long face and mournful eyes. And White Bird? He looked at me and I saw compassion.

I could tell you something about each man in the circle, but it’s too hard for me. I sit at my desk, aching inside, because all these men are dead now, with the exception of Hawk. I regret their passing. They took something good with them when they left.

The interpreter was Kinikinik Hototo, also called Poker Joe, a mixed blood like Hawk, but French. I learned later that he had lived with the Flathead Indians for several years, and was famed, for good or ill, by his love of playing cards. He had a thick accent, as did Hawk, but I understood his English.

After a gesture from one of the men, Hawk spoke first, retelling the story of how they had acquired a white female captive. Poker Joe knelt by me and interpreted while Hawk spoke to the chiefs and war leaders.

One of the chiefs, if I remember right it was White Bird, asked him why they had not killed me or left me behind. Hawk seemed to think about that for a moment, and then he lied. “He says, ‘We traveled for some distance before we realized she was with us,’” Poker Joe whispered.

I nodded, struck by the fact that Hawk had known I was there from the start. I knew it was not my place to correct him, however, especially not in that tight circle where I think my fate was being decided.

Hawk’s lie seemed to satisfy White Bird, one of the war leaders, who clearly had plenty of acquaintance with reactions in the heat of excitement, such as generated by the death of that wrangler back in the camp.

Joseph asked the next logical question, an extension of White Bird’s. When they realized, why hadn’t they just left me behind? With no hesitation this time, Hawk replied that they thought about leaving me, but were afraid General Howard’s Bannock scouts would kill me.

“What of it?” Toohoolhoolzote grumbled. Poker Joe almost didn’t translate that for me, but I asked him to.

Silence, then Ollokot gave an impatient sigh and said something pithy. “He says, ‘You are too much a white man, Hawk,’” Poker Joe translated.

Hawk snapped something at him that Poker Joe refused to translate, then he spoke again, his voice calm. I looked at Poker Joe, who nodded. “’No, Ollokot, I am too much one of The People. No good would come of killing a white woman, or leaving her behind for Bluecoat scouts to do what they wanted.’”