He whistled and his horse came trotting toward him. He put the bridle on that he had slung over his shoulder at the shelter, then whispered a few pleasantries in his language to the lovely spotted horse.

Speaking of horses… I almost hated to bother him about a horse when he had so much on his mind, but I had to say something. This would be a good time to leave me behind, but I didn’t relish the thought. I had heard wolves howling, and knew to a painful degree my tenderfoot status. I might have had a few useful skills in Omaha, but none here in the wilds of wherever we were, maybe Montana, maybe Wyoming. I was also beginning to wonder how the Crow would regard a footsore white woman who could sing and crochet and paint on china, but not much else.

“You know, you were eating my horse this morning,” I started out.

He chuckled, and his expression brightened. “And…”

I wasn’t about to defend the defunct Methuselah, but I needed an answer and not a tease. “And what am I to do now?”

“We could leave you here,” he offered.

I took heart because of his lurking smile. “Thank you, but no.”

He pointed with his lips toward the rest of the herd, and crooked his finger. We kept walking. I saw Joseph and his children rounding up their horses. Poker Joe was already on horseback and starting to nag The People to move. They were heading north and not east now.

“Canada?” I asked Hawk.

“Ah, yes, where the people of Canada will be so pleased to see us.”

In the interest of keeping the peace and solving my own problem, I thought it best not to comment.

Another whistle, and a different horse came forward, a little mare with a spotted rump. I hadn’t noticed until then that he had been carrying another bridle. It was a moment’s work to put it in place and hand the reins to me. “Her name is Fair One. Treat her nice. She won’t take a saddle.”

“Thanks, Hawk.”

He did something then that touched my heart. It still does. He gently pressed his forehead to mine.

I abandoned my sidesaddle in the encampment. Like the proverbial bad penny, it turned up weeks later at the Bear Paws. General Howard himself returned it to me. I felt far from grateful then and said some hateful things, none of which I ever retracted. Come to think of it, I said some dreadful things to quite a few Bluecoats, none of which I regret, either.

I’m jumping ahead, but I don’t suppose it matters. This account is for my family alone; besides, everyone knows what happened.

We were on the march before the sun rose much higher. I shivered through the morning, wondering whether it was still August or September now. The morning sun burned away the chill, but a coolness lingered, almost like a warning. I wished Joseph and Poker Joe would come across some white people to take me in. At the same time, I wished Canada were closer.