Some of The People noticed, too. Outriders started to wave their signal blankets in wide circles. Mothers darted about for their children. Babies cried until hushed, and big-eyed older ones wandered and looked for a familiar face. People ran to their horses.

Bluecoats bore down on us from several directions. I didn’t stop to pass the time of day, but followed the rapidly moving herd. We headed for a gap in rimrocks that looked miles away. It was a wide opening and we aimed for it. A creek flowed into the canyon.

Fair One and I fled past the abandoned wagon. Already, The People’s proven sharpshooters were firing steadily from the outcropping of rocks inside the canyon mouth. I ducked every time the guns went off, feeling foolish, but ducking anyway.

This could have been another opportunity to turn around and ride toward the Bluecoats, but by now I understood that I was just a body on horseback with Indians fleeing a reservation, and not Elizabeth Ann Everett.

I was close to the rocks and almost in the comparative safety of the canyon when I nearly ran down an old woman kneeling by a clump of brush, wailing away in the oddest fashion. Her back was to me – she didn’t want to look at the soldiers, either – but when my horse dislodged some rocks near her, she turned around. It was Catherine.

Heaven knows what possessed me, but even as frightened as I was, I reined in Fair One and leaped off. Catherine took scant notice of me. She started to sing louder, and I listened.

“’Come thou fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing thy grace, streams of mercy never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise.’” Catherine understood loud praise, this Nimiipuu who had been baptized by Reverend Spaulding and who probably attended the Presbyterian Church in her Blue Mountain homeland. I could almost hear small coins clinking in the offering plate.

I looked around for Meopwits or Blue Mountain Woman to help me. Where were they? People on horseback streamed into the canyon, now that most of the pony herd was through. I saw no one familiar.

I grabbed Catherine by the arm and tried to pull her to her feet. She wouldn’t budge. I plucked at her sleeve like a child. “Now look here,” I argued, screaming to be heard above the rifles and horses. All she did was shake her finger at me and said, “’Fear not, for I bring you good tidings of great joy,’” over and over. I might as well have addressed the sagebrush, for all the attention she paid me.

I dug in my heels and tried to yank the old lady to her feet. The memory of the falling baby was fresh in my mind and I was determined that this would end differently and I would be of use.

People rushed past me and still I hung onto that stubborn woman, intent on my good works. I can’t imagine why I wasn’t trampled or gunned down.