He brought me water then, and broth in a tin cup later when we stopped long enough to warrant cooking fires. (Small ones. We had no idea where scouts and troops lurked.) He held me up and close to his chest so I could drink. When he lowered me down, he gave me a gentle squeeze.

“You’re a good girl, Elizabeth Ann.” He left me a canteen with US stamped on it, and swung onto his horse again.

Blue Mountain Woman rode by me most of the time. Although her English language skills were rudimentary, they weren’t really needed. I could tell without words how deeply it pained her to see me lying there, drawn up into a ball. I resolved to get on my horse the next morning no matter how I felt.

We stopped that night near Reed’s Fort, a wind-scoured trading post presided over by an old coot who, from all appearances, had subsisted in Judith Basin since the earth’s crust was still hot. The People seemed to know him well. Everyone went trading and came away with a dab of food and ammunition, though not much. He said he was expecting supplies soon from the closest river drop at Cow Island, some twenty miles north on the Missouri River.

I’ve asked myself a time or two why the Nimiipuu didn’t leave me there with Reed and his mixed-blood family. All I can surmise is that they feared Reed would jump to conclusions if he saw me with my black eye and battered face. Or they might even have decided that as well as they thought they knew this white man, maybe they didn’t know any white man’s heart, and didn’t want to chance more injury to me.

Peeking out from under the protection of my blanket, I watched Reed move among the different families, visiting here and there, admiring new babies, looking for all the world like a favorite uncle. I didn’t feel up to visitors. I could be cynical and write that Mr. Reed was in no position to argue with his customers. He was significantly outnumbered. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, though. He knew these people and they knew him. Whole sermons have been given on that subject. Too bad the wrangler never listened to one.

Through the exercise of real grit, I mounted my horse in the morning. Fair One looked gigantic, but I threw a leg over and hauled myself on board less than gracefully. I discovered it was much easier riding in Indian clothing. I also discovered that my world was a better place when Blue Mountain Woman looked less anxious.