I should be embarrassed to admit that the encounter with the Crow cheered me up, but it did. I have never been an advocate of violence, but there was something so satisfying about the raid. Didn’t General Robert Lee say it was a good thing war was so horrible, else we would grow too fond of it? Maybe he was a traitor to his country – you know, that country trying to work such mischief among these people I rode with – but there’s definitely something to what he said. I felt a curious lift to my heart, almost a sensual emotion, as I watched the Nimiipuu wade through the Crows so systematically. I can’t explain it really, except to say that I felt better for the first time in days.

Poker Joe insisted we travel on that day and we did, but it was a half-hearted kind of movement because all we wanted to do was eat. This irritated Poker Joe. His efforts to hurry up young and old alike met with stares and downright hostility.

After one of his attempted to hurry along stragglers, he slapped his hand on his thigh and burst out, “God-damned bunch of savages!” I couldn’t help my whoop of laughter, which earned me a glare from him.

We ate a lot that night. I was impressed how carefully the leaders divided the meat among the families. As soon as Chief Joseph called a halt, everyone rushed about preparing the meat. Children ranged across the prairie hunting for buffalo chips, as the rest of us scrounged around for what wood we had brought with us. A portion of the meat was cut into strips and readied for drying.

It may have been the best dinner I ever ate, and I’ve eaten at Delmonico’s. Nobody felt like hanging around for well-done. I had to school my feelings to keep from cramming it in and reaching for more, all in the same motion. I ate slowly and with as much dignity as I could, considering that all I had to work with was one of Hawk’s knives. I doubt there was a fork within miles.

The flavor of the meat was piquant, perhaps owing to the buffalo-chip fire. The nicest part of the impromptu banquet was knowing there was more if I wanted seconds. I did.

Considering what awaited us in a few weeks, something more important than a rousing dinner happened that night, although it didn’t mean much to me at the time. After dinner, the chiefs of the clans and the leaders withdrew for a council, rather than brandy and cigars in the drawing room. I was certainly not invited, nor were any of the women. What I learned, I learned later from Hawk.

“The chiefs have chosen Looking Glass,” Hawk said when he returned to our own campfire after the session.

“And?” The subtleties of Indian commentary were still beyond me, as you might note.