The people gathered around the travois when he led it into the clearing, anxious to see if Black Elk was all right, but equally curious to see the man Swift Runner had said was Hawk, friend of the Blackfoot. A woman Hawk learned later to be Black Elk’s wife came immediately to her wounded husband’s side and helped move him from the travois and into her tipi. When that was done, Hawk came out of the tipi to find Swift Runner standing beside an elderly man, waiting to introduce him. “This is Wounded Bear,” Swift Runner said. “He is our chief.”

“Wounded Bear,” Hawk greeted him. “My name’s John Hawk.”

“Welcome to our village,” Wounded Bear said. “I have heard of a man called Hawk who once lived with the Blackfoot.”

“I reckon that’s me,” Hawk said.

“Thank you for bringing Black Elk back to us.” He turned to smile at Swift Runner. “And Swift Runner, too. They do what they can to provide food for our village, but they have no weapons to hunt with but bows. And it is not always easy to get close enough to the deer and antelope to use their bows.”

Hawk didn’t have to pause to consider that. “Well, they have now.” He walked over to Rascal and untied the buckskin straps holding the Winchester ’66 rifle that had belonged to Tater Thompson. He handed it to Swift Runner, then took the Colt .44 and holster from his saddle horn, along with an extra cartridge belt, also property of the late Tater Thompson, and hung them on the boy’s shoulder. “You won’t have to get so close with these, the rifle, anyway. The handgun ain’t bad for small stuff, like rabbits and squirrels and such.” Swift Runner said nothing, but his eyes were wide with joy and surprise as he carefully turned the rifle over in his hands as if it were a magical thing. “You might notta fired a Winchester before,” Hawk went on. From the look in the boy’s eyes, he figured he probably hadn’t fired any kind of rifle or gun. “I can show you how best to use it. Your father oughta be up and be gettin’ around pretty soon, and then you can show him how to use it.”

Seeing the signs of joy in the faces of the people gathered around him, Hawk knew that he could have made no other decision—Booth would have to wait. A smiling Wounded Bear stepped forward to thank him again. “I am ashamed that I cannot prepare a feast to honor you. The hunting has not been good here, and Black Elk has had to travel farther and farther to find game.”