I lost my resolve. I saw myself trudging back up the embankment with Stoner in my arms, waiting impatiently by the roadside for Railer to smirk at me. My heart was sinking. I didn’t have the guts. I squatted before him then, steadying myself for the pull. I was helping the enemy. I had my cheek to his and I was beginning to lift him, ready to hoist him on my shoulder and pull him to safety when I felt the bite of his words close to my ear. “The bitch dead yet?” he said. I knew I had heard him right and I didn’t want to hear those words again. I stopped dead still. I was embracing him. “What?” I said.

“You heard me,” he said. “Is the bitch dead yet?”

I dropped his weight then and stepped back where he couldn’t reach me though he scrambled to swipe at me again.

“You think you can manage to walk on your own?” I said, not really certain if he was a man too injured to move.

I removed my flashlight from my belt-loop sleeve and though my hands were calm the light stuttered over Stoner’s body. The cuff of his pant leg was spilling blood, the left leg so badly broken the bone had slammed through his pants.

“Does it look like I can walk?” he said, his tone softer.

“No,” was all I said. A calmness plunged through me. My heart was still. “I can save the whole Flathead Nation,” I said only to myself, but Stoner answered me.

“You just have to save me,” he said, and there was relief in his voice.

I shone the light into Stoner’s face and looked at him for the first time without flinching. I held the light to his blue eyes and knew he was the enemy. I saw the chickened-yellow jowls of his sagging jawline, and in that moment I suddenly saw the bleak face of Sister Simon even when I blinked. Stupid Indian, she was saying, stupid, stupid Indian. And the answer was easy. There were no more choices. There was only this one duty before me, this one responsibility.

“Hold on there,” I said to Stoner. I patted my chest for the matches I knew I didn’t have. I moved toward Stoner and squatted down before him once again. I began patting his coat pockets and he grabbed at my wrists. Stoner was wild-eyed and glaring. “What the hell?” he said to me. “I don’t need comfort here.” His voice was shrill. I lifted Stoner’s cold silver lighter in my palm and held it above his head. He knew now. There was no doubt. He grabbed at me but I managed to step back from him, out of his reach forever.