Florence could handle an axe with ease even though she was just a kid. There was a strength in her, in the way she smiled, in the way she moved. Louise thought she was beautiful, and envied the way Florence never strayed from their grandmother. Louise thought it was funny that Florence was easy to frighten. Small sounds startled her. She was afraid of the dark and she had once lit Grandma’s tent on fire with matches. Florence had been afraid of the tent. She said the tent was dark and she felt as if she were suffocating. Grandma had understood her fear. Florence had not been punished for the tent fire. Louise remembered the flare of red flames, the thick smudge of smoke, the hot, sick smell, flames ticking like static as the tent seared to sky. Florence had stood behind the house, her teeth chattering, watching the fire. Louise looked at her sister as she ate her fry bread. She would not tell Florence she had seen Baptiste.

Louise saw the slim shine at the edge of the river, the sheen of waterlight outlining every tree at the moment of dusk. Her sister talked on as the wind rattled the bushes and the smooth stars began to appear above the pale hills. She wondered if she had just imagined Baptiste Yellow Knife coming to her. She picked up the stick she had hit him with and poked around the dirt he had peed upon but the ground was dry. She could find no trace of him. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and looked up the hill. A few leaves trembled in the breeze. She could feel Baptiste Yellow Knife was far from her.

“They’re looking for you,” Florence said. Louise sat up with interest. “Even Mr. Bradlock is scouting the hills. Grandma and I saw him. He can hardly make it across the field without his face turning red.” Louise thought of Mr. Bradlock. The sour dampness of his heavy jowled face. She knew he would not find her.

“What about Charlie?” Louise asked.

“He’s mad at Grandma. He says you’ll die out here. He’s saying now he should have taken you to the hospital.”

“He would have taken me back to Thompson Falls,” Louise said. She knew he was looking for her again. She pictured him in his patrol car, spotlighting barrow pits and bushes, Charlie scrambling up the wrong hills, breathless and turned-around. She knew Charlie would never find her. A hundred people could find her, but not Charlie.