“That’s true,” she admitted, “but Fort Laramie used to be a trading post. It belonged to the American Fur Company. And it was named after a French trapper, Jacques Laramée, who set up camp in the area in 1818. Besides, in those days all that territory and maybe even the entire American West was flooded with French Canadians who worked as coureurs de bois, trappers and guides. They lived with Indian women and many had Indian blood themselves.”

She had another reason for stopping at Fort Laramie: in 1854, soldiers at the fort had massacred some Indians who had stolen a cow from an emigrant. Jack paid no attention to this last remark. It was not until a half hour later that he became aware of his error. Each of them was visiting the various rooms in the fort, which had been turned into a museum, when he heard a sort of howl. Like a tremendous cry of despair.

The cry came from the room he was about to visit. He had not immediately recognized La Grande Sauterelle’s voice, but suddenly the cry was followed by a familiar exclamation:

“White men, big shitters!”

He rushed into the room.

Red with anger, the girl was pointing to a machine gun. It was a Gatling, a sort of ancestor of the machine gun, with a fixed breech and a number of tubes bracketed together that acted as a barrel and followed a rotary motion.

Five or six people, including a very dignified old lady escorted by two little girls, had drawn closer, trying to understand what was going on. La Grande Sauterelle stood facing the machine gun, fists on her hips and legs apart. She was raging.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” she exclaimed.

A ranger came forward and broke the circle the people were forming around her. He was a young blond man with little round glasses and a narrow beard along his jawline. He looked very gentle. The girl was crying and shouting and swearing, half in English, half in French.

“ESPÈCE DE ZOUAVE!”

“Beg your pardon?” said the young man.

“YOU SHOOT INDIANS WITH THAT TABARNAK DE MACHINE GUN?”

He looked at the Gatling, but didn’t seem to understand.

“Shoot Indians?” he repeated.

“YES STUPID! YOU SEE THIS MACHINE GUN?”

“Yes . . .”

“I WANT TO KNOW IF IT WAS USED TO SHOOT INDIANS! UNDERSTAND?”

“Oh! I see your point.”

The two little girls huddled close to the old lady. Everyone held his breath.

“Well, I don’t think so,” the ranger replied at length.

“what do you mean, you don’t think so?” La Grande Sauterelle howled, at the peak of exasperation.

“Please come this way,” he said.