Careful, Joe, Jack said.

I hear you, Joe sent back. I’m cool.

But after taking another drag on his cigarette, he flicked the butt at the war chief’s feet.

“I guess we’re done being polite,” he said.

He heard Lucius growl a warning, “Joe,” to him, but he never let his gaze stray from Minisino’s. He understood everybody’s concern, but he wasn’t being jackass prideful here. It was all a matter of respect. If Minisino didn’t offer him some respect, then the war chief wasn’t going to listen to him. And if he didn’t listen, then this whole situation was going to come crashing down like crow boys playing football with a bird’s nest.

So it had to come down to them going at it one-on-one. Joe had no idea if he could take the war chief or not, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that he was going stand his ground and, whether he liked it or not, Minisino would have to respect that.

The war chief ground out the butt with a hoof. The faintest trace of a smile touched his lips.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he said, stepping forward.

Well, I won’t, Joe thought, but he couldn’t back off now.

He’d fought big men before. The main trick to it was to not get yourself killed. You didn’t let them connect a solid blow, and you for sure didn’t let them get a hold of you. The only weakness you could find with a trained warrior like Minisino—sometimes, if you were lucky—was that they were so sure of their own ability, and so disdainful of yours, that they came into the fight feeling cocky.

Minisino was going to come in hard and fast, that was a given. His eyes gave away the first lightning fast blow. Joe was able to duck under it and land two of his own on the war chief’s broad chest. It was like pounding his fists against a stone wall. Minisino batted a big hand—the way you might an insect flying up into your face—and caught Joe a glancing blow that sent him sprawling back in the dirt.

The war chief came in quickly, following up on his advantage, but before he could land a real blow, before Joe could get up, an apparition took shape in the air between them. Minisino dodged to one side so as not to knock her down, his eyes widening. For the moment, Joe was forgotten. Joe himself froze in the act of getting back on his feet before he slowly stood up. His gaze, like everybody else’s, was on the spirit of the dead woman who now stood between him and the buffalo war chief. In this place she had the same solid substance to her as did the spirits of the buffalo dead in Minisino’s army.