Chapter 51

I was pleased with our efforts. Not only would the interior maintain a cool, even temperature, it would serve as a shelter when Wakinyan battled Iya across the prairie. That was a Siouan interpretation of what the Americans called a tornado. By this time, the snowmelt had flooded the crick so that the bridge was no longer a convenience; it was a necessity.

“What will you do?” I was in an uncertain state of mind as we cleaned up after the final day of work.

“Go back to my people.”

“You have no thought of remaining in this territory?” Did my question betray a hope?

“Why? Are there other bloods here?”

“A few.” I reconsidered my answer. “Very few. Cuthan—Dog Fox—lives at Teacher’s Mead, and there is one of your blood who works at the livery stable. But there are few others.”

“That must be the livery stable man’s camp I’ve seen north of town.”

“His name is Bent Nose, but the Americans call him Ezekiel Pauley.”

“Do they give everyone a foreign name?”