Nineteen

Rose and I were walking arm in arm, smiling, happy, and I heard my name called, a wonderful sound in my Papa's tongue. I turned, surprised, curious. Wind Runner was at the end of the street, stretching his hand out toward me, beyond him the wild open space of the prairie. The look in his eyes was distinctly yearning, pleading for an answer. Converging like a sea of hungry wolves, white men swarmed around the brave warrior, rifle barrels gleaming in the sunlight faces full of hate. Suddenly terrified I screamed warning, but my voice was gone, no sound coming from my straining throat. I moved to run to him but I felt my arm jerk, held fast in a tight grip.

"No, Jaynie," my sister's voice was sweet, persuasive, but her eyes were utterly flat, emotionless. Her features were stiff, unforgiving. "Let the savage die. You don't need him."