things Dakota.” Leighton sat down and motioned for Ironheart to join them. “What is it?”
“Ironheart’s band is leaving the reservation,” Simon said calmly.
Elliot stared, dumbfounded, at Simon. “Leaving? When? For where? Why?” He shook his head and waved one hand in the air. “Never mind. I understand why.” He nodded at Ironheart. “But where can you possibly go that’s any better?”
“We are going home,” Ironheart said. His eyes glittered with determination. “The white man is not going to let, us live. We see now that anywhere he takes us, it will be only to watch us die.” He sat up straight, placing a hand on each knee. His voice was tinged with sadness. “We have no quarrel with the white man. We have always been his friend. If he had brought us to a place where we could live, we would plow the earth and do as he says. We would learn to live as he wishes. But in this place, there is nothing. Mother Earth is barren. Some of our people stayed in Minnesota near Faribault. Some near the Redwood. We wish to be near them. Then as we die, our brothers will bury us with our fathers.”
Ironheart spoke for a long time. He talked about his childhood in the Big Woods, about the changes that came upon the people. He spoke of the coming of the missionaries, of the reservation, of broken treaties and injustice. He was not complaining, Elliot realized, only telling the history of his people; because of some impossible generosity, he really wanted Elliot to understand what was in his heart.
The man’s tale carried Elliot back to the days in the army hospital when he had ridden the roller coaster of betrayal and anger and rage against the men in his regiment who turned and fled in the face of death. Unlike the Brady Jensens Elliot had known, Ironheart was looking death in the face, walking toward it, accepting it—and yet wresting a semblance of his own terms from it. It was a humbling kind of courage.
Cold air blew in between the unchinked logs in the little shack, and Elliot shivered. The wind has shifted, he thought.
As if he could read Elliot’s mind, Ironheart said quietly, “This dryness is about to change. We must leave before the snow. At sundown tonight we will be going.”
Simon broke in. “The plan is to leave the tepees and tents here. It will be a while tomorrow before anyone knows they are gone. If the snow moves in as expected, I doubt Agent Finley will risk any soldiers to come after us. He doesn’t care that much about his Indian charges.”
“Us?” Elliot looked from Simon to Ironheart and back at Simon.
“The thought is that if we travel with them, they’ll be less likely to get killed by some overzealous settler.” Simon hurried to add, “I had to talk nearly half the night to convince Ironheart to let us go along. He doesn’t like the idea. He’s afraid that if any harm comes to us, the army will use the excuse to kill them all. But then I suggested that we might be useful in other ways.” He paused and waited for Elliot to absorb the information.
“How many people are we talking about?” Elliot asked.
“Less than a dozen,” Simon said quickly. “They have a few ponies. You’d be amazed at what they can fit on a travois.”
“How far is it to the Redwood?”
Ironheart said something in Dakota that made Simon laugh. He translated, “He says ten days or less for Indians. Two weeks for whites.”
Standing up, Elliot reached for an old carpetbag sitting on the floor. He took out a cigar and, opening the stove door, lit it. He had just sat back and prepared to draw on the cigar when he caught something in Ironheart’s expression. He handed the cigar to the old man, who drew on the cigar and exhaled slowly, obviously savoring the flavor of the fine tobacco. He ceremoniously passed it back to Elliot.
“Keep it,” Elliot said.
“No,” Simon said quickly. “Share it. Ironheart honors you.”
Frowning slightly, Elliot obeyed, then passed the cigar back to Ironheart; who took another draw and passed it to Simon. To Elliot’s amazement, Simon puffed on the cigar without collapsing into a fit of coughing. The men sat quietly until the cigar was a glowing stub. When Elliot finally got up and tossed the butt into the stove, Ironheart stood up to go.
“I will knock,” he rapped a distinctive beat on the