Chance heard the globe of the lamp being lifted off, and the tiny sound of the knob on its side being turned, thrusting up an inch of wick, and then heard the scratching of a match, and saw briefly the interior of the soddy, the chairs and shelves, a clock on a table against one wall, then lost it as the match went out, then regained it as the wick took the fire and the globe was replaced.
A thin woman, angular with prematurely gray hair, held the lamp up.
She had thin lips, gray eyes, strong, chapped hand’s. She wore a cotton dress, plaid with large pockets on the sides, a man’s shoes.
The man himself had a round, grizzled face, not unfriendly, but wary and curious. The bottom half of his face was as bristly as a hog’s back. His head and neck protruded from the collar, a bit too large, of a red, wool shirt, most probably a present.
“Howdy,” he said.
“Howdy,” said Chance.
“You hungry?” he asked, lowering the barrel of the shotgun.
“Yes,” said Chance.
“My name is Sam Carter,” said the man, but looking beyond Chance to Old Bear.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Chance.
“That’s an Injun,” said Sam Carter, jerking his head toward Old Bear.
“He’s my friend,” said Chance.
Sam Carter looked Chance over more carefully, not seeing any hat, noticing the folded blanket Chance carried over his left shoulder, an Indian blanket.
“You hungry?” asked Carter.
“Sure am,” said Chance. “My friend, too.”
“If you want,” said Carter, slowly, “you can eat with us.”
“Thanks,” said Chance.
“Not him,” said Carter.
“Why not?” asked Chance.
“He’s Injun,” said Carter.
“I’m only passing through,” said Chance, “with my friend.” He looked at Carter, not angrily, more depressed than anything. “I can’t stop. I can buy food.”
Chance saw two boys now, standing behind their mother. One might have been five, the other seven. Both had bushy brown hair, cut straight around their head with a bowl and shears. Both wore bib overalls, heavy shirts and socks. Behind their shirt collars, which were open, Chance could see the soiled collars of long underwear, buttoned shut, but beyond this stitched closed for the winter.
“What kind of food you want?” asked Carter. “We ain’t got much.”
“What do you have?” asked Chance.
“I’m not selling any cattle,” said Carter.
“What do you have?” asked Chance.
“In a coop out back,” said Carter, “I got some chickens, a couple of turkeys.”
“I’ll buy all you have to sell,” said Chance.
One of the boys, the older, had slipped past his father and went to look at Old Bear, who looked down at him impassively.
“What you doing on our land, Injun?” asked the boy.
Old Bear looked down at him. “My horse brought me,” he said. “My horse did not know it was your land.”
“All right,” said the boy, “you can stay.”
“Thank you,” said Old Bear.
“Come in here!” said his mother sharply.
The boy came back to the soddy, fast.
“How in hell much you want?” asked Carter. “Enough for two?”
“About all you have I want,” said Chance.
Carter looked at him suspiciously, and then at Old Bear behind him.
“I heard Sitting Bull got killed up at Standing Rock,” he said.
“I heard that, too,” said Chance.
“Plenty of Injuns, whole packs of ’em, pulled off the reservations right afterwards, I heard,” said Carter. “Some jumped from way down in Pine Ridge. From what I hear, some of the Cheyenne even bolted the Cheyenne River Reservation.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Chance.
“I ain’t seen no Injuns come past here,” said Carter.
Chance was quiet.
“But I did see a parcel of soldier fellers,” said Carter.
“Oh?” said Chance.
“Yeh,” said Carter, “and one of ’em rode over here and asked me about Injuns, but I hadn’t seen ’em, and he said that all the Injuns what come in peaceful will get a pardon for going off the reservation. There’s going to be a powwow at Pine Ridge Agency. You know where that is?”
“No,” said Chance.
“I know the place,” said Old Bear, speaking in Sioux. “It is past the hunting ground of Wounded Knee, where buffalo used to come to drink.” The old man seemed lost in thought. Then he raised his head and looked at Chance. “Do you think the soldiers tell the truth?” he asked.