Chance, paying no attention to Carter, turned and addressed Old Bear in the language the old man had chosen to speak. “I do not know,” he said, “but it would be good if it were true.”
“Yes,” said Old Bear, “it would be good.”
“The soldier feller,” said Carter, “said Big Foot’s bunch is already on its way back to surrender.”
“Did you hear?” asked Chance of Old Bear.
“Big Foot is a good chief,” said Old Bear, in Sioux, “he is wise. If he thinks the soldiers tell the truth, he may be right.”
Chance went to stand beside Old Bear’s horse and together they spoke in Sioux.
“Will the Hunkpapa fight?” asked Chance.
Old Bear grunted. “Some will fight, I think,” he said. “Drum will fight.”
“But the Hunkpapa?” pressed Chance.
“The Hunkpapa,” said Old Bear, “are men-not boys-men do not fight just to die.”
“What about the Holy War?” asked Chance. “What about Sitting Bull?”
“I think,” said Old Bear, “there should be no Holy War. Kicking Bear said that the Messiah told us He would come in the spring. He did not tell us to fight in the winter. He wanted us to dance and wait for Him.”
Old Bear looked down at the ground.
“And we cannot make Sitting Bull be alive by killing all the Hunkpapa. Sitting Bull would not kill his people. I will not kill them. The buffalo are gone. There will be snow. If we do not go back the people will die of hunger, or the horse soldiers will find them and kill them.”
“You are a wise man,” said Chance.
Old Bear looked at him. “If I were young,” he said, “and if I were not chief, I do not think I would go back.”
“But,” said Chance, “you are a father of the Hunkpapa, wise with many winters, and you are a chief.”
“The Hunkpapa will go back,” said Old Bear.
Chance without thinking grasped the old man’s arm and squeezed it. “Good,” said Chance. “Good!”
Old Bear smiled.
“I hope so,” he said. “I hope so, Medicine Gun.”
Chance turned to Carter. “We are going to make a feast,” he said. “I will buy your chickens and turkeys.”
“All of ’em?” asked Carter.
“I guess so,” said Chance. “How many do you have?”
“Twenty chickens,” said Carter, “two turkeys.”
“I’ll buy them,” said Chance, reaching inside his right boot for the oilcloth wrapper.
“There’s Injuns around here, ain’t there, Mister?” said Carter.
“It’s hard to tell,” said Chance.
“How come you talk Injun?” asked Carter.
“Learned some,” said Chance. “I really speak it very poorly.”
“Who are you?”
“I call myself Edward Smith,” said Chance.
Chance took ten dollars out of the oilcloth wrapper, thrust the wrapper back in his boot, smoothed out the bill and handed it to Carter.
Carter looked at it. “Thet’s too much money,” he said.
Chance shrugged.
“Git the coffee can,” said Carter to his wife.
She brought the can and Carter, fishing about in some bills, and more change, put together about five dollars and gave it to Chance, who poured it in his pocket.
The transaction completed, Carter said to Chance, “You can come in if you want and eat with us, iffen you want. We’d be pleased to have you.”
“What about my friend?” asked Chance.
“He’s Injun,” said Carter.
“I’ll get the chickens and turkeys,” said Chance.
“Want any help?” asked Carter.
“Thanks, no,” said Chance.
“Merry Christmas,” said Carter.
“Merry Christmas,” said his wife.
“Merry Christmas, Mister,” said the two children.
“Merry Christmas,” said Chance and turned away as the door shut.
Chance walked over to Old Bear. “Tonight,” he said, “we will have a feast.”
“Your feast,” said Old Bear.