“Certainly no place for a single woman,” admitted Lucia.
“This is no place for you, Lucia,” said Chance.
“It’s actually rather nice,” said Lucia. “There are large numbers of rattlesnakes; it never rains; there is a great deal of dust; the wind is always blowing; and this is where Edward Chance lives.”
“I’m going to California,” said Chance.
“Well,” said Lucia, stoically, “if you insist on running off to California I shall certainly insist on running off after you.”
Damn right, thought Chance. He wondered if it would be indecent to spank a fully grown woman.
“Before you leave,” said Lucia, tipping her head up and kissing him, “you must of course say good-bye to your friends.”
It would be hard, Chance thought, but I want to do it; I cannot leave otherwise.
Smiling, not letting go of his arm, Lucia guided Chance down the three wooden stairs from the porch and across the small dusty parade ground, toward the wooden gates of the fort. The colonel and McLaughlin followed.
Outside the gate Chance saw the Hunkpapa Sioux. With them were many other Indians he didn’t know, except for a few of the Minneconjou who had fled to the Bad Lands with the Hunkpapa after Wounded Knee.
“Most of these Indians,” McLaughlin was saying, “are Sioux-Hunkpapa, Minneconjou Brule, Oglala-but there’s Cheyenne in there, too, plenty of them.”
“They want you to stay,” said Lucia.
“You could make things easier for all of us,” said the colonel.
“Well, Chance?” asked McLaughlin.
A boy pushed forward from the throng; it was William Buckhorn.
With his parents he had been at Fort Yates at the time of Sitting Bull’s death; they had remained there, not fleeing; they had not been at Wounded Knee.
The boy came and stood before Chance and Chance asked him how he was feeling now, and the boy said all right.
Then the boy went to Lucia and tugged at her sleeve. He looked up at her, shyly. “I am well now,” he said. “I will kill more rattlesnakes for you.”
Lucia thought for a moment.
“Nonsense,” she said, “from now on I will kill my own rattlesnakes-left and right.”
Chance smiled.
William was looking up at her, puzzled.
“Yes,” said Lucia grimly, “let them watch out for Lucia-let them watch out for Lucia Turner-” She looked at Chance, “for Lucia Chance,” she amended.
“You’re crazy to hunt rattlesnakes,” said William.
“Oh,” said Lucia.
“You might get bit,” said William.
“All right,” said Lucia, confused, “then I won’t hunt them.”
“Good,” said William Buckhorn. Then he added, “I won’t either.”
“Good,” said Lucia.
“But can I have the rattles back?” asked William.
“Yes,” said Lucia. She recalled that the baking-powder cans behind the soddy had still been there.
“Thank you,” said William, and then turned and went back to his parents.
“Well,” said McLaughlin, “what about it, Chance?”
Chance regarded the Indians; naturally his eyes sought out the Hunkpapa among them; with them he had ridden; he had been with them when they had fought; he had, in his way, shared their struggle, their defeat; with them he had found food, shelter and friendship; among them he had won the woman he loved.
Near the front of the Indians, astride their ponies, were Old Bear, Running Horse and Winona.
“Medicine Gun!” shouted Old Bear proudly, lifting his right hand in greeting.
“Old Bear,” said Chance, returning the sign.
Running Horse walked his pony to Chance. He pointed back to Winona, happily, who shyly dropped her head. “The Hunkpapa do not die,” he said.
“No,” said Chance, “the Hunkpapa do not die.”
He wondered if the child would be Totter’s or Running Horse’s; somehow it did not matter all that much; the important thing was the child, that the woman was bearing within her promise and life. About Lucia he did not yet know. It was possible, of course, that his first child would be Drum’s. He could imagine speaking to the boy one day, “Yes, I knew your father; he was by the mixings of blood my brother; I killed him.”
“No,” said Chance to Running Horse, “the Hunkpapa-the people of Sitting Bull and Old Bear and Running Horse and Drum-do not die.”
He put his arm about Lucia, happy and strong in her love and nearness.
“You know you must stay,” she said.
“You might have told me,” said Chance.
“It wouldn’t have been a surprise,” she said.
“You promised to be a good squaw,” Chance reminded her.
“I shall make an excellent squaw,” insisted Lucia. “It is also my intention,” she said, “when you get around to asking me-to make an excellent wife.”
“Marry me,” said Chance.
“Say please,” said Lucia.