Free Lake of Fire by Linda Jacobs Page A

breakfast fire.
    She raised her head from where she worked over a wooden bowl of camas flour, wiped the back of her hand across her snub nose, and left a white smudge. The front of her beaded deerskin dress was also liberally sprinkled.
    Though she did not speak English, she raised her brows to ask about Cord’s quest for his guardian spirit.
    He answered by opening his hand and showing the piece of stone.
    She smiled and reached to touch the glassy surface.
    Cord gestured to ask where his uncle was.
    Kamiah pointed across the main fire in the center of camp toward the largest makeshift shelter, draped with a mosaic of soft-looking hides.
    On swift feet, Cord made his way toward the enclosure. When he drew close, he heard voices raised inacrimony. Holding tightly to his
wayakin
, he put his eye to a space between skins and looked inside.
    Bitter Waters was in council with the elders. The air was thick with pipe smoke, as the chiefs and their lieutenants continued a discussion that seemed to have gone on a while.
    “We did the right thing when my mother and the others were killed by white men,” Bitter Waters insisted. To Cord’s surprise he spoke in English, but then he noticed the older white man in their midst. He had heard this man, Cappy Parsons, was a miner who had been captured in the park and was being forced to guide the tribe through unfamiliar country.
    Bitter Waters went on, “We rallied the young warriors …”
    “It is not your turn to speak,” White Bird interjected. His square shoulders still looked sturdy, but his chestnut hair was streaked with gray. Small eyes in his long face admonished, and his chin, scarred from skin eruptions, lifted imperiously. “You forget that some of our youths, full of themselves on fire water, went on their own killing spree among the white men.”
    Cord made a face. This was the first he’d heard the tribe might also be at fault in starting the war.
    Though Bitter Waters had been told not to speak, he went to the center of the circle, wearing ceremonial feathers in his braids. “After the thief treaty of 1863, when the United States took much of our land, many began to question the wisdom of keeping the peace.” Quiet descended. The only sound was that ofLooking Glass puffing on his pipe. Younger than White Bird, he was nearly six feet tall.
    “Joseph!” Bitter Waters turned to the chief. “Your own father renounced the white man’s religion, as well as his government.”
    Joseph nodded. “I watched him tear up his copy of the treaty with the United States and his Gospel of Matthew, a gift from the missionary who baptized me.” He stared into the fire. “The hate is high on both sides. Knowing we are pursued by both General Howard’s soldiers and the Bannock Indians he hired, we are pitted against both white men and red.”
    Cappy Parsons, who had been sitting silent, raised his head. “That’s no excuse to kidnap me.”
    One of the younger braves started to move toward the miner, but Joseph lifted a hand. “Do not harm him. He will help us through these mountains, and then we will let him go.”
    Parsons subsided back into silence.
    Joseph went on, “It no longer matters how this war started. We are on the run from the United States Army and must not stop until we reach Canada.”
    Cord walked away from the council.
    How could he live among these people after he had seen his parents’ mingled blood? He hated his uncle and all these strange warriors, even after Bitter Waters had spoken to him in his formal English: “Sarah was my sister. I grieve for her, even as you do.”
    He might be Cord’s uncle, but if he had not come like a thief in the night, how different things mighthave been. While Cord’s home burned with his parents’ bodies inside, he had sat stiffly in the saddle in front of his uncle and hardened his heart.
    “You are of the Nimiipuu, the People.” Bitter Waters’s strong arms kept him from tumbling off the tall gray horse.
    “I