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considered dangerous and formidable.”
    â€œMaybe,” Willow said, “but Bear had Tanner begging for his life.”
    â€œYou saw it? Well, anyone with a weapon could have—”
    â€œLieutenant, the warrior didn’t have a weapon, he fought with his bare hands.”
    â€œYou must have been terrified; too bad I wasn’t there to help you.”
    Had she been terrified? Not of the warrior. “What is Deek Tanner doing in this area and where’d he get that horrible scar?”
    Billy Warton shrugged. “He’s a scout for the army.”
    â€œSo I’ve been told.”
    â€œNo one knows much about Deek; you don’t ask about anyone’s background or past in this country. But after I met him, I found out Tanner knows the area like the back of his hand, raised by the Blackfeet, I hear.”
    â€œAnd the scar?”
    The lieutenant shook his head as the buggy moved along. “I’ve heard two different versions when he was drunk; one is that he caught a bayonet across the head at Gettysburg, the other that he was almost scalped by a war party. He really hates Indians.”
    â€œI think the feeling is mutual,” Willow said. She glanced sideways, studying Billy Warton with his unruly lock of curl hanging on his forehead. “I get the feeling you don’t like them much, either.”
    He looked at her, then back to the road ahead as the buggy rolled along. “I won’t lie to you, Miss Willow, I lost good friends at Crook’s battle on the Rosebud and the Custer massacre.”
    â€œBut those were Cheyenne and Sioux.”
    â€œThey were Injuns,” he muttered under his breath.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNever mind, Miss Willow.” He favored her with a boyish grin. “You’re probably right about Chief Joseph. He seems determined to keep the peace, not like those bloodthirsty Plains tribes.”
    â€œThat’s if they aren’t pushed too far,” Willow cautioned.
    â€œWhat can they do?” The lieutenant spoke with disdain as he snapped the little whip over the old horse’s head. “They’ve seen what happens to other tribes who tried to fight. The Cheyenne are scattered and trying to regroup down on the reservation, the Sioux have fled to safety across the Canadian border.”
    â€œThe army won’t pursue them there?”
    He shook his head. “Canada? That belongs to Queen Victoria, the Grandmother’s Land, the Indians call it. It would create an international incident if American troops crossed that border.”
    She glanced over at him. “The Mounties don’t mind all the Sioux being there?”
    â€œI suppose not; as long as they cause no problems. The queen sees them as her subjects.”
    Willow sighed. She didn’t really want to think about the few alternatives her people had.
    â€œNez Perce,” the officer snorted, “what does it mean, anyhow?”
    â€œIt’s French for ‘pierced nose,’ ” Willow said. “For some reason, those early trappers confused this tribe with some other that wore a decorative shell in their noses, but our people, the Ne Mee Poo , have no history of doing that.”
    â€œAnd just what does Ne Mee Poo mean?” He seemed to be making an effort to keep the belittling sarcasm out of his voice and failed.
    â€œThe People,” Willow said, wishing he hadn’t accompanied her.
    â€œWell, if ‘the people’ are smart,” Billy seemed to be thinking aloud, “the Nez Perce’ll take the ultimatum and go to the reservation.”
    â€œI thought that had been postponed?”
    â€œGeneral Howard gave them another thirty days, but that’s almost up.” The officer clucked to the horse.
    â€œThirty days?” Willow protested with a frown. “They can’t expect the Nez Perce to gather up all their livestock and relatives, make a move like that so soon.”
    â€œOh,