"Ordway," he said.
"Yes."
"I am Tukweyit. Ipnaxa is my sister." His English was better than his sister's, easy and a little dry. "She told me you said not to get killed over a horse. I have tried to do as you asked. It has been more difficult than you would think."
Nils found that he could not speak. He walked forward and put his hand on the mare's neck, and she turned her head and blew warm grass breath into the front of his shirt, and pushed at him the way she used to when he was slow with the oats, and he stood there with his face against her mane for a while and was not ashamed of it.
When he could, he said, "Ipnaxa. Is she alive?"
"She is alive. She is at Lapwai with her daughter. They came back from the Grandmother's country in July with some others. The agent let them stay." Tukweyit paused. "Her husband died at the Big Hole. You will not have known him. He was a good man. He made fine saddles."
"I am sorry."
"Yes." It was not an acceptance and not a dismissal. It was simply an acknowledgment that the words had been said and heard. "Many people are sorry. Some of them are telling the truth."