Ipnaxa was tying the flour sack behind the cantle. She did not look up. "He says your wife's stones are still there. He says thank you for leaving them." She pulled the knot tight. "He is old. He thinks you know things."
Nils did not know what stones she meant. He meant to ask. Then the child woke, and began to cry in the high frightened way of a child who has been carried through the dark for hours, and Ipnaxa hushed her and swung her up in front of the old man, and the moment passed.
"Go north by the Rocky Canyon trail," he said. "The volunteers are on the Cottonwood road."
"I know where they are."
"Of course you do." He stepped back. "Go on, then."
She took the mare's head and looked at him once more. "My brother will bring her back," she said. "When this is done. If he can."
"Tell him not to get killed over a horse."
For the first time she almost smiled. It made the scarred eyebrow lift even further. "I will tell him. He does not listen to me since he was four."