Nightway Read Free

himself onto the bed of the truck, he hurried to the front, where he lifted a handsome, leather-tooled saddle to show his mother. Its weight and bulk were unwieldy, almost more than he could handle, but he didn’t ask for help.
    The present had to be immediately tried out, which meant catching the horse in the corral and putting the new saddle on it. After the stirrups were adjusted to the right length, The-One-Who-Must-Walk-Two-Paths had to take a short ride. He rode the horse in a large circle in front of the hogan so White Sage and J. B. Faulkner could watch him.
    “I wish Chad rode that well,” J. B. murmured, then appeared to immediately regret mentioning his other family.
    “He has been riding since he was smaller than a yucca stalk.” White Sage referred to their son, avoiding his name, since to speak it too often would wear it out. It was common among The People to have several names. Besides his secret name, he had a nickname of the Blue-Eyed-One, and the school had given him the name Jimmy White Sage. “Today he told me we should have sheep for him to watch. He doesn’t want to go back to school because they say he isn’t one of The People.”
    “He isn’t an Indian.” The pronouncement came in a quick, forceful retort, which J. B. tempered with a calmer explanation. “I know children from mixed marriages often consider themselves to be one of The People, but I won’t have him deny that he is half-white. And he’s going to finish school and go on to college. Heis going to have the finest education I can give him. We’ve talked about this.”
    She nodded, but she remembered how painful it had been for her at school, where her way of life had been ridiculed and the beliefs of The People scornfully denounced. It had been the same that one time her family had journeyed to Flagstaff, where they had been looked on with contempt. White Sage had been frightened by the things the white men said to her on the street. She had been glad to escape back to the land and all the things that were familiar to her. She was content to make regular visits to the nearby trading post, where she could gossip with other customers. It was run by a Mormon man who had no hair on top of his head; it all grew on his face. His wife was a nice woman with iron-colored hair. White Sage had no desire to venture off the Reservation again. She worried about her son leaving it to get this education, but perhaps Laughing Eyes knew what was best.
    “You must talk to him,” she said. “He doesn’t like being different from the others.”
    “He is different—and it’s only beginning,” he announced grimly. When he glanced at her, he smiled, but it was not a genuine smile. White Sage saw its falseness and was troubled. “I will talk to him.”
    Moving away from her, he signaled to the boy to come to him. The boy reluctantly reined the chestnut horse to the corral, where his father waited. White Sage watched Laughing Eyes take hold of the horse’s bridle so their son could jump to the ground. Then she turned to enter the hogan and begin the preparations for their meal.
    J. B. led the horse into the corral and tied the reins to a cross-pole. “What’s this I hear about you wanting to quit school?” he questioned with seeming nonchalance as the boy stretched on tiptoes to loosen the cinch.
    “They say we are poor because we don’t have sheep. We are not poor, so we should have sheep to prove that we are not. When you bring them, I will stay home to watch them. I am old enough.” Not once did he meet his father’s inspecting glance.
    “Is that the only reason you don’t want to go to school?” He was met with silence. “Do they make fun of you at school because you are different?”
    “I am not different. I am the same as they are.” The boy tugged at the saddle skirt to pull the saddle from the horse’s back. J. B. stepped forward to lift it to the ground.
    “That isn’t true. You are different.”
    “No,” the boy