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the name before.”
    “Didn’t you come west about three-four years
ago with your folks?”
    Eagle Heart ground his teeth together.
    “That’s it!  Your Ma was a pretty little thing, and
your Pa—well, it seemed like he was angry at the whole world.  Now let’s see. 
What was the name?”  Ridgeton fell silent for a moment.  “Flynn!  That was it. 
Flynn.”
    Eagle Heart reined in his horse and turned to face
Ridgeton.  “My name is Eagle Heart, and I am Lakota!”
    “Maybe you were—until the soldiers massacred that
village.  But Pathfinder isn’t one to forgive and forget.”  Ridgeton rubbed his
clean-shaven chin thoughtfully.  “Now what was your Christian name? 
Richard?  Ralph?  Rob!  That’s it!  Your name was Rob.”
    Eagle Heart turned away.
    Ridgeton sighed.  “Eagle Heart," he said in
Lakota, "I loved a Lakota woman.  Old Keeper married us when he was just a
young man.  We lived together nigh onto thirty years.  She was a good wife, and
not a day goes by that I don’t miss her.”
    “What happened to her?”
    Ridgeton shrugged.  “She died of the smallpox.  It
seems to take the Indians even harder than it does whites.  She didn’t last a
week.”
    Eagle Heart blinked back the tears that threatened
to shame him.  “I’m sorry.”
    Ridgeton blew his nose on a surprisingly clean
handkerchief.  “Thanks, son.  And I’m sorry for your loss.”  He folded his
handkerchief and put it back in his pocket.  “Now, maybe Pathfinder adopted
you, like the rumors said.  But once he makes up his mind, no one can change
it.  So you’re going to have to learn how to live without your tiyospaye .” 
He shrugged.  “The same thing happened to me when Light On The Water died.  The
Lakota wouldn’t have me because they said the smallpox was a white man’s
plague.  And the whites wouldn’t have me because I had a Lakota wife.  So I had
to make my own way in the world."
    Eagle Heart looked away.  “I am Lakota.  And
someday, Pathfinder will remember that I am his son.”
    Alexander Ridgeton sighed.  “Maybe so.  Maybe not.  In
the meantime, I heard some terrible things about that orphanage.  I’ve got to
deliver you there, safe and sound, but if you decide you don’t want to stay...well,
you can usually find me somewhere around here all year.  I used to travel from
the Atlantic to Pacific and wander up and down the land, but after Light On The
 Water died, the heart kinda went out of me.  You see, every time I passed a
waterfall or glade where we spent the night, I’d think of her, and it would
hurt.  So if you ever need a friend, just head west.  You’ll run into me,
sooner or later.”
    Eagle Heart didn’t know what to make of Ridgeton,
but he had learned silence with the Lakota, and so, he kept silent as he rode
beside this strange white man.
    That night, they camped beside the Platte.  Ridgeton
knelt beside the water and chanted the prayer for the dead.
    Eagle Heart hesitated, and then, he joined in.  He
glanced at Ridgeton and saw the glint of tears on the old man’s cheeks. 
Embarrassed, he looked away.
    He lay down on the blanket Ridgeton had given him
and stared up at the stars.  He remembered the first time he camped by the Platte
and looked up at the stars, how happy he had been.
    “Who did you lose?  In the massacre?”  Ridgeton’s
voice was so soft that Eagle Heart barely heard him.
    He hesitated.  “My mother.  Cousins.  A lot of
friends.”
    Ridgeton sighed.  “I’m sorry.  Good night, son.”
    Eagle Heart hesitated.  “Good night, sir," he
said in English.  "And thank you.”
    In the morning, they reached the orphanage in Lancaster. 
White towns always smelled bad, but the orphanage was ten times worse.  It
smelled of urine and boiled cabbage.
    Eagle Heart almost turned and ran.
    But that would have shamed Pathfinder.
    So he squared his shoulders and entered the
building.
    A woman met them at the door.  She was almost