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“What is this animal?��
“A horse.��
The chief smiled slightly, and then shouted something to his men in Sioux. They laughed heartily.
“The white eye should stay out of the sun,�� said the chief.
Marsh couldn’t help but become a little defensive.
“Wait. You’ve seen a horse’s bones, haven’t you?��
The chief nodded.
“Look at it closely.��
Marsh held the tiny skull up alongside the head of Red Cloud’s mount, comparing the two. The chief reached down and took the skull gingerly, and peered at it intently, turning it in his enormous but surprisingly dexterous hands.
“A small horse?��
“Precisely,�� said Marsh, indicated the size with his hands. “Very small.��
The other Sioux laughed, but Red Cloud was fascinated.
“Where are these small horses? Show me one.��
“I’m sorry, I can’t. They are all dead. They died many, many years ago. Many snows. We search for their bones.��
“W���?��
“To . . . to honor them. To learn from them.��
“They speak to you?��
Marsh smiled. “Oh yes.��
“What do they say?��
“They tell us of their world. A world that has long since vanished.��
The chief looked down at the skull, then at Marsh. He shouted again to his men, in Sioux, and they lowered their rifles. He dismounted and turned to face Marsh.
“I am Red Cloud.��
“My name is Professor Marsh.��
“Marsh.�� Red Cloud tested the name out loud, and then nodded in approval. “I will hear what these small horses have to teach.”
― Wynne McLaughlin