The colonel regarded him. “Sometimes,” he said, “one must fight.”
“Yes,” said Chance. “I think so.”
“And a war, I suppose,” said the colonel, “is a duel-between nations.”
“It seems so,” said Chance. “Pretty much.”
“It is permissible for nations to fight,” said the colonel, “but not for men.”
“I’ll believe that,” said Chance, smiling, “the first time I see nations fight-and men stay home.”
“War,” said the colonel, “is an institution developed by civilization for the adjudication of differences by the arbitration of arms.”
“So is a duel,” said Chance.
“We can outlaw duels,” said the colonel.
“That’s the difference,” said Chance.
“Ah,” said the colonel.
“I don’t much approve of duels either,” said Chance.
The colonel smiled, and looked up at the ceiling, at the kerosene lamp that hung on a chain there. Then he looked back at Chance. He wasn’t angry. “Sometime though,” said the colonel, “one must fight.”
“Yes,” said Chance, “I think so.”
The colonel scratched one ear, looked out the small window in the office, past the porch outside, to the parade ground. “I understand you’re going to be married,” he said.
“Yes,” said Chance.
“Fine institution-marriage,” said the colonel.
“Yes,” said Chance. “I hope so.” He smiled to himself. They had just been discussing wars and duels as institutions.
The colonel was looking up at the lamp again, and then he suddenly looked down at Chance.
“Did you know,” he asked, “that most of the other bands of Sioux and Cheyenne came in because they heard the Hunkpapa and Minneconjou got through safely?”
“No,” said Chance, “but I’m glad.”
“Hundreds of lives were saved,” said the colonel.
“I’m glad,” said Chance.
“I understand you were in the Bad Lands with the Hunkpapa and Minneconjou,” said the colonel.
“For a time,” said Chance.
The colonel was looking off through the window again, lost in thought. “They seem to respect you,” he said. “They seem to trust you.”
Chance said nothing.
The colonel turned to face him. “How’s your shoulder?” he inquired.
Chance looked down at his arm, the white sling. “Fair,” he said.
Chance was a bit puzzled. He wondered what the colonel was driving at.
“How soon before you’ll be able to assume your duties?” asked the colonel.
Chance sat upright. “What duties?” he asked.
“She hasn’t told you?” inquired the colonel.
“No,” said Chance.
“Oh,” said the colonel.
“My wife and I are going to California,” said Chance.
“Of course,” said the colonel. “California.”
“I’m free to go, am I not?” asked Chance.
The colonel picked up a wooden, steel-pointed pen on the desk, fiddled with it a moment, tapped it twice on the desk and laid it back in its tray, between the two brass inkwells. He looked at it for a minute or so, then picked it up again.
He dipped it into the inkwell on the right side and scratched his signature on a slip of paper beneath two lines of writing.
He pushed the paper over to Chance and Chance picked it up and read it.
It was an authorization, giving him permission to travel across Standing Rock.
In effect, it said to him, You are Free.
“Thank you,” said Chance, standing up. He placed the paper, folded carefully by his right hand on the desk, in his jacket pocket.
“That is, of course,” the colonel said, “to be used only in case of need.”
“I’m free to go, am I not?” asked Chance, wanting to check out this matter very carefully. Something in the colonel’s attitude didn’t strike him exactly right.
“Certainly,” said the colonel. “You’re going to California, that’s it, isn’t it?”
There was a kind of chuckle in the colonel’s voice, which Chance did not quite care for.
“Yes,” said Chance, regarding him somewhat narrowly, “that’s right.”
The colonel stood up and extended his hand. “We shall miss you at Standing Rock,” he said.
Chance, puzzled, smiled. Over the desk the soldier and the physician shook hands.
“Well,” said the colonel, brusquely, “before you leave, you’ll want to say good-bye to your friends.”
“Yes,” said Chance, “I’d like that.”
Now the colonel was straightening his neckerchief. He took his saber and revolver from a peg and belted them about himself. He put on his hat.
Chance followed the colonel from the small office.
They emerged on the roofed, wooden porch that fronted the building.
There Lucia, her yellow hair bright against a blue shawl, was waiting. With her was a white-haired, ruddy, handsome, well-built gentleman.
Lucia entered Chance’s arms, lifting her face to him. She was happy.
He kissed her, gently holding her.
“It’s all right,” he whispered to her. “It’s all right.”
“I know,” she said, “Mr. McLaughlin told me.”
“I’m agent at Standing Rock,” said the white-haired man, extending his hand. “My name is McLaughlin.”
“My name is Edward Chance,” said Chance. “I’m pleased to meet you.” The two men shook hands.
“I’m only sorry,” said McLaughlin, “that we can’t afford to pay more.”
“I don’t understand,” said Chance.
“But,” said McLaughlin, “you’ll have a free hand-no interference from me-you order what you need and we’ll get it.”
“I don’t understand,” said Chance.
“She hasn’t told him yet,” said the colonel to McLaughlin.
Lucia looked down, confused.
“What’s this all about?” asked Chance.
“You’re the new doctor at Standing Rock,” said Lucia.
“The hell I am,” said Chance.
McLaughlin looked puzzled. “The papers have already been processed,” he said.
“I’m going to California,” said Chance, firmly.
Lucia looked up at him. “Mr. McLaughlin is going to rebuild the school.”
Chance looked down at her.
“Standing Rock needs a teacher,” she said.
“Standing Rock,” said Chance, “is no place for a woman.”
“Certainly no place for a single woman,” admitted Lucia.
“This is no place for you, Lucia,” said Chance.
“It’s actually rather nice,” said Lucia. “There are large numbers of rattlesnakes; it never rains; there is a great deal of dust; the wind is always blowing; and this is where Edward Chance lives.”
“I’m going to California,” said Chance.
“Well,” said Lucia, stoically, “if you insist on running off to California I shall certainly insist on running off after you.”
Damn right, thought Chance. He wondered if it would be indecent to spank a fully grown woman.
“Before you leave,” said Lucia, tipping her head up and kissing him, “you must of course say good-bye to your friends.”
It would be hard, Chance thought, but I want to do it; I cannot leave otherwise.
Smiling, not letting go of his arm, Lucia guided Chance down the three wooden stairs from the porch and across the small dusty parade ground, toward the wooden gates of the fort. The colonel and McLaughlin followed.
Outside the gate Chance saw the Hunkpapa Sioux. With them were many other Indians he didn’t know, except for a few of the Minneconjou who had fled to the Bad Lands with the Hunkpapa after Wounded Knee.
“Most of these Indians,” McLaughlin was saying, “are Sioux-Hunkpapa, Minneconjou Brule, Oglala-but there’s Cheyenne in there, too, plenty of them.”