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people will be here by tomorrow. At that time I will tell them what I think of giving you what you cannot have.”
    â€œWe are under the same government,” Cut-Off Arm declared, turning to gaze at Joseph, his one hand imploring for understanding. “What our government commands us to do, we must do. Your people must first come to the reservation; then your agent will give you the privileges of hunting and fishing in the Imnaha country. But if your people hesitate in coming, then our government has directed me to use my soldiers to bring you here. Now, Joseph … both you and your brother know that I am a friend to your people. And you know that if you comply, there will be no trouble.”
    Toohoolhoolzote grumbled something to the other old men gathered close by, words that alarmed the even-tempered Joseph.
    â€œWhat did he say?” the soldier chief demanded of James Reuben, his voice grown shrill with alarm.
    The interpreter’s eyes darted nervously as he stammered, “Some-something about there not being enough soldiers to … to—”
    â€œTo what? ” Cut-Off Arm railed, his cheeks grown red, his neck crimson above the stiff collar of his soldier tunic.
    â€œEnough s-soldiers to make him do what his heart tells him is wrong.”
    The soldier chief slowly turned toward the Non-Treaty leaders arrayed before him. He took a step closer to the delegation, then briefly let his eyes touch them all before fixing his gaze on Joseph and Ollokot.
    â€œYou must give good advice to your people, and White Bird’s people, too, when they arrive. If you do not convince them that they must comply and come to the reservation, I shall be forced to come for you. I will arrest you and put you in the guardhouse.”
    Then Cut-Off Arm turned slightly and stepped right up before the old Dreamer, Toohoolhoolzote. In an even tone he said, “If you continue in making these insults to me, I will arrest you, and send you to Indian Territory. It would be wise for you to remember what happened to Skamiah at the Vancouver post.”
    Just as the tewat was about to snap in reply about that uncooperative Indian chief who had been arrested and sent far away, Joseph laid his hand on the old man’s elbow and squeezed. He nodded to the soldier chief as he answered, “When White Bird has arrived, we will meet again tomorrow.”
    So it was that their second council convened beneath the canvas tent erected with its long ridgepole and the sides tied out so that it made a large awning where the soldiers, other white men, and the Nee-Me-Poo sat, joined by Peopeo, the one called White Bird, along with the smaller band of Palouse under their chief Huishuish Kute, who was known as Shorn, or Bald, Head.
    From the moment he greeted that sunny dawn, Joseph remained hopeful that the sun itself was not setting on the ways of his grandfathers. But almost from the moment the white man’s prayer was made by the half-breed called Alpowa Jim, followed by Cut-Off Arm repeating the government’s orders for all bands to move onto the reservation, Joseph realized matters were steadily deteriorating. There was no discussion and compromise, no room for disagreement. Decisions affecting the lives and futures of the Nee-Me-Poo had already been made without them.
    Peopeo was a short, heavy-set man of some fifty winters whose name was variously interpreted as White, White Goose, White Crane, even White Pelican—any variation of a large white bird. He stood when Joseph introduced him to the soldier chief, the agent, and the missionary. White Bird politely shook hands with them all, then settled once more upon the ground, again positioning his large eagle-feather fan across the bottom half of his face so that it hid everything below his eyes.
    â€œI have talked with you, Cut-Off Arm, and you, Agent Monteith, many times in past summers,” Joseph declared. “But this is the first time White Bird