Although a gun was pointed at his back, Henry showed no sign of being frightened. She couldn’t ever recall seeing the ancient Mide afraid. At least for himself. His concern was always for others. Death, she knew, held no fear for him. She’d often heard him say that he was so old he thought of Death as a little brother. “What do you want?” Rainy said. The dark figure finally stepped forward enough that his face was visible in the light. “They’re going to kill me,” Trevor Harris said. His eyes were bloodshot, all his features drawn. He looked near the edge of madness. “Who’s they?” Rainy asked. “That’s the thing. I don’t know. Indians.” “We’re Indian.” “You’re different. Safe. I saw what you do out here. You try to help people. I need help. And . . .” He hesitated, then stumbled on.
