It was still afternoon when the copter settled on reservation land. The wind created by its rotor blades tugged unsuccessfully at the two gray braids of the waiting grandfather, as if determined to unravel them. He and Kenu shook hands, and the older man led him into the airport hangar.
“What’s this?” Blaze asked as they crossed to an office.
“You must buy fishing license.”
“What?” Blaze’s need to get started strained his patience.
“Everyone who enters Shoshone land must have license to hunt or fish.”
Blaze stopped at the office door. “That’s crazy.”
“It is the way we know who is on our land. Indians have laws, too, Mr. White Man.”
“Then let’s get to it.”
He paid for the license and stuck it in his wallet. Outside, they piled into a road-weary truck Kenu had borrowed and Blaze drov
