The Story Teller (1999)
“To the east, the plains ran into the distance, parched and cracked under a sky bleached pale blue by the sun. A dry breeze scuttled across the clumps of wild grasses and bent the sunflower stalks. It was the first Tuesday in June, the Moon When the Hot Weather Begins, but it was already the kind of heat the elders told about in stories of the Old Time, when her people had lived free on the plains—the kind of heat that melted the hooves of the buffalo into the ground and pulled the shaggy hides ...over their bones, like gunnysacks. The kind of heat, she knew, that could take her breath away.
She had the highway to herself. Since crossing the southern boundary of the Wind River Reservation a good thirty minutes ago, she’d passed only a couple of pickups. She held the Bronco steady at sixty-five, trying to ignore the irritation that nipped at her like a yapping dog she couldn’t shake off. If the cultural director of the Arapaho tribe had wanted an appointment, he could have driven to her law office on Main Street in Lander.MoreLess
She had the highway to herself. Since crossing the southern boundary of the Wind River Reservation a good thirty minutes ago, she’d passed only a couple of pickups. She held the Bronco steady at sixty-five, trying to ignore the irritation that nipped at her like a yapping dog she couldn’t shake off. If the cultural director of the Arapaho tribe had wanted an appointment, he could have driven to her law office on Main Street in Lander.MoreLess
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