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Everyone who heard him laughed. I laughed. Because he was spouting good Indian law. Before people gathered at these regional celebrations they settled their arguments, paid off their debts, so there would be peace and harmony when they came together. It had always been done this way.

Old men and women, some with canes and crutches, sat on folding patio chairs, dozing, resting, waiting.

A wind came up that deposited swirls of fme river silt upon the migrant-like scene.

The elegant White woman—whose tense thin figure, blue-tinted hair, expensive dress, sweater and pearls were a near replica of my own mother’s—called back to her companion inside their car.

“Do people really live like this?”

Those words showed her unawareness of what this extended scene was really about.

Only one object looked ‘Indian.’ Over in the second encampment a large straight sided basket sat on the ground. A woman in a cotton house- dress stirred its contents with a long wood paddle. Her teenage assistant stepped forward, picked up black iron tongs, transferred hot rocks from the fire into the basket.

The visitor, focusing her camera, started in the direction of this gold and tan basket. From inside the car the younger woman admonished:

“Mother, they don’t like us taking pictures.”

In the middle car, beside the empty driver’s seat, sat a dark-skinned old Indian woman. Wearing a thread-bare faded cotton dress, she made no effort to leave the car. No one approached her. No one even acknowledged her presence. She just sat there, alert, unmoving, unsmiling, yet noting every detail of this otherwise congenial scene. Her car windows were rolled down. She turned her head, caught my eye. I nodded in response. At the same time I sensed a strangeness. Feeling uneasy, I turned my attention back to the two encampments.

Today was the last day of this regional affair. A large crowd was expected. Women filled enamel bowls with potato salad, aluminum vats with cooked meat patties, plastic tubs with spaghetti and rolls. They heated hot- dogs, pots of water for coffee. These two camps were in charge of feeding the guests. It had always been done this way.

The stolid Indian woman in the middle car continued to observe everything. Earlier, because of the heat, I had rolled down my two front

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