“We don’t need more Indians screwing up our jobs,” the man at Annie’s window said.

“And we don’t need more oil spilling on our land and screwing up our water,” Annie replied without heat.

The man at her window squinted. “You ain’t even Indian. What do you care?”

“Every sentient person cares about Mother Earth.”

“Sentient? What the hell does that mean?”

“It means a thinking, feeling person. But let me ask you a question. When you were a child, what would you have done if somebody dumped a thousand gallons of oil on your backyard?”

“Nobody did.”

“But that’s what might happen to my backyard here.”

“It already has happened,” Rainy said. “Twice. A million gallons in 1973, and nearly two million gallons in 1991. So you understand our concern.”

“All I know, lady, is while you do your shit here, I’m not getting paid. I got a family to support.”

“Seven generations,” Rainy said.

“What?”

“Try to think ahead seven generations. What you’re doing here will have an effect long after you’re gone.”

“You’ve got ten seconds to turn around,” the man at Rainy’s window said.

“Then what?” Rainy asked, her voice full of iron.

“I think we report that some vandals beat the hell out of your car and maybe you three along with it.”

The man at Annie’s window gave a sharp whistle and beckoned to the others at the barricade. The half dozen men made a semicircle around the front of the car. Two of the men carried iron pipes. One of them swung his pipe, and Annie heard the shattering of headlight glass.

“That’s your last warning, lady,” the man at Rainy’s window said.

Several of the men were grinning, as if this were a game and they were ready for more fun.

Then the man who’d bent to Annie’s window suddenly straightened up. “Cops,” he said.

Annie heard the chirp of a siren from behind, not a full blast, just enough to announce an approach. She heard a car door slam, and a moment later, a uniformed deputy stepped up to Rainy’s window. The man from the barricade backed away to give the deputy room.

“Boys,” the deputy said. “Just go on back to your station.”

The men cleared away from the car.

The deputy leaned toward Rainy. “Everybody okay in there?”

“They shattered my headlight,” Rainy said.

The deputy nodded and thought for a moment.

“Ma’am,” he said. “If I write this up, it’ll mean you have to come back and go through a lot of legal hoops, and I’m pretty sure that these men are going to stick to some story that contradicts everything you say. It’ll be a long and drawn-out process, and in the end, it’ll be more trouble than it’s worth. How about I just make sure you get beyond this barricade?”

“What about when we come out?”

“I guarantee they won’t stop anyone leaving Spirit Crossing. Okay?”

“Okay,” Rainy said.

The deputy stood upright and called, “Move the barricade, boys.”

“Like hell we will!” one of them shouted.

“Move the barricade or I’ll haul you in.”

There was grumbling, but two of the men lifted the barricade and moved it to the side of the road.

“And leave it there,” the deputy said. “Anybody else comes along here, you don’t give them a hard time, understand?”

“They’re the ones causing trouble!” the man who’d stood at Rainy’s window hollered. “We just want to get back to work.”

“And you will, when the judge says you can. Until then, you do what I say.” He glanced down at Rainy. “Go on, ma’am.”

Rainy inched ahead and the men parted to let the car pass.

“Lucky that deputy came along,” Annie said.

“And lucky it wasn’t one of the other deputies,” Rainy said. “A lot of them are less understanding.”

Rainy drove slowly now as the road curved to follow a bend in the river.

“Tell me about Spirit Crossing,” Maria said.

“To the south is ground that has been considered sacred since The People first arrived here generations ago,” Rainy replied. “Ceremonies have been held there for hundreds of years. The crossing is a gentle, shallow place where our ancestors north of the river crossed to reach that sacred ground.”

“Why is it sacred?” Maria asked.

“Everything is sacred,” Rainy said. “But there are places where the spirit of the Creator is powerful. You can feel it. A healing spirit.”

“Bizaan,” Maria said.

Rainy glanced in the rearview mirror. “Yes. At peace. Where did you learn that word?”

“Annie taught it to me. There is an island in Iron Lake with the name.”

They began to pass people scattered on either side of the road, some still carrying placards. To Annie, they looked weary, like soldiers who’d been in combat a long time.

When they reached Spirit Crossing, Annie saw the desecration of that beautiful river. A broad line of bulldozed ground led up to the riverbank, where the birch trees and wildflowers and grasses and every other living thing had been cut and cleared away for the passage of the pipeline. The torn earth was red, a great raw wound where the soil bled into the clear river, turning the water murky. Amid the devastation sat huge earthmoving machines powerful as sleeping dinosaurs. There were still protesters, a loose line that stood between the machines and the river, but there was no evidence of conflict. As Rainy approached, a uniformed officer stepped in front of her Bronco. He held up a hand, then came to her window.