"Hey George," called Blue Duck, "George Morningstar!" His flat feet crushed the dandelions on the hill as he waddled towards his friend. "How old do you think those Indians were?"

"I don't know," George answered, "four, maybe five hundred years old?"

"Do you think they played 'Cowboys and Indians' when they were our age?" Blue Duck asked.

"Well sure," said George, "all of us menfolk play 'Cowboys and Indians' when we're young. Didn't your dad ever teach you how to shoot an Indian, or rape an Indian woman, or cull an Indian horse?"

Blue Duck shrugged his shoulders. "My dad?" Blue Duck paused. "Oh, you mean Grey Bird. Yeah, I guess he did."

"Well," George nodded, "there you go."

George Morningstar and Blue Duck stood near the edge of the mountain cliff and waited for the sun to rise.

"Hey George?" Blue Duck said after awhile.

"Yeah?" George said, his honeycomb-eyes fixated on the morning light.

"Are you a Cowboy or an Indian?" Blue Duck asked.

George smiled and swung his father's rifle over his shoulder. "Ah hell, Blue Duck," he said, "I'm an Indian."