We must make the Indian into an American. We must teach him to say I instead of we, and mine instead of ours. A small band of wild horses gallops toward the solitary, north end of the reservation.
Phoenix is quiet and twinkling to the west.
To the east, sacred Red Mountain and the neighboring Apache lands quietly form out of the darkness. Little Cloud is a traditionalist and one of the last basket makers on this reservation. She creates intricate designs by weaving yellow strands of dried elm and willow leaf from the Rio Verde with black devil s claw she picks in the desert. She wants to teach this art to the next generation of O Odham girls. So many things have disappeared.