Chapter 2

It was a few weeks after my being with the Indians. I went out early to feed the animals, and on the front steps to the cabin, there was a pair of Indian moccasins. I picked one up and examined it. The soles were made of tanned horsehide. The tops were of deer hide. They came above my ankles, with flaps to wind around and tied with leather lacings to support the ankle.

I opened the cabin door and shouted, “Hey guys, get out and see my new shoes.” I sat and put them on. God, they were comfortable. They fit perfectly. I remembered that my boots had been moved the night I slept with the Indians. I wondered then why someone had moved them. Now I knew why they were getting the size of my feet.

Rich, Sam, and Mike went out to work with the cattle. “Rocky, have you ever been hungry?”

“I can’t say I ever was. Why?”

“I was thinking about those Indian Kids. They must have that horse eaten up by this time. They were hungry that night, and that old one couldn’t go very far to hunt for food without that horse. If their braves haven’t returned and brought them food, or their tribe hasn’t come to see them, I’ll bet they are starving. Do you know any way to talk to them?”

“I know the usual sign language and a few words that most tribes use. Do you want to ride down there to see their situation?”

“I do. There are several pounds of beans left. There is that chunk of the last beef we butchered. It’s getting ripe, but it’s still good. We have two bags of cornmeal that we haven’t opened. We could take a half bag of that with us. Also, there is that lead and powder you don’t need because you don’t use a musket.”

“That’s true. I have a tin of caps. I have one of those bags of hard candy for the kids we could give them. Tell one of the boys where we are going, and I’ll start packing up.

We went down the trail and turned off onto the path to the Indians. We didn’t try to be quiet; we just rode along as we got near. I shouted at the edge of the clearing, for no one was visible. Then the flaps opened, and the kids burst out and ran toward us. The ten-year-old approached and put her hand up to touch. I looked at her and could see she was thinner than before; all the kids were horribly thin.

The pregnant Squaw came out, and I could see she hadn’t had her baby yet. She had lost weight, too. “Rocky, I think that one is the leader. Can you talk to her?”

We got off our horses, and Rocky approached the pregnant squaw. He began making sign language, and she answered his questions. In a few minutes, he turned to me. “You were right. They are starving. The old man is so weak he can’t stand up, and he didn’t have any more caps for the musket.”

“What did they exist on?

They made jerky from the horsemeat and boiled it for two days, making a thin soup. It quelled some hunger, but there was no real food value, so we started unloading what we brought. They will have a good meal soon.

I took the sheet-covered beef haunch and carried it to a bench. There weren’t many flies yet, but I didn’t want the meat to rub against the horse, hence the sheet. I also took the bag of corn meal and handed it to one of the squaws.

Two of the squaws turned the meat over, and there was a ribbon of fat still attached. One screamed with pleasure and went into the tepee, coming back with a giant frying pan and sitting it right on the coals of the fire.

When the corn appeared, all the Indians shouted with joy. One went inside and brought out a small kettle with some powder, mixing a portion with a measure of the corn meal. Then they wet it. They proceeded to make thin patties out of it. The frying pan was hot and greased with the fat.

They placed the patties carefully in the pan, leaving enough room for them to slide a spatula under it and flip it over. Kids were now standing there with their hands out. The squaw flipped these once and started placing them on a board to cool before allowing a child to pick one up. I would say the patty was thin and crispy in not more than five minutes.

After everyone had a patty, including one taken inside for the old Indian, Rocky discovered the Indian was too weak to stand. The meat was thin-sliced into small portions, fried, and served directly from the pan. Rocky and I refused to eat. Christ, this had to be more food than these Indians had eaten for two days.

I had Rocky ask who had made my moccasins. The pregnant woman and the oldest girl (10) turned out to be her daughter. I thanked them and said how well they fitted. I had once been able to leap in the air and click my feet together. I hadn’t tried this for a while, but I attempted it and pulled it off. Everyone laughed and clapped. The girl shyly uttered something.

Rocky explained, “The little one said her mother was teaching her to make these, so you thank her and the mother.”

“Ask her what her name is so I can use that to thank her.”

“It is, Atea.”

“Atea, thank you so much for the moccasins you gave me.” The girl blushed and smiled.

“Ask them where the Braves are?”

“They have been a long time away, and the little ones are going far to get wood for their fires. Someone should be talking to them about food. They almost starved.”

“I’ll ask more questions and see what I can find out.”

Rocky pulled the squaw aside and talked to her. The kids were happy, sang, and then began playing some games. There’s nothing like food in your belly to make people happy—especially kids.

I asked Atea where the grandfather was. I had to use the sign language of an older man. It wasn’t until I pointed at the leather of my shoes made of horse leather that she understood. She took my hand, which led into her tepee. The Old Indian was lying on a pallet. He smiled when he saw who I was. He extended his hand and rubbed his belly to show he had something to eat.

Grasping my hand in both of his, he didn’t let go, speaking at the same time. I was well thanked and understood by the action, if not the words. He had wasted away terribly from when I had seen him last. I thought that he couldn’t have much longer to live.

Just then, the flap opened, and Rocky came in and shook the Indian’s hand. He turned, “Kid, I think we should head home soon. Why don’t you spread some of that candy around? We can leave now; I know what has happened since you last arrived. I understand why there aren’t any braves here, and I’ll tell you about it later.

Atea followed when I went to my horse. I pulled the paper bag of candy out of the saddlebag and waited until all the children had gathered around. I gave each one to suck on and one to the squaws. I gave one more for Atea to give to the old Indian and handed the half-empty bag to the pregnant squaw, who was Atea’s mother. When Rocky and I had mounted and headed away, the kids followed us almost to the trail we would take home. Atea was the last to leave.

“Kid, that girl has a thing for you.”

“I know, and I don’t know why.”

“Did you look closely at the girl? She looks different than the other kids.”

“I haven’t noticed. How different is that?”

“Her mother said her father was a white man and long dead. She also said she was bringing her up as an Indian but wonders if that is a mistake. She never talks the white man’s words, only Indian, so the child isn’t aware yet that she is different. One other thing she said.”

“The brave that is father to the child she is carrying is all Indian blood, and she thinks he must be dead. The braves he was with were going hunting for antelope or buffalo, but he was two months overdue from coming home.

The other braves with him haven’t returned either. The squaw thinks either the whites may have killed them, or maybe the tribe, that are enemies of her ours had a battle and were killed.”

“What about the two braves who belong to the two other squaws?”

“They sent a message that they are to pack up and return to the tribe. That’s supposed to happen next week.”

“So we won’t be seeing them again?”

“No, Atea and her mother may not go and will stay here until the old Indian dies. She will have a baby and stay until it is old enough to travel and the old man is dead. She said some of her tribe will send some help for her to move, and they will check on her every two or three weeks.”

“That would mean someone will bring food for her, won’t it?”

“I offered to feed them, and she said it was too much trouble. We’ll see how it goes after the others leave.”

“Indians have it rough, don’t they?”

“They certainly do.”

I lay in bed that night and thought about Atea. I would look more closely at her before she went back to her tribe. I wasn’t surprised that she was half-white. I knew from hearing my mother and father discussing that happening. Even in today’s world, and especially in the West, there are never enough women to go around so a man can have a mate.

Atea was lovely, and I understood why her mother wanted her to stay as an Indian. There was no white family whom I knew would want her. I wish I had her for a sister. I’d teach her to speak in our language. I’ll bet she would learn fast. I’d help her to learn how to read.

Ma and Pa had read to me when I was young. I wished I had some books to read. I had some money, and maybe I’d buy some books. Rocky was intelligent, and I knew he could read and write. Rich could, too, but I didn’t know if Sam and Mike could. They didn’t talk as they had much book learning. I turned over and slept.

The men began practicing roping cattle. Somehow a rope was thrust into my hands, Demonstrations were held with every ones technique. I was frustrated at first and laughed at a lot. My two horses had never worked cattle before, so that was some of my problem. When I got on Rocky’s Mustang, I had much better luck. I could guide it with my knees and use both hands to handle a rope. These Mustangs were a smaller animal than my large saddle horse. Some day, I would get one of these of my own.

It was the last of May when Rocky said it was time to begin knowing how to handle a gun. He had been to town and returned with a holster for my .45.

“You might as well learn how to use it in case someday you have to get it out as fast as possible. You probably won’t be shooting anyone. I’m 43 and never killed anyone, but I could have a few times if I were so inclined. None of the other guys have killed anyone either, but we have all been in gunfights, and neither have we set out purposely to do so.”

“Pa showed how to clean his revolver but didn’t ore a holster for a fast draw. He didn’t wear it when working in the fields either. Maybe if he had, he would be alive today.”

“Kid, you’ve never told us how he died.”

“Pa was plowing the field with our team. I was looking for a cow in the woods because she had hidden while calving. I didn’t see him killed. When I heard shooting and got to where I could see, he and the two horses were down. One shot for each. I’m glad you will teach me so I don’t get killed myself.”

“Smart thinking, Kid, I figured it was something like that. You are sure who did the shooting?”

“I am, I recognized the horses, and there were three of them. It was a man who wanted our land and had threatened to take it. It killed Ma, too. She had a damaged heart and only lived a couple of hours after Pa died. I was holding her when she passed. Ma said to leave but not to forget what happened. She didn’t ask that I return for a reckoning, but that’s what she meant. I buried both that night.

“Smart woman and she told you right.”

I was anxious to begin firing rounds, but Rocky cooled me off. “You must understand your weapon first and what you can do with every move you make. When you get used to it, some adjustments will make the gun and you more accurate and deadly. I’m not giving you any shells at first. Also, keep practicing with your rifle. That can get you out of a tight spot if you’re handy with it.”

I spent two days drawing and snap firing my pistol. It didn’t seem reasonable, but I realized Rocky was watching and probably evaluating my capabilities. From then on, I got more serious about practicing.

While practicing in the front of the cabin, I was interrupted when I felt something touch. I turned, and there was Atea. She was jabbering away, and I had no idea what she was trying say. I stood there, trying to make it out, when I saw an Indian brave riding in on a Mustang. He had a travois loaded with 13 tent poles. Rocky had invited the squaw to come live with us, so I wasn’t that surprised.

The brave paid no attention and went out close to the garden. The Indian started untying the poles, and by then, the second travois was going by. This one was loaded with bundles of hides on a half dozen more poles for the tent covering.

My horse was saddled already, for I was going out to help Rocky with the cattle. I swung Atea into the seat, handed her the reins, and pointed toward the range where the men were working. She drummed her heels into the horse’s sides, and the horse started right off into a canter. She rode by two of the men and headed for where Rocky was working.

He looked at her and saw people in the yard, so he turned his horse toward the house. Atea was making Indian talk with her gestures.

Reaching the cabin, Rocky said, “Kid, harness the mule and hitch it to the cart, and we’ll go get the rest of their stuff. That girl can handle your horse, okay. You drive the mule. We’ll need it to get the old Indian and maybe the pregnant squaw. She’ll never get up onto a horse.”

Three hours later, the squaw, and the old Indian (He was laying on his bed) arrived in the cart. The two travois were loaded with the furnishings and belongings of the Indians. The other two squaws and their kids had walked along beside the cart. We helped put up the tent poles. All the Indians sorted out the coverings and began lacing these together. This operation was finished before night.