Chapter 5

Two days my ass! It took three for the swelling to be reduced. I’m running out of time! I have ten days to get to Hector, Minnesota and RK Lodges. 748 miles by Interstate. I have maps ... Connie robbed them out of the Dodge.

Vermonters have a saying, “You cain’t get there from here.” That’s not true ... you can ... you won’t like it ... but you can.

Fill up the main tank and both auxiliaries in Sheridan. So... 14 to Ucross ... home of the infamous Sonny George. On to Clearmont, Leiter, Spotted Horse, Wildcat and Gillette.

Gillette is an actual town ... gas up, check everything and GO! Jump onto I90, to Sundance, Spearfish Sturgis, Rapid City and, Good Lord ... there’s 14 again.

At Wall, gas, add a quart, split off 90 and continue east on 34, through Union Center, Enning, White Owl and Howes. On to Billsburg, Hayes and Fort Pierre.

Cross the river to Pierre and take 14 to Blunt, Harrold, Holabird, Highmore and Miller. Wessington is next. Wolsey and Huron, De Smet, home of Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Gas up at Lake Preston, head to Arlington, Volga and Brookings. Jump off 14 and take I29 ... find state 30 ... head east.

Cross into Minnesota... 30 is Minnesota 19. 19 to Marshall. Gas, check the oil ... add windshield washer fluid ... Minnesota is the land of suicidal mosquitoes...

Take 23 out of Marshal heading to Granite Falls and connection with 212. 212 goes to Hector. Yay me!

Find RK ... call from a pay phone, actually.

Katie directs me. Load three 18 foot Cheyenne lodges in three boxes ... load a mystery box...”Presents” Load 60 really straight and very dry 27 foot balsam fir poles. The butts are only two feet past the rear bumper so no flag. It’s my responsibility to ensure I keep my distance and don’t spear anyone.

“You are NOT starting back tonight!” Katie said.

Dick said, “Let me look at your leg. Thought so ... you are staying the night and elevating that foot.”

So ... even though I couldn’t wash ... I elevated my foot in a very comfy bed.

“Oh God!”

“What?”

“That hurts.”

“Is it bleeding?”

“No.”

“It’ll get better,” Dick said.

It did.

In the morning, after a family breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash browns and a biscuit smothered with sausage gravy heavily peppered, Katie asked, “How did you get here?”

Personally, I thought the Dodge made that obvious.

“What roads?”

Out to the Dodge, where I caught a couple of teenagers messing with my truck.

“Katie ... call the cops.” I shouted, “Stay right where you are, boys.”

They both had knives and spun towards me.

“Whatcha gonna do, Injun?”

“In the first place ... I’m gonna shoot. In the second place, I’m not an indian. I can’t promise I won’t kill you ... but I promise, you’ll never have kids.”

They didn’t listen ... Katie had a super 8 movie camera with sound and caught the whole thing on film.

While I was being harassed by the local police, Katie called the Bureau. They rescued me from the jail ... jailing the jailer, jailed the judge and the chief of police. The Federal Judge set me free.

The shitstorm of public outrage or congratulations created a political morass for two years. The newspapers firmed up on party lines. The inability for reservation indians to get a fair trial subsumed the original intent.

Two years later, I had to fly back to Minneapolis-Saint Paul to testify. The trial was held in Federal Court due to the intent of the actions that promulgated the shooting.