Vaasco was not happy in Golden. The Catholic school head Nun thought he looked too Mexican and the priest would not intervene so he was not admitted. He had been brought up thinking that public schools were inferior and even evil. He already sinned in bed at night. He couldn't help it. He was afraid the additional sin of going to public school would be just too much for God. He wanted to go home to New Bedford.
Things worked out for him. Siegfried's father Dr. Hans Martyn came out to convince his son that two years in the wilderness was enough. It was now time to come back to Harvard.
But, Dr. Martyn felt that Siegfried had been doing good work - work that should be continued. He brought with him his younger son, Johann, and arranged with General Reid that Johann join the army with the caveat that he replace Siegfried as teacher in the village.
John accepted with a caveat of his own. Billy Hawk showed remarkable intellect. John knew that by the time Billy would be of college age, no U. S. College of any quality would admit an Indian. He knew that universities in Germany were much more accepting. Johann would be assigned to the village but he must continue to teach German to Wili and now also to Billy. Dr. Martyn and Johann readily agreed.
Vaasco was escorted back to Massachusetts by the Martyns. He left with ambivalent feelings. He thought that he was losing what had been a wonderful friendship. He thought Wili would hate him because he could not love the prairie. That turned out not to be the case. Letters flew back and forth between New Bedford and the village. Even at long distance, the friendship remained solid.
The winter had been severe. It had been only slightly colder than usual but the snows were heavy. With normal snowfall in southwestern Kansas, cattle can find enough winter forage. Prairie grass grows tall and it would take over two feet of snow to cover it. But the early snows were wet and heavy weighing down the grass. There was no melt for several weeks and by the middle of March, most of last summer's hay had been fed. Things looked bleak.
But, fortunately, there was an early thaw and they had lost only a few winter calves. The cattle were not as hearty looking as usual but by fall, they should come around and since there would probably be less marketable stock, the price should be good.
Last winter, the long dark evenings had been boring for Wili. The family went to bed at dark because there was no economical source of light. This winter, however, Paul Mann carried coal oil and coal oil lamps radically changed the sleeping habits of the village.
Abraham had become an avid reader. John Reid had suggested a few books on history and after reading them there was no stopping Abe. History was interesting to him but so was everything else. He would sometime have as many as twenty or thirty of John's books in his home at a time. He would write to John asking for a book on a certain subject and John would send it telling Abe to keep it until John next came to the village.
But he wanted books of his own. He talked to the peddlers who called on Paul Mann but was not very successful. Most of them had not gotten past McGuffey. Books of a classical or intellectual nature, unless they had to do with caring for a horse or doctoring your children with nettles or cow manure or some such folklore, were not part of their stock-in-trade. Abe wanted to own books so John would buy them for him and send them from Denver.
Since his Papa now spent most winter evenings reading, so did Wili. Wili liked all kinds of stories but he liked James Fennimore Cooper's books best because he said good things about Indians. But he liked The Headless Horseman and Rip Van Winkle and The Great Stone Face - all those kinds of stories.
Since Wili passed most winter evenings reading, so did Billy. As they grew older their friendship grew deeper. Probably the major reason for that was that they were so much alike. While Wili had natural leadership qualities, he often looked to Billy for additional insights into some playtime or adventure conundrum. Billy was very intelligent and shared Wili's intellectual curiosity. That made the time they spent together both fun and productive. They learned from and with each other. They would speculate over the composition of some rock found along the creek. They would investigate the tiniest anomaly of the prairie: a misshapen clump of prairie grass or discuss in depth how the seed of some alien plant got there. Often they would just sit and discuss possible reasons for natural phenomena such as a tornado or even some mysterious philosophies such as what made some things true for some people and not for others.
By spring both had turned twelve and were still boys and boys need carefree play but more and more of that "play" time was devoted to attempting to satisfy their intellectual curiosity.
Although it had not been discussed or dictated, spring also brought new sartorial standards. Wili and Billy had decided that britches were now required apparel. There was no body shame; it's just that both had decided individually that they were now men. They had been told by their fathers that most days they would be needed with the herds. When you worked all day, you were a man, weren't you?
Because he worked most days in the store, Echo had been wearing britches all last summer. The three boys still enjoyed each other's company but not the same interests. Echo was not dull but he did not share Wili's and Billy's drive to learn. He was, however, at probably thirteen, developing a head for the mercantile. His love for his papa was not as emotional and apparent as was Wili's for Abe but it was, none-the-less, love and he basked in Paul's pride.
Echo had a mind for numbers. It was surprising how quickly he moved from just existing to truly living. His time with Thunder Eagle had started the process and Echo's natural competitiveness had birthed his interest in numbers. Many of the games Indian boys played required score keeping and early on, Echo had been taken advantage of because he had no concept of numbers. Neither Echo nor Thunder Eagle would tolerate that and Thunder Eagle schooled the boy in basic arithmetic. It wasn't long before Echo could out add most of the boys.
Echo became skilled at figuring the necessary mark-up so that adequate profit could be made. He got to the place that he enjoyed the store more than playing with the boys. Paul's pride in and dependence on him made him feel like a man and for a boy who for most of his life had been a nobody, that feeling was more important than having childish fun.
Amos' health was making slow but steady progress. For the time, it was truly a miracle that the boy had lived. Although he was older than Echo, Echo had grown taller and although in the 1870s the white water was still several years away from the average thirteen year old, Paul and Leona had insisted that Echo no longer sleep in the same room with the twins. The children had long since decided that they would follow the new ways and decide whom they would marry when they got to be old enough to provide for themselves. While the blood had not yet come to the girls, they were now eleven and Paul and Leona didn't want to take the chance of early development and pregnancy. In the 1870s, even among the better fed and doctored whites, menarche didn't occur until almost fourteen. But that was the norm, so for some it occurred earlier.
Leona's grandmother had told her that when she was a young girl, the blood didn't come to most girls until their sixteenth summer. Leona's blood had come in her fifteenth summer but there was news that a girl in her twelfth summer at Darlington, had become pregnant. Even though it still made no sense, most of the village felt it wise to follow the white's thinking on matters of such play. Many whites still saw Indians as "evil heathen" and a pregnant twelve year old would do nothing to change the minds of the ethnocentric.
The new village attitude toward such play was not poorly received by the older children. Jay Schwartz and Wili's sister, Ruth, would occasionally disappear but they were only ten and eight. Such play was still appropriate for them. But for Wili, Billy, Echo and the twins, it no longer seemed just play. They were sensing a new kind of mystery about it, there was a meaning to it, but they did not know what it was. They sensed that it was not to be wantonly shared. The urge was stronger but it had become something to be satisfied privately and individually.
Amos' frailty limited his rowdy play and he had begun spending much of his time in Broken Bough's furniture shop. At first he just watched because he did not have the stamina even to turn the lathe. As he grew to understand what Broken Bough and his helpers were doing, he began to have ideas for improved methods and even designs. When given the opportunity, the boy demonstrated a real artistic bent. Broken Bough began to value the boy for his ideas but soon realized that it was the boy he valued - not only his ideas. The old white-hating Indian became very fond of the skinny little white boy.
In the evening, it was not to Leona Mann that Amos went. It was to Leah Sidell. Leah had come to love the boy dearly. As much as anything Wili had done, Amos' needs and then his affection had begun to leach away Leah's fears.
Colonel Chester had sent five of his engineers to build the Sidell cabin. Abraham had given the land next to his cabin and the engineers had the home complete in four days. Leah arrived a week later.
Everything was as different and frightening as she feared it would be. Indian men were not as big as she had been led to believe, but they were powerful and many of them were almost naked in the hot summer with only the breach cloth and - well - they were Indians. Every creak of the house caused by the nighttime prairie wind, every chirp of a cricket, every distant howl of a coyote filled her with horror.
Wili could see her distress and tried to comfort her. After a few days, Wili realized that it was the night that frightened her the most so he slept in her cabin. When not needed by Abe, Wili took her around the village, introducing her to everyone. Leah did attach herself to Leona and Bess Hawk and they, along with Fern, began the acclimation of Leah Sidell to Village life.
Leona pried cooking tips from Leah. Paul's "restaurant" was constantly gaining new business and had gained quite a reputation as the place for the somewhat isolated ranchers to take their wives for an anniversary, birthday or whatever celebration. Leona's cooking, both Indian and white, was highly complimented and those compliments inspired her to learn more and to become more creative and resourceful. What had before been a mundane duty was now an art - the source of much pride and satisfaction.
But what really acclimated Leah to her new life started with Leona's requests for advice regarding Amos' health. Leah could not give much better advice than Leona had gotten from Bess Hawk and Ginny Bartlett but she could give something. She could, however, give infinite love to this wan, wistful and melancholy little boy and Amos had an infinite capacity to be loved and to love. In order to give advice as to the boy's health, Leah needed to see him.
Such a pale, skittish little mouse. His mien almost apologized for his existence. He was a pretty child, appearing at least three years younger than his fourteen years. But there was also something in the boy that repelled pity. Rather, he lured affection, affection that Leah was eager to give. His weakened condition made him dependant and that made him appear vulnerable. But vulnerability was not his innate nature. Behind the pallid physique, Leah saw a latent heartiness of spirit and was drawn to it. Within two weeks, Amos had moved into Leah's house. Leah now had purpose rather than fear and Amos finally belonged to someone. He had been welcome in the Mann household but he had felt an intruder. He could not have explained this but he somehow knew that he would never be "home" until he was loved. Leah loved him and he was home.
Since Wili loved Leah, he also loved Amos. Amos became not only a friend, but also a project for Wili and Billy. Amos needed to learn to read. He needed to learn numbers. Aunt Le worked with her boy and he wanted so to please her but having friends that wanted him to succeed further motivated the boy. He would never match Wili and Billy in intellect but he would become more than competent.
But, the usual tranquility of the village did not exist that summer. Anxiety hung over it like a cloud. In June a large encampment of Cheyenne and Sioux along the Little Big Horn River in Montana Territory had been attacked by troops under Colonel Custer, the same Colonel Custer who had led the massacre at Washita in Oklahoma. In that massacre the peace seeking Cheyenne Chief Black Kettle had been killed. At the Little Big Horn, Custer's arrogance and bravado got him and all of his troopers killed.
Colonel Custer had been foolish. Even John Reid said that. John had come to the village as soon as he had gotten news of the Little Big Horn debacle. Custer's wife was traveling the country, touting her husband as a hero who, along with his men had been brutally slaughtered by savage Indians, whipping up public anger. Saloon talk in the towns near the village became more belligerent and threatening. Clan members were told not to leave their land and to stay out of white towns.
John stationed thirty troopers near the village and advised his Indians to do something that he had formerly discouraged. He advised them to carry a rifle with them while working their cattle. For a while John thought that he might have to temporarily move his friends to Darlington.
Those clan members who had moved to their herds were most at risk. The Ravens were burnt out. Fortunately none had been killed but John asked that all of the clan move back to the village. He would have troopers work their cattle. For the first time in several years, the village looked like an old time Indian village of teepees and campfires. For children too young to understand the danger, this was fun. All the clan was together and friends who saw each other only in winter could engage together in summer fun.
But the adults and older children knew that the very air was fraught with portent. Broken Bough again became a kind of war chief. He was probably the only member of the clan who had sufficient experience to prepare proper defenses. But even he was worried. The keen senses of Indian past had eroded. Could they still pick-up the faint sounds of potential danger? Could they properly adjust to an attack? Did they still have the skills and the stomach for battle? If Broken Bough showed trepidation, the entire clan was deeply anxious.
Old hostilities and even hatreds came to the surface. The Clan had lived at peace for almost five years and had worked hard at cultivating the trust and friendship of their white neighbors. They were doing what the white man wanted them to do but, it seemed, they were still feared and hated. Councils were held. Some even demanded that Keechee dance down the help of the spirits. There was talk of a war party to raid the saloons and kill those inside. The saloons were the breeding ground of the white man's anger and hate. Destroy the saloons, you destroy the hate.
Men were beginning to come to the council in Indian garb and war paint. "If I am going to die, I will take ten whites with me. We will not be as we were at Sand Creek. Our squaws and children will not die in their sleep. If we cannot be respected as men, we will become the savages they say we are."
Which angry Indian said that really doesn't matter. That frame of mind was becoming more and more prevalent.
Keechee finished his dance and Paul Mann, dressed now as Tall Man stood. "Braves of the White Buffalo Calf Clan, it is possible that we will die. The question is, do we wait here to die or do we die taking the fight to the white man?"
Cries of, "To the white man came from various part of the circle."
Tall man was angry. "Have we so quickly forgotten the traditions of the council? We do not just shout out. We wait our turn to speak. As is our tradition we will start with the tribal leaders and then move from the eldest to the youngest. Red Fox, do you wish to speak?"
Abraham stood. "I was proud to be Red Fox but I am now Abraham Fox. When I was Red Fox, I would have said, 'Take the fight to the whites.' but there are better ways. The blood of many whites is bad for us right now. But I have spoken to our neighbors. Their blood is not bad for us and they will help us. General Reid has given us troopers. He has made us come together for our protection. He has sent more troopers to work our cattle. He has taken many risks and much criticism for pointing us to the new ways. He has stood by us. We are learning and living many of the new ways but we are still the Clan of the White Buffalo Calf. Our Clan has fought with honor and many have died with honor. Can we now not live with honor? General Reid has honored us. I will not be one now to dishonor him. I will protect my home and my family but I will not ride out to kill whites."
John Hawk stood next. "We knew when General Reid asked us to stay that we would face hate and possibly attack. We knew that our lives would not be easy. But we have done well. We have more and live better than our brothers at Darlington. I am sad to have left the old ways. My childhood was happy. But we knew then and we know now that the old ways can never be again.
"I must speak the truth. I am not sad that Yellow Hair is dead. I am sad for our brothers the Sioux and the Cheyenne. The whites will not let this pass. Many will suffer and die. Too many have already died. What will be gained if we die? Perhaps they will kill us. If they do, they will have to come here. I will die on my land and I will die fighting but I will not go to them and make it easy to kill me. I will place my trust in General Reid. He has always spoken with a straight tongue."
Tall Man spoke again. "The Clan leaders have spoken. I will now speak for myself. I have chosen the new way. I will stay with the new way. Tonight I wear the clothing of the old way for the last time. I am still Arapaho but I am a new Arapaho. If I die, I will die as a new Arapaho."
Paul Mann took off his feather. He took off his buckskin jacket and trousers. He stood naked before the council. "I know what I am in the white man's world. I am as I appear now to you, unprotected and naked as when I came into the world. I have clothed myself in the ways of the whites. I will, from now forward, wear only the clothes of the whites. If they kill me, they will be killing part of themselves - part of their souls. I will not ride to fight them. If you are going to ride to kill the whites, go now."
The younger hot-bloods among the clan were squelched. No one moved.
Broken Bough spoke. "Two summers ago, I wanted to die killing whites. My blood was very bad and my heart hated. I could think of nothing but Sand Creek and my dead squaw and children. I have thought about them much. They are dead. Would killing whites make them alive again? Would they think me a brave warrior if I rode into a battle I could not win or would they think me foolish? If we ride out after the whites, we will all die. If we stay here, perhaps we will die and perhaps we will not. I have learned much these last two summers. I have learned that men are men. I have learned that skin does not make one good or bad. There is good and bad among the Indians and there is good and bad among the whites. Yellow hair was bad. He is dead. He was white but he was only one man. He was not all the whites.
"If a white man looks at me and cannot see past my skin, he will try to kill me and I will try to kill him. But I know whites who do see past skin. We all do. The white troopers are here. Shall we go to kill them? Some of them may die for us. I will stay here and die for them and for my honor if I must."
There was a general murmur of agreement - reluctant among some but general nonetheless.
A voice came from the shadows away from the light of the council fire. "Some of us are white and ask that we may speak. My wife is with me. She is Arapaho. My father is here and my brothers are here. Many of our friends are here. We come as friends. May we approach the council?"
"This is no longer a council. The White Buffalo Calf Clan has had its last war council. If we live, we will live by the way of the whites. In the world of the whites, anyone had the right to speak. Come."
A group of about thirty men came into the circle of council fire light. All were carrying rifles. Robin Hawk's father-in-law, Ben Lyman, spoke for the group. "You have been good neighbors. Many of us have become good friends. My family has relatives here. We have come to depend on some of your young men to help in our roundups. We have come to depend on Paul's store.
"Some of us are from Colorado Territory and some from Kansas. Jake Russert has been stirring up trouble in the Goodland Saloon. Paul, your store and your huckster have put him out of business. Jake never could run a business and the place was a rat hole. That's why he's out of business but in his mind it's you. Now he's using this Custer thing to get folks riled. Word is he plans to come here tonight. You'll need help. We already told the troopers. Don't know how many he'll get to come with him but we are here to stand with you."
Lieutenant Phizer stationed his men and the volunteers strategically. Some served as pickets on the perimeter of the village. Some were placed in or between cabins. And, they waited.
Depending on the weather, Goodland, Kansas in 1876 was about one hundred yards of either dusty or muddy road with a saloon and general store, a livery stable that did almost no business, a brothel, the shack of Jake Russert, the saloon keeper and a decent looking cabin, the home of the Cyrus Newfeld. Cyrus' wife had died and his children grown. He owned a ranch, now worked by his son, over by Fort Hays but had built a cabin in Goodland when he went to work for John Reid.
Even though, at the time he was hired, Cyrus believed in John's vision for his Indians, he did not feel comfortable living with them. Five years ago, Cyrus had thought that Goodland would, by now, be a thriving town. It would not become a town of any import for several more years and would not become incorporated until 1886. Cyrus was already negotiating with Paul Mann over a plot next to the general store in the village.
Perhaps providence was at work here. Had Cyrus moved sooner he would not have been in the saloon the night the plans were formulated. Since the general store portion of Jake's business had gone under, Jake's saloon was barely surviving. Jake had ranted since he had heard of the Little Big Horn and would suggest to each of his rare customers that they should get up an "army" and go over west and do to them Indians what was done to Custer. Several agreed and said they'd help get up a group.
Most of the conversation was well saturated in whiskey and it became more and more bellicose and irrational. Cyrus stopped in most evenings for a shot of rye. Early on, Cyrus felt that the talk was just bluster. Jake and those agreeing with him were mostly prairie riffraff, generally more rant than responsibility so Cyrus thought nothing would come of it. But they had actually been sober enough one evening to set a date - August first. Cyrus thought it wise to get word to the surrounding ranchers whom he knew were friendly with the village.
Jake had himself worked into a frenzy and as the evening progressed, when only two of his cohorts had shown up, he became truly manic. By two in the morning they had drunk themselves into stupors and lay passed out on the filthy floor of the saloon. Jake woke at dawn, hung-over and as he came to his senses, furious. The Indians were supposed to be dead by now. He rousted the others and the three barely lucid men headed west, gulping whiskey as they rode.
At dawn, the ranchers decided that the village was in no danger that day. They needed to get home to their own herds. The troopers remained at post but it seemed that the danger had passed, at least temporarily. The village went on about its business.
Jake dismounted and belly crawled through the tall grass to reconnoiter. When the men had gone to the herd and the troopers were eating their breakfast, he collected his "army", went to the opposite end of the village from the trooper's camp and then rode brazenly into the village. "I'm gonna kill me some Indians."
There was a flurry of activity as women and children ran for cabins and troopers grabbed for rifles. There was, however, only confusion in the addled minds of Jake's "army." A woman, rifle shouldered, stood in the middle of the path. "Wiggle so much as a finger, you're dead."
Briefly, Jake thought he was in the wrong village. That was a white woman. "These ain't Indians."
"Are so. I seen 'em runnin' in them cabins."
"That woman's white."
"Jake you're too drunk to see good. These is Indians. I been by here before."
"She talks white man's talk."
"Hell, lots of Indians can do white man's talk. Shoot her."
Jake was still too flummoxed to act. The "soldier" to his left moved to pull his rifle from its scabbard. Leah Sidell fired and the man's hat finally dropped ten feet behind him.
"Move again and I'll put one in your belly."
It must have been impulse, a kind of self-preservation that made Jack pull his rifle from its scabbard. Just as it cleared the leather, Leah's rifle sounded. Jake's rifle dropped to the ground and the "soldier" to his right rear screamed in pain. Leah's bullet had ricocheted and hit the screamer in the thigh.
Homer Court fell from his horse and writhed on the ground. "Oh, God, don't let me die. I know I done a lot of sinnin' but so did them Indians."
"You ain't dyin', you dumb son of a bitch."
"Shut your goddam mouth, Jake. Can't you see I'm prayin' here?"
"What you know 'bout prayin'?"
"My mama taught me to pray when I was a youngen. Just leave me be. I ain't dyin' 'til I tell God all them sins I done. Mama always said we had to tell God what sins we done so we could go to heaven."
"Well, if you think you're dyin', better hurry up. You got plenty to tell."
Homer went back to praying. "Worse thing I done was whorin' but I done that robbin' in Dodge an' I stole them horses up near Meade. What else? Oh, I burned out them Indians but I reckon that ain't no sin.
"What other sinnin' I done, Monny? We been ridin' together."
"Don't know nothin' 'bout no sin. Never heard of sich a thing."
"Didn't your mama take you to church when you was a youngen?"
"Never did."
"Well, ain't no wonder I done all that sinnin' bein' with you don't know nothin' 'bout sinnin'. Mama told me bad company get me in trouble. If I go to hell I'll kill you when you get there for how you done me."
"I told you, you ain't dyin'. Folks don't die from getting' shot in the leg."
"Some do, I reckon."
"Jes' get on up. We got us some Indians to kill."
Leah fired again, this time at the ground in front of Jake's horse. The horse reared and Jake also lay on the ground.
"You had no cause to do that, lady. We ain't botherin' you. We come to kill Indians. Where they at?"
"If you weren't so miserable, you'd be funny. Never did like a drunk and I don't like dumb drunks most of all. There won't be any Indian killing."
"Well, there will. I ain't rode all this way for nothin'."
Monny still sat his horse. "Get off that horse and get on the ground with the rest. I still have that one for your belly."
Monny almost jumped off and lay on his belly as if protecting it. "Yes, em."
The Lieutenant chuckled, "Looks like we can go on back to Denver. Looks like Miz. Sidell's got everything under control here."
Leah dug the bullet out of Homer's thigh and bound up his wound. Even sober Jake's army didn't seem to understand the trouble they were in. When Leah had finished with Homer, he said, "Thank ye, kindly, ma'am. I reckon we'll be movin' on now."
The Lieutenant, copying Homer's mode of speaking said, "Reckon some of us will move on too. Why don't ya'll ride with us over to Fort Hays. They got a real fine stockade there. I am sorry there ain't no Indians to kill but they'll feed you good."
Homer Court got ten years for burning out the Ravens. Jake and Monny got the choice of six months or leaving Kansas and Colorado and never coming back. They chose leaving and they never did come back. They are buried in a boot hill in Texas. They were no more skilled at robbing banks than they were at killing Indians.
The Clan and neighboring ranchers rebuilt the Ravens' cabin. Things remained tense for another year but there were no more "attacks" on the village.
Wili and Billy liked Johann. He was a good teacher. All the children liked him. He was only seventeen, almost one of them but he kept a good school and, it was noticed, kept considerable company with fifteen year old Birdie Hawk.
Echo generally considered himself a store keeper and fussed when he was made to go to school but Paul had come to understand the value of education. The twins flirted with Wili and Billy but got nowhere. Both boys thought they were in love with Billy's brother-in-law's sister. Neither knew what the other's thought so there were no ill feelings.
Amos continued to fill out but still looked more twelve than fifteen. He divided his non-school waking hours about equally between Leah Sidell, his mama, and Broken Bough. It was also noticed that Broken Bough began regularly to take his evening meal at the Sidell cabin with Amos and Leah.