Wili

Pennsylvania was so green. Kansas grass would get green for a while after a rain but mostly it was almost brown. Pennsylvania cows were different. Most were brown and they had huge udders. These were dairy cows. Some Kansas cows were milked but they didn't produce much, and trying to milk them was an adventure. Abe never let Wili milk. Too much chance of getting kicked. You had to sit down right beside her and if she took a notion to kick, you couldn't get away. Wili had learned to elude cows and even bulls when he was on his feet but sitting beside an irritable cow took more skill than Wili had. Abe seemed to have an instinct as to when she was going to kick and kind of rolled away. Anyway, on the prairie cows were milked only enough so the children of the family could have milk. Milk was never sold. Prairie cattle were raised mostly for their meat.

There seemed to be two different breeds of dairy cows in Pennsylvania. The larger of the two was the Braunvieh, German for brown cow. Some people called them Brown Swiss although they were not exactly the same breed. They looked almost the same and may actually have had the same ancestry, but the geographical separation caused them to develop slightly differently. They were a good hearty cow and bull calves were often castrated and butchered for meat or trained as oxen.

The smaller was a pretty cow. It was mostly brown but had some black and white on its face. It was the Jersey. While the Jersey didn't give as much milk as the Braunvieh, most farmers in the Strasburg area raised Jerseys because they produced milk with higher cream content. Many farmers would separate the cream from the milk and either churn the cream into butter or just sell the cream. The extra work was worth it. Butter brought a higher price than cream and cream brought more than whole milk. Often the skimmed milk was fed to the hogs.

Some farmers would load large containers of whole milk on a horse drawn cart and sell it in towns where people did not keep cows. The customer would bring out a pan or a bottle, sometimes a crock, and the farmer would dip the amount of milk the customer needed for that day.

Hogs were another new thing to Wili and Billy. Pennsylvania ground was richer than the prairie. Corn and other small grains could be grown so that the variety of livestock the land would support was greater. Chickens ran loose in most farmyards. Along with the cattle and hogs, there might be sheep and goats. Some farmers used mules instead of horses for field work, but horses were used for transportation. Rarely did the boys see someone on the back of a horse. Even if there was only one person, the horse was always hitched to a buggy, wagon or some kind of cart. To Wili that seemed foolish. Why go to all the trouble of harnessing and hitching the horse to the conveyance when you could just throw a saddle on?

Corn was necessary to raise good hogs and oats was good horse feed. Wheat and barley were also grown. Some farmers in this very religious community would not grow barley. Most barley was malted for beer making. The Amish generally had no problem with beer but many of the various types of Mennonites groups considered any type of alcoholic beverage sinful. Many of the Protestant sects in the area were of Anabaptist¹ origin from Germany or Switzerland, and believed that growing barley was sinful. They also believed that the Bible forbade associating with "sinners." Some families had farmed next to each other for several generations and had never spoken to each other.

The boys were somewhat confused by Pennsylvania. There was so much that was different. It was pretty but it wasn't the prairie. Farming was so much different than ranching. Everything seemed so tame here. The cattle were less wild and the horses less spirited. There were almost no coyotes to go after your calves. What few coyotes there may have been, the dogs kept away. There was no danger of prairie fires. Everything was fenced so you didn't have to worry about a bull wandering around or something spooking the cattle and having them stampede through your teepee. Farming was hard work, but it seemed to take only muscle not courage compared to life on the prairie.

For now, the boys decided that Pennsylvania was - what? Interesting was probably the best word. It wasn't home and people seemed to want to fight over religion. Both Wili and Billy had listened to the man with the tall hat and liked some of his stories. They got the idea that people who believed in Jesus loved each other. Most of the people around Strasburg loved only those who worshiped the same way they did.

Wili had read once about a conversation that Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce Indians had with a commissioner in the Bureau of Indian Affairs. The commissioner had suggested that the Nez Perce should have schools. Chief Joseph said that the Nez Perce didn't want schools. The rest of the conversation went something like this.

"Why do you not want schools?" the commissioner asked.
"They will teach us to have churches," Joseph answered.
"Do you not want churches?"
"No, we do not want churches."
"Why do you not want churches?"
"They will teach us to quarrel about God [translated Great Spirit in other places],"
Joseph said. "We do not want to learn that. We may quarrel with men sometimes about things on this earth, but we never quarrel about God. We do not want to learn about that."²

Wili didn't really understand what the Chief meant until now.

But mostly Strasburg was tolerated. Wili missed his family and he missed the prairie but learning a different way of living was, in fact, interesting. John and Dora and their children moved into the large Reid house. The house John had built when first married had been empty for several years. Both Lucy and Irene had remarried and moved on. After they left, Sadie Reid had lived without a maid. She hired Amish girls to clean her house but she didn't really need a full time maid. She had kept Marie on because she had become more than a maid. She had become part of the family and a trusted friend. Lucy and Irene were hired, not so much because Sadie needed them but because they needed Sadie.

Sadie decided that John and Dora should live with just their family so she moved into the smaller house with Wili and Billy. The boys didn't mind. John was right next door and so were the children. Living in a different house was no different than just sleeping in different bedrooms. Sadie could be "German" occasionally but Wili was used to that. It felt good in a way. Everything was so new to Billy that he didn't think of testing Sadie's limits and realized that her manner was really no different than Wili's, so her occasional brusqueness didn't bother him. He just watched everyone around him and tried to learn how to be Pennsylvania Dutch.

The boys did help with the chores. They liked that. School had not started yet and they were not used to doing nothing. They had been working cattle every day now for a year and having morning and evening chores gave them something to do at least part of the day. It was different. Both boys thought they were as strong as they ever needed to be - until they tried to milk three cows, morning and evening. Talk about sore hands. But it didn't take that long before their hands were as strong as the rest of them and by the time school started milking cows came as naturally as bulldogging calves had been.

They were resigned to their situation but they found much of it boring. When it's day, and the weather is good, fourteen and fifteen year old prairie boys can only read so much. Johnny tried to give them as much time as he could, but he was getting ready to go to the Point and had details to work out. He had friends to visit, Sarah Graber to court and his feelings about leaving home and his new-found dad to deal with. The boys would hitch up a horse and take buggy rides, sometimes alone, usually with the girls and Declan. There was a lot to see but they would much rather have seen the countryside on the back of a horse rather than having to stare at its back end. It certainly wasn't their idea of excitement.

Wili and Billy missed their families but right now the things they missed most were their horses. They felt they could tolerate those long, lonely, boring afternoons much better if they could gallop pell-mell around the countryside. They even would have been willing to do the galloping without the yipping and yelping. Just being around horses with a little spirit would have lifted their own spirits. All these Pennsylvania horses were so, well, nice. They acted like they lived only to make you happy. Horses in Kansas had fire in their eyes and gave the impression that they merely tolerated you. But they were also loyal and tough - and smart. A buggy horse only had to do as he was told. Cow ponies had to know how to act in many different situations. They had to know what to do when you were cutting.³ They had to know how to keep the rope tight when you'd roped a critter and wanted to hog-tie it so you could brand or cut³ it. Wili's pony seemed to know what to do when he saw the pigging string in the boy's teeth.

But, they'd just have to make do. They were in Pennsylvania and their horses were in Kansas.

There was some excitement in Strasburg, however. When a very popular young man had been dead for twelve years and is suddenly alive again, that's news, not only the newspaper kind, but the over the back fence kind. The first few days, many old friends dropped by. John would much rather have had time to get his family settled, but both he and Dora understood. All the visitors did have some advantage for Declan, however. Many visitors brought their families to introduce to John. Several families included nine, ten, eleven or twelve year old boys, all of whom saw celebrity in the son of this famous General. Most days, Declan was off playing with his new friends.

Wili and Billy found all the people fascinating the first day but after that they stayed away when they saw "friends" next door. They realized that they were a kind of novelty, almost a freak side show. They stayed with Sadie or took a buggy ride.

Newspaper men came from Philadelphia and New York. Former President Grant came for a visit. He again took Declan onto his lap and fussed over the girls, particularly Marty.

General Sherman came and, as usual, he was furious. John, he said, had a duty to his country. It was almost treason to resign from the army. John didn't back down. He told the General that if this country would change its policy toward the Indians, he might reconsider, but the way Miles was behaving in the north, there were going to be major hostilities and he wanted nothing to do with that sort of situation. If he were again given command of Miles, he'd go back to Denver and negotiate with the Sioux and the Cheyenne but he wouldn't be complicit in butchering them. John knew he was safe. There would be no change in Indian policy. It would have been political suicide. Most white Christians were firm believers in President Monroe's Manifest Destiny. The nation was to be white Christian.

John finally decided that he would hold a series of lectures in various neighborhoods, so that as many as were interested could hear his story. It was the only way to get some peace and quiet, and be allowed to settle in with his new family.

After John had agreed to the lecture series, he had some time for Wili and Billy. He saw the boredom and homesickness in the boys. He knew that he couldn't ask Johnny to give them more time, so he tried to find chores to keep them busy. It helped some, but the boys sure wished school would start. Declan and the girls thought that to be really odd. Whoever heard of a kid who wanted summer vacation to end?

One afternoon about the first of August, John asked the boys to go with Declan and him into town. Neither boy had cut off their braids yet so they had stayed away from town. They saw boys their age riding by in buggies and braids were definitely not in style in Pennsylvania. They knew the braids would have to go but they were really the only attachment they had to their prairie life. They wanted to put it off as long as they could. They had brought their western style hats and tried to tuck their braids up under them.

As they rode through town, John was the center of attention. Western style hats usually would have attracted attention, but John's celebrity was still too new. If anyone noticed the two "cowboys" - and one of them an Indian, no one gave any indication.

It had been dark when they first arrived from Kansas. Wili and Billy did not know the town and had no idea where they were going. They had gone past the main part of town and certainly hoped that John was not taking them to visit someone. They were not in the mood for meeting new people. Getting used to being away from home and getting used to Pennsylvania were all they wanted to handle right now. Actually, both boys were kind of sullen. Over the past month they had serious doubts that they had made the right decision. For the first time, Wili was annoyed at his Papa and John. Why had they made him come here?

They did recognize the train station. John fastened the hitching strap to the bridle and wrapped it around the hitching rail. The three boys followed him into the station. Boredom had them past the stage of curiosity. Declan was, however, animated. That boy loved trains.

At this hour of the day, there was no train. There were, however, Billy's sister Fawn Linameyer and her husband Warner. Fifteen year-old Arapahos are not supposed to shriek with excitement but Billy shrieked. He ran to embrace her as Wili embraced Warner, very un-Indian behavior, but perhaps Pennsylvania had already diluted Kansas.

Billy's first question was, "Are you going to Germany too?"

"No, we brought you something."

Wili wondered, "Did you bring my Mama and Papa?"

"No, but the General said you two have been acting as if you were about to die and thought what we brought might cheer you up."

"If it's not my Mama and Papa, I don't think it will."

"Well, come with us and then decide."

They walked onto the platform. Across the tracks were holding pens. In the closest pen to the tracks were four horses. It wasn't his Mama and Papa, but that horse was his. Wili turned and gave John a quick hug and ran to his nickering friend. The horse was almost as pleased as Wili at the reunion, but he was an Indian pony, so he nuzzled and then gave Wili a look that said, "'Bout time. First you leave me and then put me in this box and drag me all the way across the country. I still love you, but don't expect me to forgive you too soon."

Both Wili and Billy were over the fence hugging and stroking and asking where the tack was. Declan was there petting his horse and John, after looking his over said, "Looks like they stood the trip well.

"You'd have thought this particular horse was vital to national security as much trouble as I had getting the army to sell him to me. You boys ready to go home?. Tack is in the station. Fawn and Warner will drive the buggy home. Get a move on, boys. I'm tired of looking at glum faces."

All three boys were effusive in their thanks and hugs. John explained that he did not want the horses shipped unattended and that it would not have been wise to have Abe or John Hawk come. There was still too much ill will toward Indians. A white man with an Indian wife would be tolerated.

Horses were bridled, saddled and mounted. Wili and Billy were not able to keep their intention toward quiet, dignified riding. They loosed their braids and with appropriate vocalizations two very happy boys and two less confused horses galloped through a startled town at break-neck speed. John and Declan, in a statelier manner, were followed home by Warner and Fawn.

John was sitting in his parlor chatting with Warner and Fawn when the boys finally pulled the saddles off their sweaty horses. They knew they were not allowed in the parlor with the smell of the barn on them, so they called John out. Wili and Billy were almost in tears of appreciation as they again hugged and repeatedly thanked John. "I knew I had to do something. You were the two happiest boys in the village but the saddest boys in Pennsylvania. I can understand that. I'm sorry. I should have brought your horses when we came. I know this isn't home for you and you will always be a little homesick, but I see I was right. Those horses brought a little of the prairie and a lot of that village happiness with them."

John was right. Wili and Billy were often wistful but never sank back into the melancholy of a paucity of spirited horses. Actually they began to get used to Pennsylvania. Johnny found more time to spend with them and the three of them became somewhat notorious. Johnny had never ridden much saddle, but he found he loved it and quickly became comfortable. Johnny rode John's horse. He was not as rowdy as the Indian ponies, but he kept up on their wild rides through the countryside. By the time Johnny had gone to the Point and school had started, they were generally known around the community as die Wildheit, roughly translated, 'the savages'.

As good an athlete as Johnny was, he didn't have time to quite master the lasso before he left for the Point. Wili and Billy had been working at it for about three years. They were good, but Jonas didn't want them roping his heifers and calves and there was really no challenge to roping fence posts. They had been proud of their skills with a rope and were sure that fence posts would not keep them sharp.

The haircut was traumatic. Sadie cut off their braids and John took the boys to the barber. Actually, they thought they looked pretty good, but it took away almost all that was left of the prairie. Sadie carefully packaged the braids. They would at least have them to look at if they became too nostalgic.

The first day of school went better than they had expected. Most students either knew who Wili and Billy were, or had heard of them. They had taken tests and their academic knowledge and skills were such that they were placed in ninth grade. They were very tentative when they walked into the classroom that first morning.

Several students were in their seats awaiting the arrival of the teacher. One boy said in very sarcastic German, "Oh look, we have the savages in our school."

Billy saw the instant ire in Wili and said to him in Arapaho. "Don't! I will take care of this. You know the General told us this might happen and not to make a problem."

Billy looked at the boy and shocked the class by responding in a much more refined German. "Yes, we are savages from the Kansas prairie but you don't have to worry about us. As you know, music calms the savage breast so let's sing.

Billy started singing a song Siegfried had taught them.

Muß i denn, muß i denn,

Wili Joined in.

zum Städtele 'naus, Städtele 'naus

Now the class, including the sarcastic boy, taken by Billy's diplomatic response also joined in.

und du, mein Schatz bleibst hier?
Wenn i komm, wenn i komm,
wenn i wied'-rum komm,
wied'-rum komm, kehr i ein,
mein Schatz bei dir.
Kann i glei net all-weil bei dir sein,
han i doch mein Freund an dir,
Wenn i komm, wenn i komm,
wenn i wied'-rum komm,
wied'-rum komm,
kehr i ein, mein Schatz bei dir.

Wie du weinst, wie du weinst,
daß i wandere muß, wandere muß,
wie, wenn d' Lieb jetzt wär vorbei!
Sind au draus, sind au draus,
der Mädele viel Mädele...

"Achtung!"

A new math teacher, one with whom even the local students were not familiar, strutted into the room. He snarled, "This is a school, not der biergarten. In school should not be singing of such songs!"

What was wrong with the song? It was an old German love song. True, its lilting tune made it a favorite among the denizens of der beirgarden, but all it said was something like 'I must leave to go far away, but don't cry because I will be back by the next grape harvest and then we will be married'.

Could each of those students' minds have been read, the ubiquitous thoughts would have been, "So, this is what high school is like? I should have quit after eighth grade like almost everyone else."

Unknown to this pedagogical tyrant, he had been followed into the classroom by John Reid and the head teacher. John was concerned about Wili's forthrightness and was there to intervene should Wili incite a riot. The head teacher had concerns about Louis Jaeger. Fred Nolt had problems finding a replacement for Otto Lininger who had finally decided to retire at age eighty. He had taught at this school for fifty-five years and was deeply revered. Jaeger was about fifty and had taught in fifteen different schools. He was kind of a desperation hire. Fred had assumed there was a problem and he now knew what it was.

"Mr. Jaeger, may I see you in the hall?"

For a few moments the students could hear the murmur of quiet conversation and then some yelling by Mr. Jaeger. Mr. Nolt taught the math for the rest of the day and by the next day Mr. Lininger had agreed to fill in until a decent replacement could be found.

The students had told John of Billy's diplomacy. He went home satisfied that he had finally found someone who could keep his feisty, not so little anymore, German in check.

Fawn and Warner stayed for almost a month. The East was new to both of them and there were places to go and things to see. Fawn would have loved to stay longer, but the fall round-up had already started and even though John had paid him well for seeing that the horses were well cared for and made the trip safely, Warner was a cowboy, and no cowboy wants to miss much of the fall round-up. Billy had mixed feelings. He was sad to see them go but he loved school. Wili, too, found all the resources available to him, the books, several teachers, maps, globes, etc., both helpful and fascinating. Wili had always loved learning but had only tolerated school. But this kind of school was new and different and fun.

The boys did well. Their informal education had served them well. They were both always among those at the head of their classes. Their intelligence and jovial natures made them well liked but what happened September twenty-eighth made them gods.

It was a warm day for late fall. Students were restless and teachers did what they could to make them comfortable. Younger children were allowed longer recesses and classroom windows were opened wide in the high school. The noise of happy, playing children didn't do much for concentration on this already unbearable day. There wasn't much learning going on anyway.

Something was happening out there. The cacophony of happy children suddenly changed to shrieks of horror. Wili looked and then was out of the window yelling at Billy to get the horses. Lores Wicky's prize Jersey bull was glaring at the little children, snorting and pawing the ground, throwing dirt up over his back.

Zeb Kline whose farm was across the road from the school was running across his yard trying to pack and prime his musket. Lores, too portly and old to be running as fast as he was, was shouting, "Don't shot! Don't shot!" between pants.

Wili ran toward the bull yelling in German, "Get inside! Get inside!" Wili's commotion got the bull's attention. The bull charged at the boy. Wili deftly stepped aside.

The bull turned and looked at Wili as if asking, "How did you do that? You were there and then you were gone"

Wili already saw that this was going to be easy. The bull was too muscled to be agile. And, he may be angry but he was not wild. He was a pussy cat compared to an angry range bull.

The bull made another charge. By the time he got to Wili, Wili was somewhere else. Wili could not keep this up forever so he yelled at Billy in Arapaho. "Get those horses out here."

"Be patient, Torero. The horses won't do us any good without saddles and ropes."

Wili thought, 'smart-alecky,' but Billy was right. They needed the ropes. By now, Wili was also getting tired. The bull had made five passes. He stood looking at Wili as if he were trying to think up a new strategy. He seemed to come to the conclusion that whatever that thing yelling him was, he was not going to get it. He turned his attention back toward the children.

Zeb had gotten his gun loaded and primed. He was still in his yard several hundred yards away trying to draw a bead on the animal while Lores continued to yell, "Don't shot!" That momentarily drew the bull's attention. He briefly stood staring at that distant commotion, but apparently decided he had closer possibilities for the venting of his fury. Had Zeb known his gun better, and had he been a better shot, that moment of hesitation on the bull's part, could possibly have cost the bull his life. Zeb fired but the ball dug into the ground thirty feet in front of, and to the left of, the bull. Had he arched his shot and taken more time to aim, he might have hit the bull, but it would have been an unusual stroke of luck to have killed the animal. The bull's thick skull and the lack of rifling in the gun, made any lethal shot from that distance almost impossible.

Wili placed himself between the bull and the children. He again shouted in German to get inside. Some of the first grade children had never heard English until they got to school. They had to be admonished in German. Panic had frozen some of them, even some of the teachers. They just stood there. For emphasis, Wili used the few German curse words he had inadvertently picked up from the Martyn boys and his cousins, Horst and Wolfgang. Such language in this very pious community did get attention, and shocked teachers hustled the children into the school and to safety; some more to get these innocent children out of ear shot of this vulgar savage than from the danger of the bull.

After what seemed to Wili to be an hour, Billy came galloping up leading Wili's horse. Billy kept his horse between Wili and the Bull to give Wili the chance to mount up.

The building was too close to swing a good loop, so Wili swatted at the Bull's rump with his still furled rope. The swats didn't hurt the bull but they annoyed him. He turned to get away from whatever was plaguing him, ran to the east, saw the fence and turned toward the road.

Good! That's what Wili and Billy wanted him to do. They were used to working in wide open spaces. Billy opened a loop, dropped it around the bull's neck, and wrapped his end around the saddle horn. Wili threw a loop toward the hind leg but missed. He quickly re-furled his rope and got him on the second try. Wili horned his rope and jumped from his horse, his pigging string in his teeth.

Both ponies knew to keep the ropes tight. Wili took off his shirt and his belt and yelled for Billy's belt. The bull was, at the moment, too confused to be angry. Before the bull was able to collect his wits, Wili had his shirt over the bull's eyes, the pigging string holding the shirt to the bull's snout and the belts around his neck holding the shirt from falling off his eyes.

Usually, when an animal can't see, it's docile. Fortunately, this one was. Lores had ringed the bull's nose and Zeb brought his bull rod. Wili kicked the leg that was looped. The bull kicked back, but Wili was no longer where the bull kicked. Wili retrieved his rope. Zeb was a younger man than Lores, so Zeb was going to walk the bull home. Wili had Zeb grab the rod a foot from the end, slipped the loop around the rod, had Zeb change hands and moved the loop around the bull's neck.

Billy had moved his horse until he was touching the bull's right side. The two animals were facing the same direction. He pulled his rope tight. Wili did the same on the left side. With Zeb on the rod and the bull snuggly sandwiched between the horses, they got him home and penned. Lores fell all over himself with gratitude and Zeb was dumbfounded. That boy was either very brave or very stupid. Wili was neither. His Papa had taught him how to work around the almost wild cattle of the prairie. He and Billy just did what came naturally.

John teased the boys for stealing his celebrity. The boys had gotten used to going to church, but they would never get used to the wet kisses they got almost every Sunday from grateful Mamas and grandmas. They weren't sure whether to be embarrassed or proud that first Sunday when the preacher called them to the platform, said glowing things about them and said an interminable prayer with his hands on their heads. They liked the food, but got tired of those long Sunday afternoons in other peoples houses being pampered and praised.

They complained to John. They liked what people did, but how much more of this would they have to take? John advised them to just be patient. They had done a very brave thing and they should let people thank them. He told them that people would never stop being thankful for what the boys had done, but they would eventually stop fawning over them. They did, but it took until Christmas.

The boys got to go back to the prairie for Christmas. Wili thought his Mama would never let him go; she hugged him so long. He got a hug and an elbow grab from his Papa. Wili was, at first, surprised, and then pleased. Elbow grabbing was a man thing to do. His Papa was seeing him now as a man. The girls hugged, cried and were so solicitous that it was almost annoying, but Wili let them do their thing. He had stood all the Sunday dinners and pampering in Strasburg and he didn't even know most of those people. These were sisters whom he loved. He'd let them be as solicitous as they wanted to be.

De had grown so much, it kind of made Wili sad. De wasn't a baby anymore. De wasn't a baby, but he still worshiped his big brother. He snuggled up so close to Wili in bed and held on so tight. Wili had been deeply appreciated in Pennsylvania, but he was loved here.

There were several people in the village whom Wili did not know. Some were Indian. Some were white. The next morning Wili found out who they were. Most worked in Bob Bough's growing business. The Indians were from Darlington, men Bob knew to be good craftsmen.

Wili was surprised that his Papa was still in the cabin when he woke up. He had not gone to the herd. When Wili asked about it, Abe said, "I don't have a herd anymore. I sold it all to Buck. Some of those new people in the village are Buck's hands.

"Wili, we're going back east with you. Everything here is sold. Your Mama, sisters, De and I will not stay in Pennsylvania. We will be going to Boston. Dr. Martyn has arranged for me to study and take some tests at Harvard to see if I can qualify for University in Germany. I think it best that you stay in Pennsylvania. You are used to that school and you can have your horse. You have told me many times that you did not like the city. You have been to Boston. You know that it is bigger than New Bedford. You would not be happy in Boston. When your school is finished for the year, we'll go to New York and then take a ship to Germany.

"Your Mama and sisters have been learning German and we will live near Siegfried so he and Johann can continue to teach all of us. The house will be small. You will be much happier in Strasburg."

Wili knew that his Papa was right but he would have no family left on the prairie. His Papa had kept a few horses and Wili rode alone up to the Republican. It was a long ride for one day and it was cold but not too windy. Wili had to be alone with his prairie. He had to thank it for his Mama and his Papa. He had to thank it for his sisters and his brother. He had to thank it for a good, good life. He had to let his prairie know that he may never come back but he would never stop loving it.

Wili passed the night with the Ravens. He rode back to the village a different boy. This prairie wasn't his anymore. He was not sad. He had thanked the prairie and gave it to someone who might need it as much as he had when he was ten. He would always love the prairie, but it was no longer his. What was to be his, he did not know. It may be in Pennsylvania or it may be in Germany, but wherever it was, he was excited to go there. Although he still loved to run, it would not be his legs that would take him to his next new life. It would be his mind. It would be knowledge. It would be truth.

It was June fifteenth when Wili stood at the rail and watched New York slowly sink below the horizon.

¹ See - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anabaptist or other Anabaptist sites

² See - http://www.nanations.com/dishonor/joseph-non-treaty-chief.htm

³ Cutting - Separate from the herd. Cut - Castrate