Once I was let out of school, there was nothing to keep me put. I knew I was leaving for a spell, but it wasn't until Maw gave me my birthday present that I realized what it was I needed to do to prove I was a man.

On my birthday, Maw sent us into town with a list of things we'd get at Lawrence's store. It was something I did to help Paw. That might have been a good opportunity for us to be together, father and son like. It might have been nicer if it wasn't such an ordeal on both of us.

Knowing what was coming, I dreaded our trips to Lawrence's store.

I be helping Paw because he don't read. I had to pick out the things on Maw's list. This didn't trouble me, I could do that without making Paw feel stupid, but then we had Maw's father to deal with, my grandfather, and going into Lawrence's was like wading into a nest of rattlers. Lawrences was the only store where you could buy the things Maw needed. We had to go there.

First, we stopped at the Church of the Heavenly Prophet. That's my grandfather's church. You know all you need to know about Father Kelly by how he named his church. I only saw him on a trip to town for supplies, because we needed to stop to get the cash to buy our supplies.

Paw don't have no credit at Lawrence's, and so Paw takes the list to grandpa, grandpa checks it twice, and digs into the cash box to count out what he thinks it will cost, and we haven't even got to the ordeal what takes place at Lawrence's yet.

Here I might say, Paw is a Pawnee Indian. How he got in with the Prophet and Maw is a story too long to go into here, but needless to say, things being the way they is, Paw ain't no welcome sight anywhere he goes in town.

I goes with him because I knows two of us is better than one of us by himself. Like I says, I pick out the things on Maw's list. That ain't the ordeal, even standing in front of Father Kelly isn't that much of an ordeal.

It's what we need to do to get the stuff on Maw's list, on account of Paw being Pawnee.

Half hour before we leave for town, I get Dobbin into the wagon's harness. Dobbin is old. He was here when I arrived on the scene. Dobbin don't mind pulling the wagon as long as you don't rush him. If you make the mistake of trying to get him to move faster, you'll be sitting a spell. As long as you let him stop to munch choice patches of grass on the way, you'll eventually get there,

"Paw, why is he called Dobbin?" I asked Paw one time on the way to town.

"Means farm horse. Had to call him something. All farm horses are Dobbin, or so your grandfather says."

It made a certain amount of sense. Hard to forget the horse's name if he is a Dobbin and you call him Dobbin. I called him Dobbin.

Dobbin likes the fancy green grass the grows in patches along the trail to town. We watch him stop and nibble his way through most of those spots, but if we're patient, we could be at the church before noon, and then we go in to stand inspection in front of the Prophet.

Paw hands him the list written in his daughter's handwriting, which he recognizes as hers. He runs his finger down each line to see if he approves. He pushes himself back and gets the cash box out of his bottom drawer and he counts out what he thinks is the proper amount for these items.

Father Kelly makes sure to speak to Paw like he's a child. He doesn't need to do that, but he likes doing it, because that's what it takes to get cash out of the Prophet. Without the cash, no supplies. We do it his way and Paw never reaches his desk to slap him into the here and now. I would like to do it, but I am fourteen, and it wouldn't go over well.

I wanted to do it because he shows no respect for Paw. I'm not in much better stead with the Prophet than Paw is. No point in making it worse than it is. If there was a fuss, Maw would end up in the middle. The Prophet was her father.

This was the arrangement Maw made with her paw, because of who my Paw was. Like everything concerning Paw, it was a long story. Needless to say, going to town for supplies was never as easy as going to town and getting our supplies.

Maw had no idea how mean the Prophet was to my Paw. He never missed a chance to belittle him, because Paw had the audacity to marry his precious little girl. As if Maw had nothing to say in the matter. If I was regarded any better than my father, my grandfather didn't let on.

The one thing the Prophet knew that no one else put together, I was half Pawnee. It didn't matter which half, Grandpa Kelly hated both halves, because one half of me was Indian. Because Father Kelly told the towns people, "He's a down and out drifter I hired to work my daughter's farm. We must be kind to men down on their luck, and he is a hard worker."

Right, and he's Pawnee, and the white boy with him is half Pawnee.

"Bring me the change, Jack," Father Kelly said, after pushing the cash toward Paw. "If it isn't enough, I wrote on the bottom, 'Father Kelly approves and will make good on any shortage, should there be one.' Do you understand, Jack?"

"Yes," Paw always says.

Paw's name wasn't Jack. His name was Proud Eagle, but the Prophet wasn't calling no one by his Indian name, no matter how down on his luck he was.

On my last trip to town with Paw, before I left, there was a change in the program just this once. It was my birthday, and when Maw told her paw what she wanted to buy me, the Prophet told her to let him take care of it.

This is a case of Grandpa Kelly never passing up a chance to humiliate Paw, and that's how I got me a Hawkin 50.

"Oh, Gregory, I got something here for you," my grandfather said.

Father Kelly got up and went into the corner of his office. He brought back a long thin wrapped up package. He could have saved himself the trouble. I could see it was a rifle. Nothing looked like a rifle more than a rifle did, and I wondered what this was all about. The Prophet wasn't prone to giving Paw or me gifts.

Father Kelly would take pleasure in explaining how it was he bought the rifle that Maw wanted me to have on my fourteenth birthday.

"It's your birthday, Gregory. Happy birthday. You're fourteen. Now, this here gift is from your Maw. She had me order it for her. I put something toward it on account she was a bit short, but you being my grandson, and you being almost grown, I tells your Maw, 'If you're aiming to buy the boy a rifle, you let me order it for you. I'll be sure the rifle suits him. Go ahead. Open it."

I didn't want to open it, because I knew the gift would be an insult to Paw. My mother had to go to her father, because Paw couldn't handle such a thing as ordering something to be sent to the cabin. This was work for the Prophet.

I glanced at Paw. He nodded for me to open it. He knew what was coming.

I gasped when my eyes fell upon the rifle inside the wrapping paper.

"It's a Hawkin," I said with reverence, not giving a thought to Paw.

"Best rifle made in these here parts," the Prophet informed me, as if I didn't know what a Hawkin was.

You've got to understand; Paw wouldn't own a rifle like this one. He also would never be able to buy his son one. It didn't matter what he paid for it, as long as it hit Paw where it hurt the most. The Prophet was thoughtful that way.

I sure admired that Hawkin. It was a man's rifle. I could bring down anything I aimed at with a Hawkin 50. I had a rifle that was going to allow me to prove that I was a man.

It was no secret that the Prophet was against the marriage. He married them in his church, but there was no joy in it for him. He bought the farm a good ways from town. It was Maw's farm, but it stayed in Father Kelly's name. Paw was working the farm. Being out of town was agreeable to everyone, especially the men at Lawrence's Store who kept an eye on Paw whenever we came in.

Now, you might ask, how did your paw come to be in the same county with the Prophet, and it is a fine question. The story that is long and complicated each step of the way, had my fathering passing out on the side of the trail, after he was found by a French trapper.

You see, Paw was shot in the arm, after he was ambushed by the renegades who raided his village, killing his wife and son. The warriors were hunting at the time of the massacre. When they came back to find most of the village dead and the lodges all burned, my father and the other warriors went after them to get revenge.

The renegades, being used to this kind of double dealing, figured that when the men of the village came in from wherever they were, they chase them, and so they set up an ambush at a bend in the trail and Paw was shot.

When the trapper came by, he saw a wounded man, and he put him in his wagon and began to nurse him. I might want to say here, the French trapper cut off Paw's left arm above the elbow, because it was too infected to save.

The trapper was going to St Louis to sell his pelts, and Paw, having no interest in St Louis, left the wagon to try to get home. Even though he knew there was no home after the village was attacked.

Enter Father Kelly, who was coming back from a church meeting a few dozen miles to the east. He comes upon the poor unfortunate Indian with one arm, and being a good Christian, he takes him home for his daughter to nurse.

You must remember, the Prophet had no use for Indians, but he couldn't leave one lying beside the road. To him, Paw was a savage, what was the likelihood his daughter would fall in love with a savage? None, right?

They fell in love, and that's where I got into the story. Father Kelly married them, but he bought the farm far from town.

I came along. I turned fourteen, and grandpa bought me the Hawkin, and that gets us to stop at the church to get the money to buy the supplies for Maw.

And there I stood with one of the finest rifles made.

When I came along, everything was pretty much like it is now a days.

The Prophet treated Paw like a dumb savage, because Paw was Pawnee. An Indian didn't get credit at Lawrence's. We went to grandpa's church to get cash.

How no one put the pieces together, I can't say. My father was Half Indian to town's folk. They saw him on his monthly trip into town for supplies. How no one put two and two together, as in "I wonder if that kid is Half Indian's kid, and if he is, who is his mama, and what is he doing in our white school.

It never came up the entire time I went to the white school. I looked white.

It wouldn't come up today, and I was mightily tempted to load the Hawkin, and see if the men in Lawrence's Store to say anything about Paw being Indian.

I didn't load it. I wasn't stupid. Loaded rifles sometimes went off, and Lawrence's was the kind of place where it was more likely to happen.

The Prophet had no use for Paw. He might be Christian enough not to let him die alongside of the trail, but marrying Maw weren't nowhere in his good book. He didn't like it. He bought the farm, so no one got too close a look at what went on at the cabin in the valley where the river runs.

According to the Prophet, Paw was a poor dumb savage he hired out of pity to work Maw's farm. There was no mention of the marriage held late one night.

The Prophet didn't like it, but he loved his daughter. He bought the farm out by the river for her. He'd love her from a distance from then on.

Paw agreed he'd work Father Kelly's farm. Going to him for cash for supplies being part of it. It was always nice when the Prophet could make Paw feel small. His Christianity only went so far. It didn't cover savages in the family.

I wasn't around when the agreement was made, and Paw sure didn't tell me that he was treated the way he was, because Indians were Indians, and preachers were preachers.

Maw, being Father Kelly's daughter, believed her father was being fair. She knew he was against her marriage. Love being love, she went ahead anyway.

Paw was the one paid the price of the prophet's hard feelings.

I came along later. I was half Pawnee with white skin, so I got a pass on the Indian deal. No one was going to hold it against me, for the time being anyway. What I knew, Paw was Pawnee. I was a white kid with Father Kelly's last name. It's not how it was supposed to be, but what did I know?

When I was young and going to church with Maw, I fell for the Prophet sitting at God's right hand. Once I started going to Lawrence's Store with Paw, and ran the gauntlet starting at Grandpa's church, I got wise to the Prophet. He was all peaches and cream when Paw was in earshot. The cream soured when Maw weren't within earshot.

I say this before we left the church to go get the supplies on Maw's list. What went on at the church was the easy part. We still needed to deal with the men who sat around in Lawrence's.

At the moment my thoughts were on the gift I was given at the church. I would never own anything of real value, but I knew what one cost from the boys at school who were given Hawkins. Anyone given one bragged about it, and when I looked at the Sharps at Lawrences, which were more popular, I saw the price.

I knew how valuable the rifle was, and I aimed to protect it with my life, which blunted what was coming somewhat. If I knew what trouble that Hawkin was going to get me into, I might have given it back to the Prophet, but all I saw was the game it could bring down, and I already fancied myself a hunter.

Once back to the wagon, I stored the shot and powder on the floor, and I carefully placed the rifle next to my seat before I climbed up.

Paw dropped in beside me, clicking his tongue after releasing the brake.

"Quite a rifle," Paw said. "You can kill most anything with that gun. Don't know about one of those elephants, but it'll put down most things in these parts."

By that time, I had it in my arms again. Paw could see I was pleased.

"You do know why he gave it to you, don't you?" Paw asked.

"How long I been going with you to Lawrence's? I know how it is, Paw."

"I know. I been dealing with the man for near abouts twenty years. This time it turned out pretty good for you. He'll go back to being a jerk the next time we come to town for supplies. Happy birthday, Gregory."

"Thing is, he really hit the target with a Hawkin. I can almost think a kind thought about grandfather, if I didn't know better."

"The giving is done. Take care of it, and you'll always have meat. That rifle is the kind of thing fathers pass down to a son. I could never give you one. Not only wouldn't they sell me one, but I would never have that kind of money to spend on a gift like that rifle."

"Wasn't that the point, Paw? Maw meant well. Turning it over to the Prophet meant she was handing him a loaded weapon."

Paw chuckled.

"Ain't that the truth. You do know you'll still need to use your squirrel gun to hunt around the cabin. That rifle will blow a hole in a small critter, bigger than the critter," Paw told me. "It's a powerful gun."

That was true and shot and ball didn't come cheap. I had plenty I got with the rifle, but I wouldn't want to use it on rabbits or woodchucks.

Paw could surprise me sometimes. He didn't have a lot to say to me, but we were both wise to the Prophet. Paw seemed happy I got such a fine rifle out of it.

Dobbin responded to the clicking noise Paw made with his tongue. All the best grass must have been eaten, Dobin was ready to go. He knew at the end of the trip, he'd be back in the stable where he got some fine oats once he plowed or took the wagon into town. He went without as many stops on the way home. He wouldn't do no plowing until next year.

It wasn't far to Lawrence's. We made it out of church OK. Maybe we would survive Lawrence's store one more time.

I dreaded what was coming.

Paw didn't have no easy road to go down. It's why I understood the way he was. No one was going to let him forget he was a Pawnee, especially town folk.

We got out at Lawrence's. I carefully put the rifle down next to my seat, picking it up once I got down. I cradled it in my arms. I was tempted to load it.

I knew better. I didn't have a mean bone in my body. I wish I could say the same about the men in the store. Just the sight of the Hawkin would get their attention, and I wasn't leaving it sitting in the wagon for someone to take.

It helped that we knew what was coming. It was easier being ready for the behavior of the white men we'd cross paths with in Lawrence's.

Paw was always working from shortly after the sun came up, until the sun was ready to go down. Few days went by when he wasn't pulling stumps or rocks out of the ground in one of the fields. Townsmen had plenty of time to sit around. They sat around the cracker barrel in Lawrence's, until Paw arrived.

That's when they had something better to do. Paw's only got his one arm. That gives the men in Lawrence's the idea Paw is easy pickings.

They'd be wrong. Paw shows no fear I ever seen. I saw Paw do some amazing things with one arm. He did things with one arm the men in Lawerence's couldn't do with two arms. On account of this, they call Paw, Half Indian.

I was half Indian, and if anyone knew it, things would be a rough on me. On account I am passing as white, no one gives a white boy a second look, but today I came with a Hawkin rifle cradled in my arms.

Maw told me about the ambush when Paw was shot. A French trapper picked him up. Cut off Paw's arm so he wouldn't die.

Maw met Paw when Father Kelly found him alongside the road he traveled, and he brought him home for his daughter to nurse. The rest is history.

I knew all about being white. I knew nothing about being Pawnee. I felt the Indian inside of me. That half was wanting to get out. I didn't know that's what it wanted then, but even wanting to prove I was a man wasn't the whole story. It was enough for me then, but there was a lot more to it than that.

I walked into Lawrence's with the Hawkin cradled in my arms. No one looked at my face before looking at that rifle. This was different. Usually, no one paid me no mind at all, but I had me a Hawkin.

It was awkward helping Paw pick out the things on our list. Paw couldn't read, so I needed to match up what Maw wrote with the right item. There was always too many men inside of Lawrence's. There were six today. They'd been sitting when we arrived.

They stood once they saw Paw.

One stood at the end of any row of goods Paw was in. They watched him like a hawk. It was always the same. It was different men, but they kept an eye on Paw. It might have been funny if it wasn't for how dangerous it was. Paw went about his business, ignoring them. While the things we wanted were often in the same row each time, they were never in the same place twice, and so Paw couldn't always match the goods to the list, and since I read English, I could.

I had a Hawkin. Paw had a temper. I'd seen him lose his temper a few times. It weren't no good idea for him to lose it at Lawrence's Store. That wouldn't end well for Paw, or me, since I was with him.

Once we had the items at the counter, Paw counted out the bills for me to give to Mr. Lawrence once he told me the amount. We loaded the wagon and we needed to make one last trip to load it all on account of me carrying the Hawkin.

We was watched from the time we got there, until we left. Leaving might sound easy, but at Lawrence's, nothing ain't easy.

I walked ahead of Paw with the final package we carried. When I didn't hear Paw behind me, I turned to see Paw standing nose to nose with the biggest white men at Lawrence's that day. Their noses appeared to be an inch apart.

I cringed. Please don't move him out of your way, Paw, I prayed.

Walk around him so we can get out of here alive.

Was this the time we would need to fight our way to the door? I should have loaded the Hawkin. Even if it was loaded, I would get one shot off before Paw and I were both dead. It was a fool who faced down six men standing between him and the door he intended to go out of. Only three had waist guns.

Paw stood right where he was for what seemed like an hour. Then, he took a step to one side, and he walked toward me without any further interruption. We were apparently free to take our leave.

I was able to breathe again.

I wish the rifle was loaded. One shot would be enough to make me feel better about Lawrence's being the only general store in town.

As Paw turned the wagon to leave town, the six men and Lawrence stood at the open door watching the wagon as Dobbin walked us out of town.

What did they get out of treating my Paw that way? Why do people do things that can't help but lead to violence sooner or later?

Maybe as I grew older, I would figure out the answer to my question. It made no sense to me then.

What did Indians do to be so hated by the Europeans?

I wondered why some men get pleasure out of tormenting other men. They knew Paw wouldn't fight back. If Paw raised his hand to a white man, I would be carrying his body back to the cabin in the valley where the river runs.

I didn't say anything and of course Paw said nothing. We returned to the church to give the Prophet his change. Soon we was on the road home. Our adventure in shopping was over, but we'd be back next month to repeat the ordeal of getting our supplies.

Paw wasn't a big man, but what I watched him do with his one arm, few white men would attempt to do with two. Men who had time to sit around Lawrence's store, would be no match for Paw.

Six such men, maybe would get the best of him.

I watched Paw digging around stumps in a new field he was clearing. Once he seemed satisfied, he got his shoulder down against that stump and with one good arm and his half arm, he'd work that stump up out of the ground. It was half as big as he was. He'd walk it to the edge of the new field and toss it to one side. When I went to see if I could lift it, I couldn't budge it. It was big as me. Paw wrestled that sucker out of the ground and I couldn't lift it.

A month or so ago, while I leaned on the pig pen fence, I watched Paw working to get one of those rocks out of the ground. Paw says they're part of the mountain left over from when they was built. He has a bar he uses to get under one of those big rocks, and he leans down into the hole and yanks it out. He walks it to where he piles his rocks, tossing it the last few feet.

I'm almost big as Paw now. After he left the field, I made my way over to that pile of rocks Paw done dug up. I bent over to pick up the rock he just tossed aside. I couldn't get it off the ground with two good arms.

Things like that amazed me. I weren't weak. I weren't as strong as Paw. I guess he had one arm and that's what he had to use, and he used it.

Paw was a man who did what needed doing. I doubt he'd break a sweat facing off with one of those men who had time to sit around Lawrence's. White men didn't come one at a time. There was always a passel of them.

Paw knew the penalty he would pay if he raised a hand against a white man. The white men knew the rules too. They would kill Paw if he moved a man out of the way, after he stepped into Paw's path.

I feared that one day, he would have about enough. It would end badly for both of us. All men had their limits, and I prayed Paw wouldn't reach his in town. It's why going to town to get goods was so dangerous. We had come back alive every time, but that didn't mean it was easy. I had trouble sleeping the night before we went to town for supplies. I hated that town.

I remember Sally the sow, who was forever breaking down the pig pen fence, to let the pigs into the corn. One day when Sally was at it again, Paw was in the field of half-grown corn Sally picked to raid. Paw stood watching Sally as I watched him. I was going to catch it, but not so much as Sally.

Sally knew no fear and she was heading straight for Paw. Paw didn't move. That sow weighed hundreds of pounds. Even Paw couldn't lick a full-grown sow. As she came at him, balling up his fist, just before she collided with him, Paw punched her on the side of her sow head.

All four of Sally's legs kicked out from under her. She hit the ground. The other pigs turned back around, wanting no part of Paw.

Sally never broke down no more fences or led raids into Paw's fields. My fondest memory of Sally, when I'd go into the cabin for lunch, Maw would hand me two pieces of fresh bread pressed together with a slab of juicy ham. Those were about the best sandwiches I ever ate.

Sally taught me a valuable lesson. Never get hit by Paw, if you know what's good for you. I thought I knew what was good for me if I saw Paw ball up his fist. I would get gone pronto.

Paw never hit me even once, but I remembered the day he hit Sally.

No one knew I was leaving. It was up to me to decide on a day to go. I had me a Hawkin, and that was going to figure in on what to do to prove I was a man.

While I rarely knew what Paw had on his mind, we must have been having similar thoughts on our way back from town that day. He broke the silence after Dobbin took us a good ways without a single stop to munch on grass she simply couldn't walk past without taking a nibble.

"I'm not a coward, Gregory. You know why things are the way they are?" "Never thought you was, Paw. I seen how things is. Only a fool would take on six men if he didn't need to. You're a better man than any of them, Paw. They know it too."

That was all that was said. I had said my piece to Paw.

I was afraid he might hit one of them. That would have been a fool thing to do. My father wasn't a coward, and he wasn't a fool.

He knew how things were. He wanted to make sure I knew.

Maw wanted to see the Hawkin as soon as I went inside.

I thanked her properly.

She said, "I wanted you to have a man's gun. I wanted you to have something you could rely on. My father said he'd order the best rifle made in these parts. You look happy with his choice."

"Best rifle made anywhere, Maw. None better. I'll take care of it."

I sat on the front porch after supper on my birthday. I had a date with that mountain. It wasn't clear how I would prove my manhood to Paw. I pondered on it a spell. I would need to leave to prove myself. I couldn't prove nothing feeding chickens and slopping pigs at the cabin.

Once I had me a Hawkin, it came to me what I would do. It hit like the pig pen fence fell on me. It was the best idea I had yet.