I was fine with Running Horse until the day of the mosquitoes. Once we had our misunderstanding, it took a few days to right things that went wrong. It gave us an opportunity to realign what was between us.

We could have gone on the way things were forever, and it would have been fine, until Running Horse said those fortuitous words, "Me touch."

He touched me. I touched him. We touched each other, and it was good. It was very good, and it only got better. If not for those mosquitoes, there may have been no touch, no misunderstanding, and no understanding the way we understood it now.

Understanding, as in I understood, I loved Running Horse.

It isn't like I knew immediately what these new and powerful feelings were. If I was supposed to know right away, this is love, I didn't know. It was a lot like drinking the drink with an added kick that made me dazzled by love.

The fog rolled in and out, and I was in love with Running Horse.

Even knowing he will be chief, Running Horse remains one of the boys. He didn't play all the games we played. He stayed close and was there if needed. We all knew when Lone Wolf took his final journey, Running Horse would be chief, and we would follow him. We followed him most days, once we were out and about.

Running Horse remained silent most of the time. We settled things amongst ourselves. I never got in the middle of arguments. I was not entitled. If asked, I said my piece without emotion. I did my best to be fair minded.

The fist fights that served as a final arbiter for older boys at school when they had a serious disagreement wasn't how Pawnee boys did it. If there was a complaint or a disagreement that couldn't be solved between the boys involved, a council was called. Each boy said his piece, offering their solution if they had one.

If all else failed, Running Horse was asked to decide on a solution. Running Horse knew each of us and he knew our nature. When asked, he gave each boy something to make him feel like he had been heard, and then, he gave his simple solution that was the final word on the subject.

These were friends and family. They didn't fight each other, because they knew the fights to come would require them to fight together. In school it was dozens of students, each got there on different paths. Most boys at school figured their way was the best way, and when one boy's way collided with another boy's way, fists were the final word.

Throughout history, the strongest and most powerful boy got his way. If you were the vanquished, you stood on the outside for as long as it took for you to work your way back into the group, or not.

Sometimes, many times, the vanquished plotted to regain the status he lost by beating the foe he lost to before. As different clans, each clan had its allies, and some disagreeableness never got resolved. As boys grew into men, the disagreeableness ended in blood shed, because when you had the might, you used it to prove you were superior.

If hard feelings were left over from Running Horse's resolution, no one spoke of it. One day Running Horse's word would be law. The boys treated his resolutions as if they were law they obeyed, and no one stood outside the group or waited to rejoin daily activities. We all joined in any activity we chose. Excluding someone was in very poor taste.

Boys who disagreed were often seen laughing together, after burying the hatchet. The heading off of hostilities wasn't an unknown tradition on the plains. A symbolic gesture could solve a problem between boys who were willing to bury the hatchet.

No one had so many friends that he could afford to make an enemy.

In the Pawnee village, there was one side. We were all on it, and we usually worked out the differences between us. Nothing was all that important that we had to fight over it. Boys sometimes quarrel, but in the end, we were all friends.

We stood together in good times and bad. When we agreed and when we didn't. Running Horse didn't insist on having his way. He described the situation and how it could be peacefully resolved. Because we didn't fight, we didn't see fighting as necessary. When we were forced to fight, we were on the same side.

No boy tried to replace Running Horse as leader. He became leader because he was oldest, smartest, and the strongest boy. Running Horse fired his arrow further than any other boy could. His arrows ran true to the heart of the target.

Because I was different, Running Horse favored me. Being different worked in my favor. At school, you didn't dare appear to be out of step with other boys. If you were in with the boys who took control, you had nothing to worry about. If you weren't in with those boys, there would be trouble for you sooner or later.

Each boy at school had his own tribe, and you learned how to act from them. You came to school being a member of your clan. No matter what took place at school, at the end of the day, you went home to your people. The way you acted had more to do with your people than anything done at school.

Looking like them was an advantage at school. Appearance was everything. I could pass as white, and so I did. I often lay awake wondering how my life would have changed if I was born with Paw's color skin instead of Maw's,

I wouldn't have been allowed in school. Savages didn't go to school, because they were savages. I would have been punished severely if anyone sat down and thought about what went on at Father Kelly's farm.

"That Indian is out there with preacher Kelly's lily white daughter. There's this kid that belongs to Father Kelly's daughter. How was it he got himself born?"

Who was Gregory's father?

No one paid me any mind. I was my mother's son, and that was that.

I still wondered about people claiming to be civilized. The village was a place where we lived simply. Each lodge was decorated to the taste of its occupant. The food and skins were equally shared. Some folks ate more than others, and they got what they required. No one dressed exactly alike, but we were similar in our dress because it was practical.

The breach cloth gave you complete freedom, and it was far cooler than anything I wore to school. The leggings were plenty warm in winter, and the deer skin had no problem keeping warm, and the same was true when I wore my shirt also made from deer skin. If it got too cold, there was always a fire to warm me.

While there was peace, life was good. No one spoke of war or warriors, although we all knew white people were coming by the wagon load. Indian boys went about the business of being boys. We ran, jumped, swam, and we hunted and fished together. We had horses we rode, and bows and arrows we used while riding them. We hunted, tracked game, and in general did things boys do.

As much fun as it was, and as hard as we worked at honing our skills, when we were called on to be warriors, these were the same skills we'd need. Our day belonged to us. Only when we shot our arrows at targets, did the Elders take an interest in what we did. The best archer, always Running Horse, received the approval of Chief Lone Wolf and Dark Horse, last of their generation's warriors.

If someone told me that I was in training for war as a boy, I would have scratched my head. I'm just having fun, and when it came to my bow, I spent hours practicing. Only one boy was better with the bow than me, and that was Running Horse. He was the best at everything. I didn't mind.

Once you took warriors to war, they were never boys again. Once a warrior fights, he is always ready for the fight, a battle, the war. If we fight and die, the day you die becomes a good day to die.

I had no thoughts of hurting anyone. Why would I need to fight? My wars were still years away, and I was still young. We lived in peace, after Lone Wolf found this place after his village was attacked. Many villagers were massacred.

There was no doubt that Lone Wolf, Dark Horse, and the Elders in the village would pick up their bows and go into battle with us, but we would follow Running Horse, and they'd do the best they could. A warrior never forgets how to fight. A warrior is always prepared to die, but there was no dying in our village then, even if a warrior's death was honorable.

We avoided conflict. We were far away from war.

The boys I played with would be the warriors, when we were forced to go to war. The things we did as play were the skills warriors needed. Our only job was to furnish food by hunting, and when the time came, we would fight. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if that was a long time from now, but we all knew that sooner or later, we would need to fight for our way of life.

The Elders ran the village in peaceful times. Boys were left to play and hunt. They'd be allowed to grow into men, and once we were grown, the Elders would step aside to allow the new generation to run the village while old men died.

The torch would pass without so much as a ripple involving Mother Earth. This was the way of the Pawnee.

My manhood was further from me than it had been. I took time out to finish being a boy. I grew like a weed for a while. It was always Running Horse and Lit'l Fox beside me. I learned my lessons from them. I played games with them.

I knew where Running Horse fit into the village's future. It was my future. I would do what needed to be done. I would do it with my friends. I would do it with Running Horse and Lit'l Fox at my side.

While I saw the final battle in my dreams, I didn't see Lit'l Fox. This bothers me. Often my dreams are seen through my eyes as I watch.

Running Horse says, "Dreams can mean many things."

I am growing and I will become as strong as Running Horse. I won't worry about things in my dreams. They're dreams, no matter how real they seem.

I have thoughts in Pawnee. I'm trying to keep my English good. As I grow further away from my roots, I see English differently. The awkward rules I couldn't reason out dance in my head at night. I have come to see logic in rules that made no sense to me before.

I see myself at the right hand of Running Horse. I will arbitrate the white man's treaty with my chief. My understanding of English is essential, but there are thoughts of the treaty of New Echota. It held the Indians to follow the letter of the law, while white men were held to nothing agreed to with savages.

I knew white men. I knew some of the early history of this land.

Medicine Woman talks to me in English. She speaks to me in Pawnee. I am at school in her lodge. She knows where I came from. She knows who I am. I told her that I was from the cabin in the valley where the river runs. I didn't know what she knew about that cabin.

My past life is starting to fade. It takes some work being Pawnee. I'm willing to do the work. I listen and I learn mostly from Running Horse and Lit'l Fox. I need to remind myself to listen not speak. That is part of my English half, where boys talk too much. I learn nothing while I talk. I learn much when I listen.

When I let loose with what Lit'l Fox calls, "Too many words."

He says it in Pawnee, and it is quicker than in English. I know he is right for our place and time, but English will serve me well one day. Of this I'm certain. I fought my English thoughts at first, but I'll always think in English. I know this.

We went to the pasture where Shiftless stays most of the time. As we got close, I saw Shiftless chasing after another horse.

I said, "Look at that horse run. He likes it here."

Lit'l Fox said, "Say, see horse."

When you're right, you're right. I saw it in one glance. Lit'l Fox did too.

Pawnee shorthand lets you get your own view of what the horse is doing.

As I've grown closer to Running Horse, Lit'l Fox seems closer to me too. One of them is always nearby when I'm up. Lit'l Fox sleeps where I sleep. Medicine Woman is always busy when I fall asleep. She's the first one I see when I wake up.

When does she sleep?

The same is true of Dark Horse. I never see him lie down. He sits silently. He is here. He's not here.

Dark Horse looks older than when I came. I'm older. My thoughts are more clear. The meaning behind my thinking isn't always clear. I can't be sure why English is important for me to retain. Thinking in English makes Pawnee more difficult for me to retain. I know what I want to say in Pawnee, but often the words get tangled up in my mouth.

I'm halfway between two worlds. There is no way to explain how it feels. Different doesn't describe it. One world developed natural like. The people are simple in their thoughts and ideas. Being like them isn't difficult. We care about each other. We know each other. We share what we need. After the hunt, everyone gets an equal share of the meat. No pot is empty when it's time to eat.

The other world tips on the verge of being out of control. Men force their will on everyone near and far. One world uses bows and arrows to hunt and for defense. The other world comes with cannons and weapons meant to kill things far away from where one is fired. The two worlds can't exist side by side.

Coming here, Europeans found endless land free for the taking. They are taking it inch by inch, foot by foot, mile by mile. They keep coming. A simple people who live off the land know war. They know the limits of war. They know there is a time to make the peace. This requires compromise and sharing so that one does not have so much that it leaves others with nothing. No one in the village has any more than is available to all of us. Some folks have more children. They get more food. Some have elders who need special care. When my leg was broke, I needed to heal.

We all have the important things we need.

Europeans don't know compromise. They keep on coming. There will be no peace until they achieve what they set out to do. They will not stop for the Pawnee, Lakota, or any tribe that has been on that land for a thousand years.

They don't want some of our land. They don't want most of the land.

They have made up their minds. They intend to have it all.

What happens to the people on the land they intend to take?

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

I feel no pressure here. The pressure on me to conform, be productive, keeping busy doing what I was told to do was constant at the cabin. I get approval from Paw when we hunt together. I always felt he was the most Pawnee when he hunted, and I always kilt something that made him smile, but his approval got gone by the time we returned from the hunt.

I fish. I hunt for small critters in and around the village. It's easy to understand why they come within reach of my arrows. My village is hungry.

I hunt alone seldom. Running Horse is always waiting when I appear in the entrance of our lodge. It does me good to see him. He makes me smile.

"We hunt," I said on days I carried my bow and quiver of arrows. We set out in the direction where game is plentiful. If Lit'l Fox is up early, and he sometimes is, he needs no invitation to go with us. There are days when Lit'l Fox lets us go together and he stays at the lodge. He is surprisingly good about giving us time alone. I never wanted to be alone at the cabin. I was alone.

Having someone to be alone with was nice. Our world was full of forests, ponds for swimming, and large patches where we could lie with each other on the lush green grass. My world was full of Running Horse.

Lying on the grass, Running Horse said, "Running Horse love Tall Willow."

I knew the answer to this now.

"Tall Willow love Running Horse."

Now, I kissed him after telling him that I loved him. My words are true, and so is my love for Running Horse.

When we went hunting, we did spend a little time hunting. Mostly when we went hunting alone, we found each other. We would find game later. We always left time for some hunting.

This is my fourth summer in the village, I can't say what month it is, or how many months I've been gone from the valley where the river runs. My legs are both strong. My eyes are good, and I do the things other Indian boys do.

The summer is fleeting and fall will come soon. We are all making sure our bows are strong and our arrows are true for the hunt on the mountain once we see the snow moving down from the top. This is not far off.

I wonder if the snow is the same as the snow we watched from the front porch of the cabin? The mountain was closer to where we live on the far side.

The smaller game has served us well, but the hunt on the mountain is when we replenish our stores of meat. These hunts come twice a year. One hunt comes in fall. We get enough meat to last the winter, no matter how severe it is. In the spring, we get the meat that will see us through the summer, if we are careful to take small game when it offers itself up to us, and there's always fish in the pond.

We are all ready.

Hunting is one of our most important duties to the village. When our bows are readied, the hunters wait for the signs to tell us it's time to hunt.

When the ice forms on the pond where the stream and creek meet, that's when the hunters go into action. We'll bring back plenty of fresh game to keep the pots in the lodge full.

We're always practicing with our bows. Once or twice a week, we fire at the targets with chicken feathers in them that make them look more real. Some days, target practice will be a hunt for rabbit, raccoon, or beaver for the soup pot. We ain't got to go far to get rabbit. There seem to be plenty of those critters about. In a couple of hours, we can fill most of the pots with meat. After a hot summer, we are keeping our eyes open for ice on the pond.

The fall hunt is always refreshing as our bodies enjoy the feel of cold fresh air, after the long hot summer has passed, and the sweating is done.

Running Horse often comes to Medicine Woman's lodge in the morning for a meal his grandmother lovingly prepares for her grandsons. I have never gone to the lodge where Running Horse lives. That is Chief Lone Wolf's lodge. You go there by invitation only. The chief is not to be bothered by our daily affairs.

I saw Chief Lone Wolf twice before he ever spoke to me my second year in the village. If Medicine Woman knew I was her grandson, Lone Wolf, brother to Dark Horse, knew I was his nephew. I didn't expect the chief to seek me out, but I wanted him to like me, if the chance ever arrived, but one day he did speak.

Chief Lone Wolf is a warrior who has fought in every battle the village fought during his lifetime. He grew up as most Indian boys grew up, practicing his skills with horse and bow and going on hunts to bring back buffalo meat that fed the village.

Deer replaced the buffalo as our most plentiful meat.

The day of the buffalo was over.

Deer were plentiful enough to replenish the village's meat stores.

I would never get to experience the excitement that came with a buffalo hunt. I heard the elders speak of such a thing, when the buffalo roamed free and filled the plains for as far as the eye could see.

The coming of the hunt stimulated the entire village. Not only did a buffalo feed the village for weeks or longer. It was lean and came with its own flavor.

Once, buffalo herds came within a day's ride from the village. These days, the buffalo no longer came in numbers enough so the Pawnee would take even one. No Indian wanted to be the man who killed the last buffalo. That would be a sad day indeed.

It was an experience to remember if you saw more than one buffalo on the plains.

Which buffalo might be the last buffalo?

We couldn't know which buffalo might be the last buffalo, and we killed none, even if he should offer himself up to us. Our brother the buffalo were few, as the Pawnee were few.

White folks had a new plan that went along with taking the land.

"Kill the buffalo, starve the Indian."

The white man let nothing stop him once he had a plan.

The idea that the plains, once filled with buffalo for as far as the eye could see, should be made empty of bison, was as effective as the longest long gun and the biggest cannon. It was the death of a wonderful food source. It was the death of the people who lived side by side with the buffalo back as far as people went, and there were buffalo on the plains before there were people.

Larger tribes were already struggling to feed their people. With the buffalo gone, hunting for deer and antelope grew as the need for food grew.

Once that was done, they need only wait for the starvation to begin. Had they watched people starve before, without attempting to feed them?

Half the Pilgrims died over the first winter 1619 - 1620.

It was the Wampanoag who would not let the rest of the Pilgrims starve. Even after they stole corn. The Indians taught the new arrivals what and where to hunt, and what to grow, once they stepped forward to feed them rather than watch them starve. It was the decent thing to do.

It was the civilized thing to do.

Human decency is something most clear-thinking people share.

I learned my lessons in Mrs. Taylor's class, but I never thought that taking something that belonged to someone else was a smart way to live.

Besides, Maw would have had a thing or two to say about it if I did take something that didn't belong to me.

There was nothing I really wanted, except for Paw to like me, and I did think a bit about being Pawnee.

I wanted to be happy. I wanted to feel like I belonged somewhere. I wanted friends I could trust, and I wanted to have some purpose to my life.

I want to hunt for the village where I live. I want to bring back more than my share of meat. I wanted to feast with my people and celebrate our good fortune.

I wanted to be liked. Once I was liked, I wanted to love and be loved, but I gave no thought of these things in the cabin in the valley where the river runs. In the cabin, I did my chores and hoped not to anger anyone. In the cabin, I went to sleep knowing, tomorrow will be exactly like today.

I left the cabin long ago.

I couldn't take any of what I wanted. I needed to earn those things, but I had them all. My life as a Pawnee was a good life. It was the life I wanted.

I have thought about the Wampanoag. Knowing what they know today, if they were suddenly back in the time of the Pilgrims, what would they do?

Would they push the Pilgrims into the sea and guard against allowing white people to gain a foothold in their country, or would they still be civilized, and do the right thing in spite of white treachery that would end in their destruction?

I thought about what I would do. As distasteful as I find the question, they would probably do what I thought I would do. They would feed them nonetheless, because it's the kind of thing good people do.

Maybe a second time around, the Pilgrims would do the right thing, and treat the Wampanoag as good allies, not an enemy to be destroyed.

The fate of my people will be my fate. I am Pawnee and I will die Pawnee. When they come for us, it will be a good day to die. We were few. The cavalry would come by the hundreds, when they came to kill Pawnee.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Venison was good meat and the deer did not run so fast that we could not bring him down with a good bow shot. If we got three or four deer, it was a good hunt. If we got five or six bucks, we would celebrate with a week of feasting, eating our fill as the meat is prepared to be stored. We will leave the village firepit to eat our meals with the family in our lodge, and once all is said and done, we'll sleep for many days before we get far away from the lodge again.

We were celebrated before leaving on the hunt, and we were celebrated upon our return. No matter how many bucks we brought home, it was the meat we depended on until the next hunt in the autumn or spring.

There was still plenty of critters to nourish us when our meat stores began to dwindle, and we would be talking about it being time for that season's hunt.

That's not to say we didn't bring down antelope, rabbits, and much smaller game than a deer. On the hunt, we hunted anything that stuck its head up. They all cooked up to provide the nourishment we needed. We thanked the Great Spirit and Mother Earth for the bounty that kept our village fed.

Venison had its own taste.

It was the meat most available since I went hunting with my Pawnee brothers, and on our last hunting trip to the mountain in the spring, Chief Lone Wolf and Dark Horse sat around the firepit to spin us yarns about some of the buffalo hunting they did.

Seeing the chief and his brother always did our hearts good.

The elders knew all about the buffalo, the size of the herds, and the skill it took to ride in among the huge stampeding critters that offered enough meat to feed our village for some time to come. The buffalo was the main source of meat for the Pawnee for a thousand years and a hundred generations.

If you fell, ten thousand buffalo would trample you, but Pawnee hunters knew better than to fall under those stampeding hooves. Being excellent horseman and good shots became second nature, even if hunting on horseback could be tricky if you didn't have a good horse under you.

In the day of the buffalo, Pawnee hunters knew how best to bring down one of the massive animals with a single bow shot for the best hunters.

Ideally, you want to find the herd grazing. By moving up to a herd on foot and taking a buffalo on the edge of the herd, the other critters won't react.

You take one down toward the middle of the herd, they will be off and running for the next few hours or days. There is no way to know when a buffalo will stop running, and if you find them on the run, you hunt them while they run, because you can't say when they might stop running. Hunters who wait for buffalo to stop running are hunters who go home without buffalo meat.

The buffalo is a leaner meat, because the animal does so much running. Herd cows stand around a field waiting to go to market to become dinner. They do their best to not need to move, and if you're a cowboy, the last word in the English language you want to hear, "Stampede."

Like the buffalo, once a herd of cows starts running, no telling when they might stop. I saw a herd of buffalo once as a boy. I was hunting with Paw, and he showed them to me. We crawled up a rise to look over at them, but we made no attempt to take one. With three of us and Simon eating it, we couldn't put a dent in all that meat if we ate on it for years.

Seeing thousands of buffalo was rare indeed these days. I'm told they once numbered in the millions, and there were more buffalo than people in this country when I was born. You could give everyone their own buffalo, and you could give most of them two buffalo, and you wouldn't run out of buffalo.

What was particularly sad for the Indian, when they went hunting and came across a field with thousands of dead buffalo. With the meat rotting, the Indians were starving with what game was left once the buffalo was all but destroyed.

I read about the first part of it in Mrs. Taylor's class. She didn't say buffalo were being hunted into extinction, but she did say, "If you see a buffalo, take a good look. It twenty years there won't be any left."

Chief Lone Wolf and Dark Horse told us the tale of how they hunted buffalo.

"You knew when you were going to find a herd of buffalo. The ground trembled under you, and the noise was like no other noise heard on the plains. Once you came upon them, for as far as you could see, buffalo. Thousands upon thousands of buffalo running until they came to a place they decided to graze."

Our elders knew the sights and sounds that came with history they lived. They could only describe it to us. None of our generation would get to hunt the buffalo. Some of the hunters I hunted with never saw a buffalo, but they ruled the plains before I was born.

We were a small clan of Pawnee who follow Chief Lone Wolf. We could hunt deer and antelope and stay well fed. What big tribes did for food was a mystery. We could hunt meat in the autumn and in spring and have plenty of meat to eat.

The Lakota, the Ogalala and Northern Cheyenne moved with an entire tribe. There are hundreds or nearly a thousand in some of the major tribes. Once the buffalo was no longer easy to find, how did they feed all their people.

After the massacre, and before relocating to where the village is now, Chief Lone Wolf considered joining with other Pawnee clans for safety. Yes, that would be many hundreds of bows and arrows, but each person had to eat, because if you didn't eat every day, you got weak, and to be weak was to be vulnerable.

Lone Wolf kept his clan together, moving what was left of it into the wilderness where we lived and where few white people would stray. Even without the benefit of white people, white people would so impact the living conditions in our village that we once again faced making a move.

When Chief Lone Wolf had this vision, he knew that he would not live to make the necessary move. Running Horse was going to need to move the village, and for a new chief, that would be a risky proposition, because people didn't like change, but change was coming, whether or not the village liked it.

We were out of the way of the migration west. Few people who weren't trappers or explorers knew exactly where our clan lived. We liked it that way. Moving back into the reach of settlers and the cavalry wasn't on our minds. No one thought that was a good idea.

We could hunt the mountain near the village and do fine. We wouldn't see the buffalo, because we didn't try to find them. We would make do with smaller game to fill our pots. We didn't need to hunt the buffalo.

The buffalo was passing into a history we didn't experience. As Chief Lone Wolf told his old hunter's tale, his tears told us that there would be no happy ending for our brother the buffalo.

"A magnificent beast required magnificent hunters. You, my hunters, will never get to see the buffalo in all its glory. You will not match wits with him," the chief told us.

"When I was young, I saw my first buffalo herd. We stopped our horses on a mesa a mile west of where we watched them run. There was nothing but the buffalo as far north or south, and as far east as we could see. There was only the buffalo and the sky. It was daylight when we stopped to wait for them to pass. It became night. We could hear them. We could smell them. The dust covered us and our horses, and they kept coming," he told us.

"It grew daylight and they kept coming. They passed by the next afternoon. The ground trembled for a long time, once we saw the last buffalo. The dust followed them on to distant plains. I was told there were three such herds on the plains with us. The Great Spirit provided us with a food that lasted for as far back as history goes, and then, the white man came with guns and cannon. When we refused to yield, starvation became the weapon they created for the savages on the land they intend to have."

My tears fell with Chief Lone Wolf's, and the tears of his hunters in his retelling of the history of his times. He was an old man now. His time had passed. I suppose our tears were about that time never coming again.

"Shortly, after my time here is done, our brother the buffalo will be no more. I fear, the Pawnee will be no more."

Lit'l Fox, knowing my Pawnee skills, translated the chief's words so I didn't miss any part of his speech.

"There was nothing but the buffalo and the sky. It might be daylight when you came upon them, and it might turn dark and then daylight again before the buffalo all passed. If you counted them, they would number in the millions, and in a few years all such herds passed into history.

The hunters who needed to provide meat, were silenced by stories of the way it had been, during the generation when Chief Lone Wolf and his brother, Dark Horse, rode into a stampeding herd of buffalo to take the meat the village needed to feast on until it was time for the next hunt.

Deer didn't stampede, and there was no trembling earth to feel while we hunted them, and whatever else we could kill. We still furnished the meat the same way it had been done forever. We hunted on a mountain that had been hunted by Pawnee for even longer.

Hunting was a challenge. It was hard and cold work the way we did it.

It took a bit more effort to go to the mountain to hunt. The horses stayed on the flat land, because the going got rough the further up on the mountain we went, and losing horses to broke legs was no way to treat horses.

We walked to the foot of the mountain, where we camped, and we would be on the mountain for much of the next week. We tried to be up there for no more than five days, but some years, when the game didn't get in front of our arrows, we stayed longer, and the longer we stayed, the colder it seemed to get.

Freezing wasn't my favorite thing and having Running Horse with me to help me to stay warm, meant not freezing solid. Indian boys did what it took to bring back plenty of meat to eat with the corn, squash, potatoes and beans that were grown in the village and stored near the meat.

We never knew a buffalo hunt, and we were poorer for not having the experience. We knew the mountain, and we knew how to hunt.

Each year, since I lived in the village, there was another hunter who was old enough to join the hunt. Some boys stayed in the village during the hunt. They kept and eye on things, because once you been massacred, you leave half your warriors in the village and send the other half to hunt. You hunt a thousand times and it all goes the way it always goes, but once your village has been attacked by renegades, you never leave it unprotected again.

The same warriors stayed in the village every time. The same hunters hunted, except one of the warriors asked to be allowed to go on the hunt from time to time. Because of the cold, they usually only asked to go with us once.

There were no other rules, except half went and half stayed. There would not be another massacre if we had anything to do with it.

Old warriors like Lone Wolf and Dark Horse no longer went on hunts. They did the hunting for years. Once a new generation of warriors began to grow up, hunting was turned over to us.

Our elders got a rest from years of furnishing meat and protection for the village. They did their job long enough, and now they got to stay in a much warmer village, while we went to the mountain.

Chief Lone Wolf and Dark Horse were the last of their generation of warriors. All their sons were lost to skirmishes on the plains and then a massacre that killed off half our village. While the dead warriors had sons who were growing up in the village, they needed to get old enough to do the hunting and be the warriors when called upon.

That was our generation, and each year another boy was old enough to join the hunt. Mostly older boys stayed to protect the village, and the younger boys got to do the hunting.

The mountain was cold. We camped at the bottom to enjoy one night we wouldn't be freezing. Once we started up, we climbed to where we would camp just below the snowline. We would be there as long as it took. We were usually on the mountain for four or five days to get the meat we wanted.

We would be the warriors when called upon to defend our way of life. It was the job of the boys to feed the village, while the chief and his right hand man were there to advise us when circumstances required it.

A one on one with the chief was an honor not an everyday occurrence. An honor I hadn't had but hoped to have one day.

Dark Horse sat at Chief Lone Wolf's right hand. It was more than a ceremonial post. Dark Horse advised Lone Wolf, since they were boys trying to outdo one another as brothers. They knew when to forget their squabbles.

Like Dark Horse, Chief Lone Wolf would not speak English. They would not speak the language of the people who were determined to kill them. They understood English. They didn't speak it, and with my poor Pawnee skills, it was another reason why the chief hadn't spoken to me.

Why would he speak to a white boy who came and stayed? I didn't know what he knew, but a chief knew much, and there was no doubt that Medicine Woman took whatever she knew about me to him. I didn't know what she knew, but I knew she knew plenty. She knew everything about her village.

Being the chief, and I calculated the uncle of my father, it wasn't up to him to make himself understood. I was the outsider who came to his village. I understood most Pawnee, as most Pawnee understood English, but if I wanted no misunderstanding, I was better off not communicating with Chief Lone Wolf until my Pawnee was better. After four years, I didn't know I would talk to Lone Wolf.

I had been working on it, but I was often distracted and there was the fact my brain still thought in English only.

From time to time, Chief Lone Wolf called a counsel. Dark Horse is always seated at his brother's right. When I hear every word said, I only have a general idea of what is said during an important speech.

In case I didn't catch every word, I would hear the words again from both Running Horse and Lit'l Fox. They remembered his words, while I fought to understand their meaning. They repeated his words and their meaning to be sure I knew what the rest of the village knew.

I was going to learn Pawnee, I told myself. I told myself that a lot.

Mostly Lone Wolf told the story of the village. He told of the battles he didn't fight but knew were fought before his time. He knew every battle he fought and why he fought. He knew where every warrior fell in every battle he was in.

I wondered why I never saw this proud Indian. When I listened to him speak, it was obvious to me, he was a great man. After hearing him, I wanted to speak to him, but I wasn't ready yet. My Pawnee was not good enough. When I spoke to a man like Lone Wolf, I didn't want to be misunderstood.

I would speak to him and to Dark Horse in Pawnee one day. I didn't realize how soon that would be concerning Dark Horse. We did not speak to each other. Medicine Woman was always between us. This is how it was in our lodge. I knew when to keep silent and listen. I learned nothing while I spoke.

It was while we set up the target and Running Horse and I waited our turn, which came after all the other boys took their turn. No one could shoot as far as Running Horse and me. We all knew how things were by then. I waited for all the boys to finish target practice before I took my first shot one time. From that time on, at the formal weekly target practice. It was Running Horse and Tall Willow who stood once the rest of the boys were done.

When we did the informal target shooting some days, I might shoot all my arrows at the target when I stood to practice, but the once a week formal practice, I did it the way Running Horse did it. I stood once the rest of the boys were done. Running Horse would stand right before I stood.

When the other boys stepped aside, Running Horse went to the line he drew with his foot. The line we shot from. Using the toe of his moccasin, He walked back ten steps, and he drew a new line.

What was he doing? I could barely reach the target from the old line. I was fairly certain my arrow would not go that far. There really was no competition. Running Horse hit the target every time. I could hit it from time to time. Some of my arrows still went astray. Why make it harder than it already was?

Running Horse could, and probably would, hit the target from the new line. It wasn't like him to purposely show me up in front of the other boys. His mind did not work that way. He loved me and this was some kind of test.

I was sure I wouldn't hit the target from there. Then it came to me. Running Horse just gave me the new bow I watched him craft. I hadn't had a chance to use it, but I could feel it had a stronger bowstring than the one Lit'l Fox made for me my first summer in the village.

He made a bow that could shoot that distance. That made more sense. He wanted me to shoot with the new bow he made that would reach the target. He gave it to me the night before, and I hadn't had a chance to fire it.

I was anxious. I didn't get no time to practice with the new bow. It bothered me I might not get my arrow near the target, and that was before I saw Lone Wolf standing next to a tree four feet from the target.

He wasn't there before.

You couldn't miss him when he stood so close to the target.

He came to see Running Horse and I shoot our arrows at the target. He wasn't there before. What if I shot our chief? Now I had that to worry about. I got sick at my stomach. Maybe he'd move before my turn. Maybe he wouldn't and he hadn't moved since I first spotted him there.

Why did Lone Wolf pick today to come see us practice with the bow?

I was using a bow I wasn't familiar with. I watched Running Horse as he heated, bent, and shaped the bow. He never said he was making it for me, but he used his father's bow, and when the new bow was finished, he handed it to me.

"I make for you. Good bow."

We shot at targets on most days. I had plenty of time to practice with the new bow before the autumn hunt, and then, before I shot a single arrow with my new bow, Chief Lone Wolf decides to come to watch us practice with our bows.

He stood four feet from the target.

Did he have a death wish, or was he crazy?

Was I crazy enough to shoot an arrow toward the warrior chief of the village with a bow I had never used?

I missed the target by that much more than once. How could I live with myself if I put an arrow into Lone Wolf?

I didn't have much time to think about whether I'd shoot Lone Wolf or not. As I followed Running Horse to the new line, he spoke, while all I could do was see my arrow sticking out of Lone Wolf.

"Bow plenty strong. You see. Just relax. Be fine."

Easy for him to say, as he took an arrow from the quiver. I took an arrow from mine. Two could play this game. I would let him go first. He always hit the target. I would shoot as soon as he did. That way Lone Wolf would only notice the arrow that hit the target, and wherever my arrow went, as long as it didn't hit him, wouldn't be considered, because Running Horse was a great archer and worthy of his chief's praise.

Running Horse stood focused on the target that was at least twenty feet further than we'd ever practiced before. He took his stance, pulled back his bow string. I took my stance beside him. He could see me standing two feet away. My back was turned to him.

The twang that came from his bow string told me when to fire. I released my arrow the instant I heard it. His arrow arced and hit the target dead center. My arrow hit the target right beside his. That was a relief.

"Told you," he said, knowing we would both hit the target.

I did not have his confidence, and where the hell was Lone Wolf?

I didn't shoot him. Where did he go?

I checked the ground for a body just to make sure.

How disappointing. I earned a job well done.

I never done anything anyone thought was worth mentioning. Why did I expect a warrior chief to notice I was alive?

It was my foolishness.

"That's why you made the new bow. My old one wouldn't reach?"

"Bow Old. Need string. I make new bow stronger. You stronger."

I think I just said that.

Running Horse wasn't as disappointed as I was. He knew Lone Wolf wasn't going to come to congratulate us.

"He disappointed, say so. We do good, say nothing."

Did Running Horse invite Lone Wolf to come see us shoot our arrows?

Running Horse knew I needed Lone Wolf's approval. At least I was told how it worked. It don't mean nothing anyway. Next week we do it all over again.

It sounds simple. A great man comes to watch us. He stands alone. He leaves alone. Message sent. Lesson learned.

I once saw a captain in the Calvary dress down one of his men for doing a thing he didn't like. Right in the middle of town and in front of everyone. The captain yelled and screamed. The soldier stood at attention and took it.

What did that say about the captain? What did it say about the soldier?