BLESSING WAY Chapter Seven

Kid lifted his eyes and watched Heyes push the hotel curtain aside for the...he had lost count of the number of times.

"It ain't going to help staring at it...Snow ain't going to stop no matter how many times you look."

Kid returned his attention to his gun, laying in parts as he carefully and meticulously cleaned it.

With a heavy sigh, Heyes turned away and pulled his jacket tighter.

"You think heat would be included in our board," he grumbled.

"There's extra blankets." Kid said, nodding his head towards their gear. "I brought in the star quilts."

Heyes smiled as he retrieved the quilts. They had been given to them by Red Cloud before they left. Skunk told him they were gifts of honor and respect, and the giver was holding you in the highest esteem. Each, although different, bore a large star representing the morning star. He spread both quilts on his bed before taking a seat and pulling his boots off. Heyes drew back the blankets and climbed under the covers.

He took the stack of old newspapers off the nightstand and started reading. He had found the papers in the lobby of the hotel. Anything was better than watching Kid clean his gun. He wasn't even sure why Kid had his eyes open. He could have done it with his eyes closed. Heyes lifted his head to see Kid pause and blow on his cold fingers.

Heyes sorted through the papers, throwing the ones aside that were over a year old. He finally came to one that was only a month old. It was from the Aberdeen Pioneer. Heyes started reading an editorial by an author, he did not recognize. The writer was a man named L. Frank Baum.

"The Pioneer has before declared that our safety depends upon the total extermination of the Indians. Having wronged them for centuries, we had better, in order to protect our civilization, follow it up by one more wrong and wipe those untamed and untamable creatures from the face of the earth."

Kid had stopped cleaning to stare at Heyes. He had made a noise that had caught Kid's attention. It was a low guttural growl of anger.

Heyes' eyes meet Kid. Kid didn't think Heyes could have clenched his jaw any tighter. His eyes were black with rage, while his hands clutched the newspaper until it had torn. Kid cocked his head waiting for an explanation.

"What?"

It took Heyes a minute before he found his voice. He cleared his throat and read the article to Kid, his anger growing with each word. When he finished he stared at Kid.

"Have you ever read such horseshit?!" He said as he wadded the paper up and threw it on the floor.

"You know Heyes...there was a time before that we wouldn't have thought twice about that article."

Heyes stopped, and dropped his head.

"Not saying we would have agreed with the killings, but…" Kid said sadly.

"It's different now and there isn't a damn thing we can do."

Kid shook his head slowly.

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Six months later...

"Mister you better dry your hands off before touching that gold dust," Kid warned, his hand moving to rest on his holstered gun.

The man tried to feign innocence. They were getting wise to his trick of wetting his hands before touching dust, then washing the residue off his hands after the dust had been weighed and the customer had left none the wiser. He shrugged his shoulders and picked up a rag to dry his hands. Satisfied, when the man added more money, Kid picked up his cash and left to meet Heyes in the saloon.

Kid had to stop as a number of cavalry riders rode by. Kid wasn't paying attention, ready for the taste of a cold beer when something caught his attention. A red fox hat. Kid did a double take.

Skunk?

He watched the riders dismount in front of the livery. Kid made his way through the crowd of people that had stopped to watch the uniformed men. He had lost sight of the man wearing the red fox hat. Most of the riders headed towards the saloon, while Kid made his way to the livery. The man was leading two of the mounts inside, his back to Kid.

"Skunk!"

The man froze mid step, his shoulders sagged, before he continued leading the horses into empty stalls.

Kid followed the man to the stalls.

"Skunk...It's Thaddeus."

"Thaddeus…" Skunk slowly raised his head.

Kid looked around, "What are you doing riding with the cavalry?" He whispered. He was shocked, Skunk looked like he had aged at least twenty years.

"Where the hell you been?" Skunk asked sadly.

"What? Joshua and I have been prospecting mostly since we left. Why ain't you with the Indians?" Kid regretted the words the minute they left his mouth.

"Gone" Tears glistened in Skunk's eyes.

"Gone? Gone...moved...or…" Kid realized what he was saying and slowly sank onto a straw bale.

"How?"

Skunk looked around before answering. "Before you two left there was talk about moving my Lakota family to a new reservation...Pine Ridge by Wounded Knee…" Skunk looked at Kid with an incredulous look on his face, "How could not have heard? The massacre at Wounded Knee? Three hundred innocents slaughtered."

Kid was staring at Skunk with horror on his face. He was suddenly having a hard time breathing, as his chest constricted.

"Women, children and elders...hunted down and murdered."

Kid was getting dizzy trying to process the information. Flashes of the children playing, snatching candy from their hands...Kid wanted to cover his ears and start screaming.

Skunk continued his voice so soft, Kid could barely hear him.

"I warned you trouble was coming. They thought the Ghost Dances were riling up the Indians. So they moved them to the reservation, but that didn't stop them. So they rode in to take their guns...not only guns but hatchets, knives...everything people need to survive. Remember Black Coyote…"

Kid could only nod. The deaf man that Kid had taught to twirl his gun, and had proudly shown him his new Winchester rifle

"They went into his teepee...he didn't know what they wanted being deaf and all and when they tried to take his rifle...He fought back and the gun went off. They tell that the Indians fired first, but that one shot set off the killing...unarmed women, children and elders hunted down and slaughtered while they tried to flee or surrender. Shot with mounted guns that killed every living thing...horses...dogs. There was no mercy that day. They can lie and say it was the one shot, but their intent was to kill everyone and everything the day they rode in."

"Pure Willow? Red Cloud? Gone?" Kid managed to choke out.

A small smile came to Skunk, then vanished. "No, but not safe. Adult men were not allowed to leave the reservation, but Red Cloud snuck out to see a neighboring tribe. Pure Willow begged to go with him. I think she was afraid if he was caught they would kill him and she didn't want him to die alone. When they returned…" Skunk had to pause before he continued, "They found Pretty Owl gravely wounded, but she was able to tell them what happened before she died and found a baby still nursing on its dead mother. I heard they were headed north to Canada."

Kid swallowed, "And you...how?"

"I was down south getting peyote."

"But you...the calvary?"

"I'm riding with the 7th as a scout. The 7th slaughtered my family...I'm just waiting for the right time."

"The right time to what? You can't kill them all!" Kid said exasperated.

"If I could I would. If I'm only able to kill one it will be Colonel Forsyth who led those murderous men on that day. And if I were younger, I would take President Harrison with him. That bastard awarded twenty Medals of Bravery for killing unarmed defenseless people. White people call them heroes."

"They'll kill you Skunk."

"I'm already dead Thaddeus."

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Author's Notes:

Sadly the details of Wounded Knee are true. Three hundred Lakota Sioux were slaughtered by the Seventh Cavalry led by Colonel Forsyth. Twenty Medals of Bravery were given to soldiers for killing unarmed Indians, many trying to surrender as they had already been disarmed. Black Coyote, a deaf man, struggled with the soldiers who tried to take his gun or perhaps didn't understand being deaf. A shot was fired which started the slaughter. (Although Red Cloud was a real chief he was not chief to the Lakota tribe that was killed at Wounded Knee.)

Wetting your hands before handling gold dust was a trick to collect dust.

The letter by L. Frank Braun is true. You might remember him as the author of "The Wizard of Oz"