CHAPTER 1
"That's not scary!" a bucktoothed lad named John interrupts. His doubtful tone and squinty chestnut eyes shatter the Woodcraft Indian scoutmaster's trance over his four-man troop.
"We want to hear a scary story, not a y-u-c-k-y love story!" his brother protests, curling his fingers like claws and baring his missing front teeth. The most obvious difference between the two brothers is that Luther's hair is pitch-black and John's is light brown.
"I don't want to hear a scary story." Kevin, a five-year-old Korean boy, whimpers. He pulls his wool blanket over his bowl-cut black hair. He does this not because he's cold, but because Charlie, his scoutmaster, terrifies him.
"Me either!" Zack, John's youngest brother, shouts, almost matching Kevin's squeaky tone. He glances over his shoulder, flashing the same chestnut eyes his brothers have. The most handsome of the Taylor brothers, he moves closer to the fire and pulls his winter cap down farther, nearly covering his sandy blond hair.
"You're two years older than me," Kevin whispers to Zack. "You're supposed to be braver than I am. Who's gonna protect me in this dark, scary place?" Kevin scans the looming woods. "Run, kill, or die," he chirps. Without a doubt, he knows he would run.
Luther lifts a flaming marshmallow out of the fire and holds it to his lips. The orange flames illuminate his freckled face and scraggly black hair. "I'm not scared." He cocks his head and teases them. "You guys are titty-sucking babies!"
"Are not!" John cries out, leaping off his stump.
Luther puckers his abnormally puffy lips and says, "Are sooo!" as he makes a sucking noise. He turns his attention to the scoutmaster. "Tell us the story about the one-legged man, 'Click Shaw'!"
The scoutmaster's big blue eyes and bulging gnome cheeks divide with a prominent English nose, a bushy mustache, and narrow lips. His pudgy frame fills his khaki Woodcraft Indian shirt out to the point where the buttons pucker and nearly pop off. The fiftysomething man sits on a log stump near the fire and sips a steaming cup of coffee from a worn tin cup. It nearly matches the color of his silver-speckled brown hair.
"Yous fellas don't want to hear about the great Canadian wolf hunter?"
"Yeah, I wanna hear about that!" John turns to Luther with a sour face. "'Click Shaw' is a stupid story, and we've already heard it!"
Insulted by his oldest brother's protest, Luther gasps and shouts, "IS NOT!"
"IS SO!"
The two continue like this until Charlie calms them.
"It's super-duper dumb!" Zack aligns with John and makes sure he gets the last word.
"No way. It scared me so bad the last time I heard it, I slept under my mom's bed for a week." Kevin whimpers, blinking with pouting eyes. "Don't tell us scary stories in this dark, eerie forest."
"Scaredy-cat!" Kyle mocks him.
"All right, all right, settle down. It's not a scary story, Kevin. 'Chai Ma Kue' is a story of Indian love and magic."
Charlie pauses and waits for a response. When the boys' faces sag, he adds, "It has some scary parts, though!"
The boys' faces light up.
"There's a war," he emphasizes as he sets his coffee mug down.
"A war?" Luther perks up, raising his brows hopefully.
"It began a long time ago. Imagine, if you can, a place where prairies stretch out like an ocean until the grasslands recede and turn into dry desert lands."
As he speaks, he reaches into his pocket and throws a handful of dry red berries into the crackling fire. They snap and pop. Thick purple smoke plumes, and the Woodcraft Indian scoutmaster masterfully stages the scene. He picks up a drum.
"Many tribes roamed these lands," he says, pounding a beat and then handing Zack the drum. The boy eagerly snatches the drum out of Charlie's hands and matches the beat.
Charlie claps his hands with arms stretched out in front and raises his hands high above his head. He sings, "These are the tribes"—he spins around and grabs a pair of rough bark sticks, smacks them together, and hands them to John—"of Indian nations."
Charlie hands Kevin his empty tin cup and flicks it with his fingernail to add a high tone to his makeshift band. The boy takes it and hums along.
"Hi aiye, hiya." Charlie releases a Native American chant the boys have never heard, but they rouse and rally.
"Hi aiye, hi aiye," the boys repeat in chorus.
Charlie cups his hands and pushes the purple smoke up to his face. He inhales, then blows it out in rings. Holding two fingers out, he draws them behind his ear and makes the sign of the Kiowa.
"There were many tribes that wandered these lands. The Kiowa. The Blackfoot. The Comanche. The Crow. The Sioux. The Cherokee. The Navajo, and the Hopi, to name just a few." The boys marvel at the distinct signs his hands make identifying each respective tribe.
The rotund scoutmaster claps his hands together again, making a thunderous noise that echoes off the dark trees as the purple smoke swirls above their heads and then fades against the rising pearl moon.
Charlie reaches inside his bag and removes a leather pouch. He unfolds it and reveals four brown-and-white eagle feathers. Holding one up by the stiff quiver, he spins it in his fingers.
"Our story begins with the Kiowa." He hands each boy an eagle feather, then turns around, snatches up the leather pouch, and shoves his hand back in.
The boys' wondrous wide eyes zero in on whatever must be inside. Charlie slowly removes a plastic bag of hot dogs.
"Wowie zowie, hot dogs!" Zack shouts, dropping his feather and clamoring for his dinner.
Charlie takes his seat. "Scattered all across the plains are rolling rocky peaks that twist and turn into emerald mountaintops, packed limb to limb with towering pine, spruce, and Douglas fir trees as big as any you ever seen. Wild prairie flowers fill the air with sweet scents, and their purple, yellow, white, and red bodies spring up freely all around, covering the earth in a colorful quilt of beauty. Down beneath the emerald growth, beige rocky deserts span out as far as the eye can see and sometimes turn into steep winding canyons and rolling mesas. Running waters pass through at length and unite the vast land, offering life to everyone and everything. The plains are rich pastures, which are great for cattle range. This desolate beauty is known as the Currumpaw." He skewers a hot dog and lowers it into the fire. "The Kiowa were a warrior tribe," he says as the boys use red-handled Swiss Army knives to sharpen pine sticks to points and then skewer their hot dogs.
"Currumpaw was a place of prescribed beauty, but it wasn't always obvious. In the blazing summers, it was ugly as sin. Cactus and scorching sands burned the venom right out of scorpions. Spring was different. Nights were warm. Evenings were cool. It was a land of sunshine and wildflowers. The air was rich and full of songbirds' sweet music.
"The funny thing about the Currumpaw is that no matter the season, dawn and sunset transform that place into a magnificent gem. Beige mountains turn pink or tangerine orange. It is unexpected and majestic."
He pauses and stares off in the distance, as though he can actually see it.
"And terribly dangerous! Though nature poses its own challenges with bitter dry winters, there are, of course, other dangers." Charlie's voice energizes. He holds his hands up and curls his long, chubby fingers. "The claws of the grizzly bear are powerful enough to tear a man's head off with one swipe!" He swooshes his hands at Luther's face. The courageous boy flinches, which causes the other boys to duck and almost drop their weenies.
Charlie slowly scoops his hand to his mouth. "With a single bite, a bear's jaws can bite a man in half. These wild bears are known to terrorize the Indians. Oh, and there are cougars aplenty! And though they may not have the power of grizzly bears, they have speed and determination. Did any of you know a single lion was responsible for the deaths of fifty grown men bigger than me?"
The boys stare in astonishment and shake their heads in disbelief.
"Beneath almost every rock, creeping, crawling critters lurk. 'Course, the venomous fangs of rattlesnakes and the poison of scorpion tails hide from the sun and come out at night, putting the sting of their hate in whatever they can…just because they can!"
"It sounds like a terrible place!" Kevin shouts.
"Yes! It was a terrible, wonderful place. For the Kiowa, it was home."
Charlie can see that the boys are paying full attention now.
"Our story begins with an Indian raid…"
To the reader: Thank you for reading my story... A word of advice, skimming this story may result in your front door being kicked in. A lasso around your waist. And drug out into the street. This is a very detailed story. Skimming will mean you don't understand what's going on later. So if you're thinking of bouncing to chapter 10, think again. Or don't and do what's in your nature.
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