Man of Justice
Chapter Seventeen
By the time Tom and Jim rode into Yreja, three months had passed. They'd stopped in more towns, been through more villages and crossed more than one river than they ever thought possible in so short of time. Finding their way to the local telegraph office, Tom sent Victoria a wire telling her that they were still looking for Jarrod, and then they headed to the local saloon for a drink.
"Tom," Jim looked around the mostly bare room and the bartender who seemed overly interested in cleaning the bar and lowered his voice, "Please, when I say this understand I do feel for you. I don't know what I'd have done if we couldn't find my boy." He made sure he was looking Tom in the eye as he wanted him to know how serious he was. "Only think about Victoria and your other children. They need you!"
Tom clenched his drink in his hard, but not so hard as to break the glass. Ninety days of searching and asking with no clues whatsoever. If only he had something to hold onto, something that said he wasn't wasting his time. How he wanted to keep looking, only Jim was right. He had his wife and other children to think about. He glanced out a nearby window and thought on his family and what they must be going through as he searched. His heart felt heavy, like it was ready to break. "Oh Victoria," he thought as he took another shot of his whiskey, "Please, forgive me, I've failed to find our son." Taking another drink, he added, "Please, forgive me, Jarrod. Wherever you are, please understand. I want to keep looking; only I can't. I just can't." Outwardly, his shoulders slumped as he nodded in agreement. "I'll send another telegram in the morning. I'll tell Victoria we're coming home…Alone."
Jim said nothing as he finished his drink. What was he supposed to say? He knew the pain and fear associated with looking for a child, but he couldn't even come close to comprehending the turmoil one went through when they'd lost a child. He waited until Tom stood up before he did the same. There was nothing more he could do for his friend, but to be there for him and his family.
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Jarrod ran as fast as he could through the open clearing where the Shoshone were holding various games and races. In the three months he'd been in the village, he'd made the adjustment to living with his new father and was finally learning the language well enough to carry on very small conversation. Unfortunely, he was still not able to talk Shoshone well enough to carry it long enough to talk about his white family.
The shouts of encouragement, from different people to different racers, rang through the air. Well, to those who had *earned a name he could. The other runners, like him, were still receiving encouragement though. Jarrod pushed himself hard for one main reason. His Shoshone father had never mistreated him and was doing his best to teach the things he needed to know to live among this people. Jarrod still remembered Straight Arrow's words to him just before the race. "Git-ta-nuke. Too-nuts", Jarrod had learned enough to know that his "father" had told him to "Run fast and do your best." Jarrod didn't want to shame him anymore than he'd ever wanted to shame Tom Barkley. By the time he reached the end of the clearing, two other runners had beaten him, but not by much. The rest of the runners were at least a minute or more behind them.
Straight Arrow was waiting with a huge smile upon his face as Jarrod hurried over to him. "You did well today, son. How do you feel?" Straight Arrow praised in his native tongue.
Jarrod smiled from ear to ear. It felt good to know he had succeeded in pleasing Straight Arrow. "Jant, ne-ah-quack." Jarrod replied; saying he was good, but he was very tired.
"Coming in third is not bad at all." Straight Arrow and Jarrod walked to the edge of the clearing, through the trees and down a slight incline to a small creek that ran nearby.
Because the games and races had been going on all day, Jarrod felt the need to just sit and relax against the bank. Taking off his moccasins, which no longer felt odd on his feet, he sat down and stuck his feet in the creek. Straight Arrow looked upon "his son" with mixed feelings. In the short three months the boy had been brought to him, he had grown to love him as he had his own son. Only problem was, a voice inside him kept saying 'He is not yours. He was taken by force. What about his white family? Don't you think they searched for him? Don't you think they mourn as you once mourned?
"Oh Great Spirit," Straight Arrow looked up toward the sky, "I have to care for him right now. Help me do right by him while he is mine. How can I give him back to a family I do not know, a family he cannot tell me about as he is still learning our language?" He finished the prayer, sat down…after taking off his own moccasins, and put his own feet in the river. Only when their started growing cold and the sun started setting did Jarrod and Straight Arrow make their way back to their home.
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* The below comment was on an internet site I found concerning the Shoshone.
"An Indian child is never given a name until something in life occurs to particularly designate it. It may receive a name the first day of its life or it might not until ten or fifteen years of age. While taking the census of the Lemhis in 1900, I found many that were fifteen years of age with no name" (Rees: ISU Archives).