We lived in the village two years. The cavalry was the first visitors we had. They wouldn't be the last.

A few months later three trappers stopped to visit. They camped a good mile away from us and walked to the village to ask permission to take some water from the lake. We showed them where the stream emptied into the lake so they could get the freshest water for drinking.

Running Horse invited them to come for the evening meal. They happily accepted. It was quite a gathering. Two of the trappers were French, and one was German. The conversations were a mixture of more languages and signs than I'd ever encountered. They had come to the new world to get rich. They weren't getting rich, but they'd never encountered such a variety of animals with pelts they could easily sell. It was a nice living but it didn't make them rich, and it was hard work. They always seemed to be on the move.

"Know fort close?" Running Horse asked.

"Oui, the officer Meeks is come calling on us two times it is."

"You trust?"

"He no shoot us yet," Claude said. "It is as it is."

The eating went on and Morning Star brought some food she thought they might enjoy.

Running Horse was quite the host. I'd not seen him relate to strangers, except when we stopped to see my parents. They weren't exactly strangers. There was no reason we were there, except to visit.

"You are heading of Sand Creek?"

"No hear. What Sand Creek?"

"1st Cavalry attacked Black Kettles band. He camp with Arapaho. He make big peace with white men. 1st Cavalry rode down on them, kill maybe two, three hundred."

Running Horse did not want to hear this news.

"Horse soldiers?"

"Oui. Only children, women. Some old. Do things to bodies. Nasty business. Other trappers talk. Happen two, three year ago. Maybe longer. Nasty business. This Chief Black Kettle, he make big peace with white man. No peace for him or his people."

"They here. Cavalry," Running Horse said.

"Oui. We see many horses come this way."

"Speak of sell skins for Pawnee?"

"Oui. We come. We go. We meet everyone."

"Nien. Too much leute."

"Fritz no like people."

"What skin buy?" Running Horse asked our guests.

"Beaver big. Muskrat. Fox good."

"We give skin. You give rifle?"

The French man leaned in close.

"Anything you like we get. Take little franc for trouble."

"Nien. Nien," Fritz objected.

"Hush, Fritz."

The German didn't leave before stopping to thank us. It was plain to see, this was a conversation the German wanted no part of. I heard German's were disciplined and did not like the breaking of rules.

"Danka," he said politely.

The German gave a slight bow in our direction. He left.

"No buy too many gun. Eyes everywhere. Two, three at time."

"Repeating rifles," I said, knowing what Running Horse wanted.

"Fire fast," Running Horse said.

"Oui. The best Claude can find."

We gave him two large bundles of furs we'd set aside to barter for things we wanted. We wanted rifles since the first time Meeks brought his soldiers into our village. It wasn't something Indians wanted to get caught trading for. Rifles and coffee were the two things only white men had access to and we wanted.

We did not want bright shiny objects, trinkets or beads. If all we had to turn back the cavalry were beads, we deserved what we got. We were not Cheyenne or Arapaho. This was not Sand Creek. If we didn't learn that the white man's word could not be trusted, we were lost.

We needed to fight to remain free.

I went to a white man's school. I heard no talk of honoring ones word. I was to be honest at all time. I was to be fair, but these were white men's lessons for white men. This is how white men were to treat each other. Seeing the way Paw was treated, it was obvious it didn't apply to Indians. It didn't apply to the Pawnee. We needed to buy rifles if we were to have any chance of survival.

Each time a rifle was unwrapped, the Frenchman handed it to Running Horse. At first, they went into our lodge. Once there was enough to give each warrior one, Running Horse would hand them out.

Running Horse watched Claude feed shells into one of the rifles, and he ejected them faster than they went in. Everyone watched him use the rifle. He shot a bullet at a time. Then, he emptied the rifle rapid fire.

I watched Running Horse examining the rifle and working the lever in the lodge at night. He made an effort to adapt to the idea of using a white man's tool.

"Why many bullets? Kill only once."

"If cavalry attack. Many targets."

"Kill all? No kill all. Crazy kill all."

"Europeans have been doing this for a thousand years. There is always a reason to kill as many men as it is possible to kill. No limit. Shoot wounded. Rape women. Steal all of value," I told Running Horse.

"Not people. Mad men. Who do this?"

"The one thing man has learned throughout the ages, how to kill more efficiently. Repeating rifle mean kill fast. Keep killing, until all dead. Keep making more deadly tools of war. Kill all."

The conversation was over. The blank look in Running Horse's face meant something he could not process in his brain. He might work on this conversation for hours or days before the next question came. I thought about how crazy it sounded to me. I can't imagine a Pawnee chief understanding why this needed to be done. When in school, I thought history was controlled and written by mad men. They all seemed to want one thing.

More!

It didn't matter what it took to get more. You did whatever was necessary to get more. More what, I couldn't say. More might be anything they decided they wanted. If it already belonged to someone else, they took it. Because we were happy and at peace, more wasn't possible. How can you be more happy? How can you be more at peace? If plenty to eat, who needs more?" I explained.

"What this more?"

Whatever it was they had, they wanted more of it, they were willing to kill to get it.

Each time Claude came, among the bags of sugar, coffee, candy, were always the burlap bundle at the bottom of one of the mules packs. Claude removed what was on top, took out the burlap wrapped rifle, handing it to Running Horse. Claude came more often. He seemed to like being with us. Each time he came, once he realized I was educated, he brought me whatever books he'd read since his last visit.

He talked European history with me. He was from Europe and that gave him a leg up on understanding what the history he read meant. Running Horse sat and listened to these conversations without speaking.

This gave me insights into the white man's world that I didn't have before. It filled in a picture that was drawn by white men in the white man's books. No matter the period, no matter the degree of enlightenment, each period ended in an all out war that changed everything. That's when a new era started. Each era was different. Each era ended the same way.

When that era started, it was run by the man who was most successful at killing the enemy. It wasn't likely such men were going to discourage war or killing. If the meanest and most psychotic character in history was always in control, how would the killing ever stop? Killing got him what he wanted and so throughout history, the strongest meanest man always took charge. Anyone who was a threat, he killed.

If you had something of value, and this guy wanted it, it was a lot easier to just give it to him, but then, after you gave it to him, he was probably going to kill you anyway, because he liked killing.

While we were building our collection of repeating rifles, Meeks came for water twice. He was polite. His men were polite. They made sure they saw all there was to see while they came and went from the lake. We had created a spot where the horses could drink and not foul the water the people drank.

Meeks went from one side of the formation to the other, front to back, and sitting straight in the saddle, he saw everything he came to see. His horse never drank. He never dismounted during a visit.

No matter where Running Horse was in the village, his eyes stayed on Meeks until he rode away.

When Meeks rode away, it was with a sweep of his hat and that smirk on his face. I'd heard of flamboyant cavalry officers. One was a Civil War general who led the 7th cavalry out of Fort Riley.

Meeks was our version and he came twice in two months that year.

What was he looking for?

*****

We were joined on our evening walks by Lit'l Fox and Morning Star. My estimate of my brother's ability to recover from the loss of our grandmother wasn't even close. Morning Star showered him with love and affection and Lit'l Fox came back stronger than ever. It was plain to see who my brother's heart belonged to.

He lead the way on some of the hunting trips and twice he got the biggest buck. We could no longer get away with sending my brother back with the first sled, and he often rode back with Running Horse and me after the hunting was done.

The power of love had my brother stronger and better than ever. A couple of times a week, Morning Star fed Running Horse and me. We enjoyed their company and often left laughing after an enjoyable evening in their lodge.

I'd like to say everything was wonderful, but our minds were never far from Major Meeks and his armed force. He went almost a year without making a visit. We'd almost forgot Major Meeks.

He was not a man who was easy to forget.

One morning as we swam in the lake, we heard the horses. We were taking turns washing under the stream that ran from above down into the lake. It was ice cold, but on the hot days, it was refreshing.

It took us ten minutes to swim back and I grabbed my cloth and tried to put it on while I walked after Running Horse who did not bother to put his cloth on. I followed him as he pushed horses out of his way as he went straight into our lodge.

Once again, Running Horse seemed to know all, while I knew nothing.

I was right behind him, and the titters from soldiers laughing at a naked Indian were loud and prolonged. When I stepped inside, I wasn't sure we'd walk away alive. I'd never seen Running Horse lose his temper. He had been quite pleasant to Major Meeks each time he visited. This was the first time the major got off his horse, but he had gotten off.

Major Meeks had gone into our lodge and was standing in the middle looking all around.

"I've always wanted to see inside of one of these…," Meeks said, turning to face Running Horse.

Running Horse's golden skin was a brilliant red. His voice boomed.

"You not welcome in lodge. You take water. Leave."

The hate filled order could not be missed. He'd only be pushed so far and no further.

"Oh, I've upset you. I'm sorry, Chief. I didn't think you'd mind. I thought we were friends," Meeks said in a voice so sweet it sickened me.

I stood by Running Horse, hoping it might calm his fury.

Meeks didn't miss the two repeating rifles sitting next to the door. He smiled at the sight. He knew now, we could be dangerous. Of course, it was the repeating rifles he was looking for inside our lodge.

He went out of our lodge and got on his horse. As they rode through the middle of the village, the horse soldiers were laughing. They'd all enjoyed the naked chief.

They did not break ranks. They did not water their horses.

I stepped outside and watched them ride away. I wanted to kill Meeks. I did not like him. I feared I could not kill. I knew I could kill Meeks without a second thought. I'd save a bullet for him if we shot it out with the cavalry. Meeks would be looking to kill Running Horse, and I'd kill him before he could do that.

It was that year we made a trip to the cabin in the valley where the river runs. We stayed two days. Paw knew of the fort being built close to where we said we would live. He didn't say anything. He knew we'd find out soon enough.

It was three of us. Running Horse, my brother, and me. Of course Lit'l Fox was the one who wanted to get back to his wife. We got a laugh on the way back to the village. We enjoyed teasing Lit'l Fox about his love for Morning Star.

My brother was happy. That's all that was important to me. Morning Star's love for him was unyielding.

Life was good. We told Paw we'd be back next year, but we wouldn't be. There was too much to do and we didn't like leaving the village without three of its warriors.

Meeks was a consideration whether we needed to hunt, explore the territory, or return to the cabin in the valley where the river runs. The village almost always had a dozen warriors on hand. Both Running Horse and I were aware of the massacre at our fathers' village. It was difficult to stay away for long. My father knew of such hazards from experience.

We had no idea what was coming, or when it would come. If Running Horse knew of the future, he didn't speak of it. He didn't speak much at all. The pressure of being chief had quieted him.

I didn't question him. I wanted to leave it alone. I wanted it to go away, and I didn't need Running Horse to tell me, Meeks wasn't going anywhere. As more people came, more cavalry came to protect them. No matter where we went, people were going to close in around us. We were at the mercy of people who didn't believe we were human. It was a convenient kind of thought, making us easier to kill.

*****

When we hunted now, we left warriors behind to protect the village. With four or five hunters, we got the meat we needed in three or four days on the mountain.

It was a half day further away, but the trail to the top was easier. We wasted no time getting back after a hunt was over. We sent one sled back with two of the hunters after a two days. We wanted as many warriors in the village as we could have. We'd never defeat the cavalry, but we'd put up one hell of a fight. For this reason, Meeks was careful when he came our way.

The second sled followed two days later. Each carried about five hundred pounds of venison and various other critters that walked in front of our arrows. We'd rarely didn't have two full sleds to take back. The last three hunters would be back in less than two days if we didn't need to wait for the meat to freeze. It was usually plenty cold to freeze the meat over night when we hunted.

There were also the days when Running Horse and I would take off for the hunting grounds. Having two warriors gone for a week wasn't going to hurt, and the meat we brought back was cause for another feast. It was cause for my man and me to be alone. There seemed to be less time for us to be alone.

As time went on, I wanted to be with Running Horse more. I was with him less and less. I knew of his responsibility, and we were always together at night. I wanted to be close to him all the times. I had a fear that we wouldn't be together much longer. I knew Meeks figured into it, but I didn't know how.

The smell of venison would fill the air for days at the village after a hunt. Everyone ate his fill. The hunt was reason enough to celebrate. These were the times the Pawnee feasted. These were the times meat was plentiful. By smoking and salting the excess meat, it would stay good for months, and by the time we were ready to hunt again, the meat stores would be running low, but the hunters never failed to get enough meat to last until the next hunt.

Feasting was done when there was an abundance of meat. We were conservative with our food most of the year. We lived off of nuts, berries, and what Mother Earth provided and what meat we could kill.

The Pawnee would never go hungry as long as we were free to hunt the game all around us.

There was a few weeks of unsettled nervousness to get beyond, after the cavalry made a friendly visit. Even not knowing what the cavalry was going to do, when it was time to hunt, we hunted. We'd been in the new village for four years. We were still alive in spite of Major Meeks and the US Cavalry. It might change one day, but it hadn't changed yet. When we got up each morning, we knew what we needed to do that day and we did it.

One thing was for sure, we couldn't eat meat we didn't hunt. No one seriously thought otherwise. We'd keep doing what we'd done as far back as I could remember. The hunts were the best of times. We were doing what needed to be done to feed the people. That was a powerful thing to be able to do. The idea of not being able to feed our people didn't enter our minds.

The army was there. We'd be here until they made their move. Running Horse wasn't Black Kettle. We weren't at Sand Creek. We took precautions, strengthening our defenses. Our rifles were kept within easy reach. We practiced with them, but we left them behind when we went on hunts. We hunted the way Pawnee had been hunting for a thousand years. The rifles were killing machines. They were meant to kill men. When the time came to kill men, we'd use them.

The question about my being able to kill men had been put away. When the time came, I'd kill. Major Meeks had solved this problem for me. When they came charging into our village with their rapid firing weapons, they wouldn't be coming to have tea. I'd already made up my mind to save a bullet for Major Meeks. If I needed to kill a man, he was the one I'd kill first or last, it didn't matter which.

I had fired two rifles before Claude brought the rapid firing rifles. I hit what I aimed at. If I took careful aim, I'd hit what I had in my sights when I pulled the trigger. I wouldn't spray bullets around. I'd find a position that allowed me to see men on horseback coming at me, and I'd shoot them one at a time until I had one bullet left. Then, if I stayed alive long enough, that bullet would stop Major Meeks dead.

My Pawnee part wanted to live on in peace and tranquility. I had no desire to kill anyone. I killed the animals who provided the food I ate. I could kill him with a rifle or a bow, giving thanks for his sacrifice. I wanted to live life as the Pawnee lived it before the Europeans came, but I couldn't do that.

The Pawnee and other indigenous people were living on borrowed time, and the butcher's bill would come due before long. It's the kind of thing I knew but tried not to think about.


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"Future Past"

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"Stepping Stone"

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