As the Indian boys chattered, the name Iron Pants filtered out of their conversation. Phillip went to the edge of the lake. It sounded like he asked them about Iron Pants.

The boys waded over to speak with Phillip. The name Iron Pants came up several times. Phillip was more than a little involved with this conversation. There were what sounded like questions, followed by the biggest boy's answers. I'd never seen him so tuned into what was being said. Phillip's intensity seem to rise with each answer.

"What is it?" I asked Phillip as he got the horses ready to hitch back to the wagon.

"I know Iron Pants. He knows about people I want to know about. He knows me. He can get a message to my people that I'm okay," Phillip said.

"Who are your people, Phillip?"

"Not now, John. Later I'll explain it to you. You deserve to know the truth. Not now."

Samuel walked beside the Indian boys as we drove the wagon out of the forest that had been home for three days. We were going to meet Iron Pants. He was the chief of the tribe these boys belonged to. They came to the lake to escape the heat and relentless sun,

They were usually gone no more than a day, and they'd be expected back before dark but not in the early afternoon, which is when the Pawnee village appeared in front of us.

Once Phillip knew who the Indian boys called chief, he wanted to go to meet him. At the speed of the wagon, we covered the ground in a little over an hour by my estimation. The Indian boys we met quite by accident took us right to it.

As we came to the village, there were teepees spread around the meadow that offered a flat open area to live on. One of the boys left us to go in search of Iron Pants.

Phillip stopped the wagon in a common area that had Indians moving around it. There was some cooking being done and activities off to one side that involved Indians something like those we'd had lunch with. These braves weren't as colorful but they were all in deerskin and wore feathers that gave them a magnificent look.

A rather handsome Indian returned with the boy and Phillip jumped down from the wagon seat to go greet Chief Iron Pants. As they ran into each other, they held on and went in circles as they laughed.

"Tall Willow. Tall Willow," Iron Pants said.

"You crafty old Indian. What have you been off stealing today?" Phillip said.

They laughed and held on to each other.

"Iron Pants told Tall Willow dead."

"No dead," Phillip said.

"My people. What do you hear of my people?"

"You come to question Iron Pants?" he said. "A chief is not to be questioned. He ask questions. Where have you been, Tall Willow? We have not heard your name for long time."

"Yes, Running Horse. How is Running Horse?"

"Alive and well at rendezvous this year. People are as always. We talk exchange word of where the cavalry chases Lakota today. We trade, eat, and laugh together, as always."

"You tell him I'm fine?"

"I'll tell. Won't see for a while, but I'll tell," Iron Pants said.

Two riders rode into the encampment at a high speed, pulling their horses up short, they jumped off their mounts to run to Iron Pants who stood next to Phillip.

They chattered in what I was told was Pawnee, using their hands to point and explain themselves. Iron Pants gave his full attention to the report, as other Indians gathered to listen.

These were two of what I'd call warriors. They talked excitedly, pointing and spoke using signs and words to convey their message. Iron Pants turned away from Phillip as the new arrivals chattered. Then, they ran off toward where the group of Indian men gathered. They took the same excitement to the group. They pointed and spoke frantically.

Iron Pants turned his attention back to Phillip. He seemed to describe something on the far side of the village, but they no longer talked loud enough for me to hear. I didn't know Pawnee, so I didn't understand when I could hear them..

The abrupt arousal caused by two messengers was apparent.

I looked for Samuel, and he had drawn more attention from Indians who had surrounded him. There was laughter and conversation as two of the boys pulled off Samuels worn and tattered trousers, They threw them in the fire.

Samuel looked horrified as people touched his skin and laughed. Neither Samuel or I understood. The older boy came back with a loin cloth, dressing Samuel in it with a little coaxing. It did not fit and drooped down almost to his pubic hair.

Another boy ran off. He came back with a pair of deerskin pants. It was off with the breach cloth. He had help getting into the pants, and then, back on with the breach cloth.

They all laughed as this was a better fit and Samuel could keep up the cloth with the pants under it. Most boys wore only the loin cloth, but Samuel was accustomed to the long pants and the deerskin pants looked comfortable as he took to feeling the soft material.

Phillip and Iron Pants had moved further away as more Indians came over, and the excited talk continued. Phillip had fallen silent. As I witnessed the goings on from outside the meeting, Phillip heard what was being said to the chief. He understood Pawnee.

Iron Pants spoke loudly and gestured as the agitation grew. I didn't know what we'd walked into, but I sensed there was some fierce excitement over whatever it was. I didn't have a good feeling about it.

This made me uncomfortable. I was neither a boy being admired or a friend of the Pawnee who had come to say hello. I was a white man who felt very much out of place. Fear isn't the word for what I felt. I felt like I was in no danger, but there was danger nearby.

Horses began to appear as I stood beside the wagon watching the activity. Samuel and the three boys who brought us here went to a fire next to one of the teepees Samuel's new clothes had come out of, and sticks decorated with fresh meat were handed about.

Samuel looked toward me. He said something and pointed, and more sticks were pulled from the fire. Samuel brought me some of the meat as I stood alone next to the wagon, a silent observer. I didn't belong here.

Real meat was as tasty as food got, after days of fish and more fish. I began to chew immediately. It was still hot. It was wonderful, and I forgot the frantic activity going on around me. The Indian boys and Samuel stayed close and Samuel wanted me to see his new clothes. They fit him and he no longer looked like he was coming out of his pants.

He felt the soft deerskin. I felt the soft deerskin.

Anything would have been better than the pants he was growing out of and that had seen better days. Samuel obviously wasn't accustomed to being given gifts.

It was then two more riders came into camp, leaping from their horses to report to Iron Pants. Other warriors closed in about them. There was pointed and excited talking. Horses were brought to Iron Pants and one for Phillip. They were Indian ponies and the warriors seemed to move in mass to where other horses waited for them.

Iron Pants and Phillip both got on the Indian ponies.

Phillip rode to where Samuel and I stood with the Indian boys.

How did a white man ride an Indian pony with a blanket for a saddle?

Phillip stopped the horse a few feet from the wagon to speak to us.

"There's going to be a confrontation. There was an incident here yesterday. They intend to respond to it. You have been invited to go with us," Phillip said with a bit of worry in his voice.

He sounded like I would be expected to accept any invitation extended to me.

"Us?" I said. "Phillip, who is Tall Willow?"

"Not now, John. You've been invited to go with us. You don't have to go, John, but if you turn down an invitation from the Pawnee, don't expect another one. You need to come."

"I feel out of place. I don't feel like I belong here," I said. "I'll go on your say so, but I don't like it. This feels wrong to me."

"Get Chestnut. Let Samuel ride behind you on Chestnut. I don't want him able to ride off and get himself into trouble. If he rides with you, I know he can't get into much trouble."

Samuel had saddled Chestnut and once I mounted he held his arm up for me to pull him up behind me. He'd heard what Phillip said, and as we got ready to move, the three Indian boys came back riding their horses.

If they had horses to ride, why did they go to the lake on foot?

The warriors were now making war cries and the excitement had boiled over by the time twenty warriors, lead by Iron Pants and Phillip, galloped out of camp on a trail to the south. It wasn't the trail we came north on. We went more to the east as we rode.

Samuel held on to me and the three Indian boys rode in front of us and between us and the war party. I was not thrilled to be there. I still felt like I did not belong here, but I was here and I'd make the most of it.

I didn't know what it was all about and I didn't know I wanted to. We rode at a good clip for half hour or so. The pace slowed and the warriors were all close to each other, when Phillip broke off and rode back to where Samuel and I sat on Chestnut.

"This is as far as we go. We'll leave our horses here and ease our way up on that ridge. We can watch from there," Phillip said, sliding off his horse and starting up a rise.

Phillip was not a stranger to riding Indian Ponies. Who was Tall Willow? I didn't know what I was doing here. I was with Phillip. I'd come willingly, and now I was going to watch something I had no desire to see.

The war hoops and shouting had gone still. The Indians were gathered at the top of the rise, just out of sight of what was on the other side. I watched them from a quarter of a mile away, poised for what I didn't know. All the warriors had bows and arrows. A few carried spears, and they were spread out in a line that would allow them to all get where they were going at the same time.

Iron Pants sat magnificently on his horse, feathers blowing in his hair as he was the only one with a view of where they would go. If he was seen he'd look like a lone Indian, but someone would need to be looking right at him to see his head.

It was then he waved his right arm to indicate it was time to ride.

Phillip got down on his belly, easing himself just below the crest of the hill, where he stopped to watch the line of warriors waiting for Iron Pants to give the signal to go.

Samuel had eased up beside Phillip and the three Indian boys eased up beside them. I got down on my stomach and crawled the last few feet, and as I got to just below where I could get a view of what was happening, the most awful sound I'd ever heard erupted from the attacking Indians. As they screamed and gave their war cries, we all peaked over the top of the rise.

There was a wagon, and six, no, seven men. They were unkempt looking group of men dressed in animal skins. Four sat in front of a fire, eating. Two more men stood near the rear of the wagon, either getting something out or putting things away. There were four long rifles leaning against the near side of the wagon, there were four more leaned against a log next to where the four sat. There was a seventh man sleeping under the wagon.

"Who are they?" I asked, once the attack was on.

"Buffalo hunters," Phillip said.

"They're attacking buffalo hunters for killing buffalo?" I asked with alarm.

"You don't understand," Phillip said.

The buffalo hunters picked that instant to make a dive for their rifles, but the Indians were on them before they made it. Arrows cascaded down as the Indians over rode the camp and all the buffalo hunters stopped moving, except for the sleeping man, and as he started out from under the wagon, an Indian was on top of him with his knife, and he no longer moved as the Indian jumped off him with a bloody knife.

It was bedlam. They weren't satisfied with just killing seven men. They went crazy.

The Pawnee were off their horses and making sure the buffalo hunters didn't move again. Everything went into the fire. The wagon was burning, and the warriors yelled, screamed, danced, and in general lost their minds.

The three Indian boys stood on top of their rise, losing their minds. Their shouts and war cries were in perfect harmony with the insanity I had witnessed below.

I turned over on my back and eased myself off the rise. I could stand, except I was sure my legs wouldn't hold me. I'd never seen anything as gruesome as what I just saw. I thought I was beginning to like these curious people, and then, this.

I felt like I might get sick, but I couldn't. If I got sick in front of these people, they'd know how I felt about the slaughter of men doing nothing more dangerous than sitting beside a fire and eating a meal. It's what I'd been doing for most of the last year. They were white men, and the Indians butchered them.

The crazy frenzy on the far side of the hill died away. Some of the warriors rode back to our side of the hill and quite calmly rode back toward the village. Phillip stood a few feet from the Indian boys and Samuel stood beside him.

They were boys. They shouldn't have been allowed to see this. I was angry. I was angry with Phillip. He sanctioned this action. He had no problem with what I just watched. My opinion of the man who saved my life was now in doubt. How could he be party to this?

How could he watch such madness and not be made sick by it?

This is why white men killed the savages. It became clear to me now, and as I dealt with my anger, Phillip came over to me.

"How could you be part of this?" I asked, hostility in my words.

Livid with a man I had grown to have more respect for than any other, and then, this.

"They butchered them. You brought me to see Indians going crazy. I was beginning to like them. I was beginning to see them as being sweet gentle people. How could you, Phillip?"

"You don't understand," Phillip said.

"I don't understand. I just watched savages acting just like what they are, savages."

I had the attention of Samuel, the Indian boys, and Iron Pants and a half dozen warriors who rode up on us just them. I knew when it was time to shut my trap.

"Come on, Samuel," I said, heading for Chestnut.

Samuel did not come.

When Phillip mounted the Indian pony, he pulled Samuel up behind him. As we rode back to the village I fell in behind. I couldn't wait to get back to the wagon and hopefully our exit from the village that was no longer a place where I could be.

I tied Chestnut to the back of the wagon once I'd unsaddled him and put his saddle up. I looked around me and there was calm. It was quiet and no one looked like the warriors had just gone off to slaughter seven buffalo hunters. I grew livid all over again. Why had I gone? Why did Phillip take me to that massacre?

I stood leaning on the tailgate. I didn't want to interact with anyone. Behind the wagon I was out of sight and hopefully out of mind. I'd never been more out of sorts.

Phillip Dubois saved my life. I knew that, but I suddenly felt as if he'd betrayed me. He knew what I was going to see, and he let me walk right into it without a word. I'd never have willingly watched what I'd seen, and he let Samuel see it. A boy his age should not be exposed to how vicious the world could be.

"You calm down yet?" Phillip asked, breaking into my meditation.

"Calm down. I just watched men butchered. You gave sanction to it by going, and you knew what was going to happen and didn't warn me?"

"You don't understand, John," Phillip said.

"You're damn right, I don't understand. I want to get out of here. This is a bad place."

"There's a ceremony," Phillip said.

"I've been invited?" I said.

"Iron Pants extends his invitation to you. If you're smart, you'll attend."

"What, they'll do to me what they did to those buffalo hunters if I don't?"

"John, you've witnessed half the story. Come with me, you'll see the other half."

The village was deserted. It wasn't just less crowded than when we first arrived, there was no one in or around the colorful teepees.

I walked close to Phillip. That seemed the safest place to be. I'd go through this, and when it was over, if Phillip didn't leave, I would take Samuel and leave. I no longer knew if leaving Samuel with him was a smart thing to do, but I was leaving. I couldn't trust Phillip.

When we came to where the entire village was gathered, there wasn't a sound. Sixty or seventy people stood in a semicircle and it was totally quiet. If I listened close I could hear people breathing. The crown opened as we approached, and we walked directly up to a bier with a tiny little child on it.

I was startled. The little girl was still as death. She was almost white and dressed in deerskin with turquoise decorations. Around her neck was a turquoise neckless.

There was no motion. She looked like she might jump up laughing and run off like any little girl playing a joke on everyone. This was no joke. She was very dead.

Phillip leaned to speak softly to me.

"Those men drove their wagon through this village yesterday evening. They ran down this little girl. They drove away laughing and celebrating their latest kill."

It hit me like I'd been struck with one of the arrows they put in the buffalo hunters.

Now, everything I knew, all that I felt, it was a mass of confusion. I didn't know what to think as we stood among so many silent people standing at the little girl's bier. She should have her entire life in front of her, but she was very dead.

As we stood vigil, there was a disturbance that seemed to be coming our way.

As the gathering parted, what I can only describe as the wildest Indian I'd ever seen pushed his way to the front of the crowd to stand at the foot of the bier.

Wild did not describe this Pawnee man. He was dark and terrible to look at.

He began to yell. I couldn't understand him, but he seemed to be talking to the little girl. He shouted and threw what I counted were seven scalps at the foot of her bier. He kept shouting as though if he was loud enough the little girl would here him.

"Her father," Phillip leaned to whispered.

My heart sank. I'd never seen a more miserable man.

After throwing the scalps at his daughter's feet, he seemed to yell at the mother who was the only person seated next to the bier. She sat dignified as the yelling went on.

Then, the man turned to scream at the people gathered there, and in mid yell, he collapsed at the foot of his daughter's bier sobbing disconsolate.

No one moved to comfort him. There could be no comfort. No one thought they might be able to ease his pain. No one thought words could help him.

The girl's father would need to find his own way out of the darkness.

Now, I understood.


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"West"

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"To Roast"

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