When the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth in 1620, the Wampanoag thought it would be safe to keep them from starving. How much trouble could fifty people be to a tribe of Indigenous people who had been on the land for thousands of years? They couldn't let the Pilgrims starve. It wasn't in the nature of most Indigenous people.

They would keep them from starving now, and deal with the fallout later. What could possibly go wrong with feeding starving Europeans who came ashore on Wampanoag territory?

It took fifteen years for the Pilgrims to make war on the Pequot and nearly wipe them out. King Phillip's head was placed on a pike outside the entrance to the Plymouth Colony after they won King Phillip's war. King Phillip, son of the Wampanoag chief who saved the Pilgrims, objected to more and more Europeans flooding on to Wampanoag territory.

When he tried to stop them from coming, the three thousand Pilgrims insisted, and King Phillip ended up dead, and to demonstrate their superiority, King Phillip's head was put on a pike at the gates to Plymouth. Let that be a warning to anyone else who might have ideas about stopping Europeans from coming.

This was early in Europeans migration west, but they intended to keep coming, and that was that. By the time the plains Indians were under threat as people and wagon trains kept coming, the ending was already written.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As the days passed, and our long-awaited trip on horseback into Underworld neared, we made sure we collected the gear that would be required to be able to do a proper exploration. We were still a few days away from the planned exploration, and we went about our business as usual until our departure.

A few nights after Joe's trip into town with John, and the night Angel fixed her marvelous goat supper, Running Horse and I walked behind Riggs and Angel because Riggs always helped with cleanup after Angel cooked. That meant we were the last to get started on an after the evening meal walk. The evening air was cool and fresh. We hadn't been moving around that much, and by this night, the gear had been gathered, and we would be on our way to Underworld in a few days.

When I heard Samuel's voice behind us, I looked over my shoulder to see who he was talking to. I was surprised to see Samuel holding Echo's hand as they walked along behind us talking.

I had noticed Echo watching Samuel from time to time. I didn't read anything into it. She was usually standing to the right and a bit behind her mother while Samuel was nearby for one reason or another. I read it as a little girl's crush on an older handsome boy, but walking and talking together amounted to more than that, and Echo was older and beginning to look more like a woman than a little girl.

Echo was Barking Dog's daughter. Barking Dog wasn't a man who was going to allow some handsome young buck to take advantage of her. I couldn't see Sammy Boy taking advantage of anyone, but Barking Dog wasn't a man I would want to be angry at me. He could be more like a growling dog when he got his dander up.

These were thoughts I had before I decided that Samuel was a big boy, and Echo had become a big girl. What they had on their mind was not any of my business, but that didn't mean I couldn't smile about it.

Samuel looked radiant as they walked and chatted together. Sammy Boy wasn't a big talker, but his happy baritone voice drifted ahead to tickle our ears. Echo giggled no matter what Sammy Boy said, and I recognized the tension that came from how close she was to the man who was the apple of her eye. I never saw Echo look at any other young men the way she looked at Samuel.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Puritans who came over on the Mayflower burned their friends and family as witches. The Europeans were no strangers to ways of torturing people who fell out of favor. If some old crone or two accused you, "I saw her acting oddly, talking when no one was there. She could see who she was talking to, but we couldn't see any human form. She must be in league with the devil."

Of course, it was always some pretty young girl they accused, and if some ambitious preacher got wind of it, well, you just might find yourself burning next to the evening meal.

Burning wasn't even the most popular way of dispatching suspected witches.

Europeans certainly had a taste for killing people who weren't acting properly. With punishment like dunking, pressing, and the good old fashion, burning at the stake, it was best not to get on the wrong side of one of these crones, or give their husbands a much too careful look. You might find yourself the center of attention.

As innocent as dunking sound, Mrs. Foster explained to us, "The dunking chair sat at the end of a very strong handle about fifteen feet long. The chair was easy to sit someone in, and the pole allowed you to swing the chair out over the middle of the pond. You got dunked, and they were in no hurry to undunk you. When the chair came back to the surface, the woman, and it was most often women, was gasping for air.

You've been accused of witchcraft, and gasping for air is not exactly what the powers that be are looking for. If you are a witch, you don't frown, no matter how many times you are dunked. That means you are in league with the devil and they burn you at the stake."

"What happens if you aren't coughing and fighting for air when the chair comes back out of the water," Alice Templeton asked Mrs. Taylor.

"If you drown, you aren't a witch, and all is forgiven, but you're just as dead."

Holy smoke, who thinks up things like that?

"What is pressing?" Stan Fig wanted to know.

"You lay flat on a solid surface, and they begin covering you with the biggest rocks they can find. They keep piling on rocks until you stop breathing. That's pressing."

"What's being drawn and quartered? You said the kings in the Middle Ages like to have people drawn and quartered?" Remmy Fallow asked. "Does it have to do with drawing your picture?"

"I can't tell you that one. It's too gruesome to even mention to students your age. I would be fired."

Needless to say, when it came to killing each other, Europeans took a backseat to no one.

It could be deadly to act oddly, or to dally with the wrong woman's man. It might get a finger pointed at you. I'm sure Puritans were against killing, because if you killed someone, they killed you. They didn't simply kill you, they did it with glee and in the most gruesome way possible, and to prove how much they hated killing, they invited everyone to come and watch the fun on execution day. Puritans did not know about forgiveness. Not for accused witches anyway.

People who spent a lot of time killing each other, were armed and dangerous, and when they saw a savage, they knew exactly what to do. Except for that, the Great Plains was a good place to live.

I didn't know if being a witch was worse than being a savage, but either could get you killed. Hearing such things in Mrs. Taylor's class had me thinking about people who would burn other people because it made everyone feel good about not being the one getting burned. That was the conclusion I was left with, but Mrs. Taylor wasn't impressed with that observation.

"It was a different time," she told me.

I didn't do well in Mrs. Taylor's class. I suppose I looked at it from a savage's point of view. Had she known I was a savage, as the prophet put it, "They find out you're a savage and you'll be the one getting burnt." Maw told me, "You tell anyone you're Pawnee, and you aren't going to like what happens."

I can't be sure if Indians in the 1690s were aware that Puritans were burning their friends, neighbors, and family. When I learned about it in the 1850s, it wasn't that surprising. I didn't believe everything Mrs. Taylor told us, but I believed that. The Europeans were always well armed no matter where they went.

Murder was wrong if it happened to them, but it was open season on everyone they crossed paths with.

I killed twice. I must admit I felt nothing but satisfaction after the two men I killed were dead. When I rode off with my brother and his wife, the only thing on my mind was getting away. I did what I needed to do. I remembered the words, "An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth."

It could have been from Mrs. Taylor's class. It seemed appropriate, not that the cavalry would see it my way.

I thought it described what I had done.

I carried two dead bodies away with me. I left two dead bodies behind. It seemed like perfect justice the day I decided it was time to kill.

I hadn't killed anyone since, not that I can be sure about. If it ever becomes time for me to kill again, I'll kill, but not because I have a taste for killing. I preferred leaving people alone. Even while being a wagon master, I left people alone, but if you were slowing down my train, you'd get a visit from the wagon master.

I always strapped on my waist gun before going to confront what were often disagreeable men who were accustomed to doing things their own way. It was my job to explain how things worked on my train. They were often offended by someone telling them the rules applied to them, and if they didn't like it. "Another train would be by in six months or a year, but they'll have rules too."

No matter how disagreeable a fellow was, when he thought of his wagon sitting all alone next to the trail, he picked up his pace and kept up after he pictured howling screaming Indians circling his lonely wagon. I knew most people were going to pick up their speed once they thought it through. The gun was to let them know I meant business. I never wore my waist gun, unless I had to go reason with someone who was unreasonable.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

That was the night Running Horse made up his mind what we were going to do.

"We'll go out tomorrow," Running Horse said as we cooled off a bit after things had heated up that evening. I suppose waiting to tell me meant giving me less time to worry, although I had begun to look forward to taking a longer look at our New World. One thing was sure, we didn't think we owned it because we showed up there. We would give the proper owners credit for ownership. It would never be called Pawnee Valley.

We needed a home and we didn't think it belonged to us. We would share willingly if we found conditions that meant taking what we needed and leaving some for others to have. It's how the Pawnee lived since forever. No, I had no idea what or who might be down there, but we were going to find out.

Joe was once again in charge of getting all our gear on the ground outside the Cathedral cave. We would get up before sunrise and be in Underworld by first light. It didn't matter how dark it was outside, it was always dark in the caves. The day our exploration began, we were all excited about the adventure we were going on.

"West. Coming out of the cave, if we come out the way we went into the Cathedral cave, we would be heading west. While we found the river more to the north, I'm told we will find what we want by going straight away from the cliff. That's the way we need to keep going. It's unclear how far, but quite a ways west."

"What else did they tell you? Go west and …"

"It is safe," Running Horse told me.

"It is?" I asked. "Of course it is."

Running Horse trusted the spirits enough to go where they told him to go. I trusted Running Horse.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We rode in the direction the spirits told Running Horse to go in. I thought about wanting to go to the river off to the north. It was in that direction where we found the buffalo herd. We had seen the buffalo herd, and we could see what else was out that way, but we went west instead, or what I thought was west.

The horses were frisky from not being ridden in ages, and we let them gallop as we left the village in our dust. Riggs was staying, but Barking Dog and Turtle did ask to go. Any more than that would slow us down. We were in no hurry, but we didn't want to spend the next week waiting for riders to catch up.

We were armed with bows, arrows, and we each had a hunting knife. We could hold our own as hunters. Both Samuel and Young Antelope did all the hunting in Paradise Valley. If there was game to hunt, we would get our share while we were in Underworld.

The pastureland went on and on to the west. We reached a second forest a few hours after we left. We stopped at a creek just inside the shade of the trees, and we let the horses drink.

I got to rest my weary backside. None of us had done any riding since we rode into Paradise Valley. The riding muscles hadn't gotten any exercise in some months. They let me know we needed to take it easy for a few days. We were in no hurry, but we wanted to see what was down here a few days ride from the cliff we came out of. If we were going to live here, we needed to know if there were any dangers ahead of us.

The forest looked like any forest, and we came out on the far side later in the afternoon. The air was pleasantly cool. The bird songs were nothing unusual for a fairly dense forest. Once in the forest, our pace slowed as we took care to take the most direct way to the far side.

An hour after we left the forest, we saw a pond off to our right, and we rode over to let the horses drink. At the pace we were setting, they weren't all that thirsty, but no telling when we would find the next water. There was plenty of places for horses to drink on our way north. I saw no reason it would be different to the west.

When we approached the pond, and there was quite a bit of vegetation around it, A few ducks took to the air.

Startled by the motion, I hardly saw what they were before one fell out of the air.

I was sure who made the shot. Only one of our hunters, and we all were hunters, could make that shot. I couldn't imagine anyone making the shot as quickly as Sammy Boy made that one. I taught him to hunt. I had hunted with him, and he could bring down game before I saw the game. He had incredible instincts.

As quick as I saw the motion, he had shot it. I was one of the best hunters in Lone Wolf's clan, but I was never as good as Samuel. His instincts were unworldly. I was one of the best hunters in Lone Wolf's clan, and I never made a shot like that. I couldn't make that shot. Running Horse on his best day could make it.

"Look at the size of those ducks," Young Antelope declared as they flew up, up, and away.

No one else had his bow out. No one else tried to bring down one of the ducks. It was a big duck.

Not only was there game, but it was also big game, and everyone stood close to see the dead duck. I was too stunned to say anything. It might have been a big duck, but the shot was almost impossible.

"You see the size of this thing, Pop?" Samuel said, holding it up with the wings spread as far as he could get his arms to go.

"Do we take it with us, or cook it here? Haven't had duck in a while," Young Antelope said.

"It'll be dark before too much longer. We'll make camp here. There is fresh water and plenty of grass," Running Horse said. "We'll rest our riding muscles and have a good meal."

Samuel was already removing the feathers, and it would be ready for the fire by the time the fire was ready to cook it. There was nothing like fresh game, and I rarely had duck, but I remembered it was a tasty dish.

As Running Horse got the entire duck cooking over the fire, Big Joe rode back into camp and jumped off of Moses, after he rode further to the right, and returned ten minutes later.

"That smells wonderful." Joe said, as we made a place for us to eat. "I don't mean to minimize its size, but that shot Samuel made was as fine a bowshot as I have ever seen. I see men knock birds out of the sky with a bow, but not anything like we just saw Samuel do."

"I was going to mention it," Running Horse said. "Hadn't got my wits about me after seeing it. It was a fine shot Samuel, and your bird smells delicious. Can't wait."

We all agreed. It was a big duck, and as rich a flavor as you can get from over an open fire.

Big Bear summed it up for us, "Hell of a shot, Samuel."

"More pasture and a lake or some water off in the distance. There seems to be plenty of water out here," Joe calculated.

There was. We didn't need to touch our water skins since we left.

We settled in for a nice duck supper as we sat around the firepit and spoke of things we had seen. Mostly we talked about the ride, the birds, noises that indicated there were crickets and frogs where they should be.

So far, Underworld was a bigger version of Paradise Valley. Just the idea we could ride off for a day or two and not run into cliffs was just fine. I was fond of horseback riding, and I missed it, but by the time we rode, I would be happy to get off of Dobbin for a few days.

"Quite a shot, Sammy Boy. How did you get it almost as soon as it was in the air?" I asked a while later.

"Felt it first. I knew something was about to move, and I reached for my bow. There it was. I didn't aim. I reacted. Lucky shot,"

"The best hunters make many lucky shots," Running Horse said. "You are as fine a hunter as I've known."

"Good duck," Big Bear said.

We all agreed on that. It was flavorful and delicious. Not something we ate often.

Running Horse expected hunters to get game. Hunters expected to get game. He didn't speak of it often. It's what Pawnee hunters had done since forever. I'm sure Samuel felt good that Running Horse said what he did, because he didn't make many comments on the subject.

I remembered Lone Wolf giving me two Eagle's feathers for marksmanship. He never said a word. Those feathers said it all. They were among my most treasured possessions. They said that this is a hunter.

The horses rested and nibbled at the grass near the pond. The water in the pond was clear, and we left the water in our water skins when we found good water to drink. Our meat pouches had dried meat we brought with us, but we left the dried meat alone and ate the succulent duck. Fresh game pleased all of us.

I ate too much and thank goodness we didn't need to ride until morning. Our first meal on the road to discovery was good. We weren't leaving much for scavengers as we stuffed duck on top of the dried antelope and rabbit already in our food pouches. I had a feeling we might return with the dried meat still in our food pouches, although we might go back faster than we came out. We wanted to see all we could see, once we saw it, we could head straight home without more than a few stops.

Our first meal on the ride to discovery was one I would remember.

Once we mounted and resumed moving to the west, we spread out keeping some distance between us. We wanted to see everything that was out there, and if we spread out, we saw more of the land while we rode. If one of us saw something of interest, we could stop to investigate.

On to Chapter Twenty
"Westward Ho"
Back to Chapter Eighteen
"Down Below"
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