Time is a funny thing. I did useless time at the cabin in the valley where the river runs. When I went to get me my griz, time stood still. I can't tell you how long I spent freezing on that mountain before I got me my griz, but it took a while.

When I got one, I was so proud of myself. Somehow I was going to get that huge beast home, and I was going to drop him down in front of Paw. I knew what I was going to say.

"I'm a man, Paw. I got me a griz, and I am a man."

I don't know where the ideas boys get come from, but this idea was as clear to me as any ever was. There was a problem. I got me my griz, but this did not please the other griz, probably the first griz's mate. When he took to chasing me, I wasn't letting a griz eat me, he ran me right off of a cliff, when I had nowhere else to go.

My second life picked up where my first life left off. It had been there waiting for me for as long as I had been alive, but I had no way of knowing it. I was a kid raised in a certain way, but I was never that white boy going to the white school. I just wasn't. I did what I was told to do, because I knew no different. What does a child know when the people responsible for him lead him down a road he wouldn't willingly follow as an adult?

I went until I got me a Hawkin .50. That's when I started living a life I picked out for myself. The griz could have eaten me. I could have broken my neck when I fell off the cliff. Lit'l Fox could have decided it was too cold to go to the mountain to hunt. Those buffalo hunters could have killed us, before Lit'l Fox killed them.

I was lucky enough to reach my father's people. I was able to finish growing up in the Pawnee village. When you are living a life you aren't suited to, and then you find the life you truly want to have, you can't imagine how exciting that is. Not only did I have a life as a Pawnee boy, but I got a brother and a man I would love forever out of the deal. I found my way to, or was guided to, a life I could little imagine while living at the cabin in the valley where the river runs.

As the boy who finished growing up in that Pawnee village. I belonged there and I needed to learn what I learned by being there. Not everyone finds the place where they belong. Not everyone finds a place where they know they belong. Most people try to belong where they are, but I never tried. I knew who I was and the prophet or my Maw couldn't talk me out of it. I did what they told me until I decided to go prove that I was a man.

Time has no meaning in Popotu Valley. We do what needs doing, and then we do as we please. There are no rules telling us how to be. We know the right way to be. We do not hunt beyond our need to eat, and we share what we are lucky enough to bring back, always thanking the creature we hunted for giving up his life so that we might live good lives.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There were several warm springs in Popotu Valley, where we could go to soak and relax. One of these was in the brush and among the trees a few dozen feet behind our lodge. Sitting there in water that was warm but not hot, because directly behind our lodge and our warm spring were the towering mountains.

There wasn't anything we loved more than taking a soak after a day of riding, checking on villagers, and making sure meals would be prepared. The main firepit was where we gathered to speak of our lives and how they could be improved or set upon a smoother path than folks found themselves on.

We laughed, we sang, danced and enjoyed fresh food prepared by our best cooks. Samuel gave up his role as the clan's best and most reliable hunter. Big Bear's son, Stone Hand, stepped into the role after hunting with Samuel for the first couple of years in Popotu Valley. Most of the hunting went on the mesa where the monument stood watch over the valley below.

Three times a year we went on a buffalo hunt, and we once more enjoyed a steady diet of buffalo meat. We took deer, antelope, elk, and a moose or two as time went on, but once again our brother the buffalo fed us. Running Horse and I went on buffalo hunts, not that we rode into the herd and picked the buffalo we would take. I drove the wagon that would carry the meat back with us.

Joe took on the life of explorer and adventurer, once or twice a year he showed up in his raccoon hat, deerskin pants, and a variety of rabbit fur, squirrel, and other small critters that Joe ate along the way. It took a few furs to get it wrapped all the way around Big Joe. He wasted nothing.

Some days we saw him coming along the river, once he rounded the bend and came into sight. Moses walked along like a horse who didn't have a care in the world, and the big man sat astride him pretty as you please..

Joe looked liking like the mountain man he was always meant to be. He stopped at Sammy Boy's lodge, right below our lodge, and when Samuel came out to greet him, they hugged like long lost friends, and then Joe walked up to greet Running Horse and me.

"Mind if I sit a spell?"

Joe could sit for as long as he wanted. He took his riding rig off of Moses, patted his flank, and Moses ran off to reacquaint himself with horses he hadn't seen in six months to a year."

"Joe, would you like a cup?"

"Sounds mighty good, Phillip. I've had a hankering for a cup of your coffee for the last fifty miles or so."

Running Horse and Joe sat next to our fire as the coffee I poured steamed in the cups.

"Tell us what you saw on this trip, Joe."

"When I last left, Chief, I planned to go as far as I could ride. Maybe to mountains like yours. Maybe to a desert that was too dry to cross. I rode and I rode. I suppose a thousand miles. I came to a river. It was too fast and too wide to cross. Biggest damn river you ever saw. I stood above it no more than two feet. That river was going to overflow, and Lord knows how far out it would reach once it did. Don't takes long to look at a river, and I turned back, and I came home, Chief."

"A thousand miles?" Running Horse asked.

"Took one hundred and three days to mosey out there on Moses. Not a day we didn't do ten miles. Figure maybe a thousand and a little more before we reached the river. Passed a dozen thick forests, and plains full of grass. Ten buffalo herds between here and the river. There were other rivers to cross, lakes to soak in, and more game than I can tell you about. Most I recognized, some I didn't. This land is alive, Chief. It's alive."

Joe would stay a week, maybe two, and he would pick the direction he went off in, and he would go again.

One night, as we feasted on rabbit, and Joe was talking about what he had seen and where he had been, he paused like he did when he came to something he was chewing over in his head.

"In my second life, and my third life was after meeting Phillip the way we did, yes, Phillip and I are the only men I know who gots more than two lives, I'm working on number five, you know. One afternoon we was riding west. We went west a lot, and we heard guns a firing off in the distance. Sergeant Tooley slowed us down, and the lieutenant was having none of it, and he told Tooley to speed up. Tooley didn't speed up much, you understand." Joe told us.

"Never told anyone this, and it's my shame I didn't stop it myself, but Buffalo Soldiers weren't supposed to think or feel. They was supposed to follow orders and that was that. When we got closer there was an empty wagon. The canvas over top wasn't there. The shooting kept up, and we rode to where a nearby hill. That's where the shooting was," Joe said, drinking some coffee before speaking again.

"'Come with me, Joseph,' Sgt. Tooley told me."

"We crawled up the hill to the very top to see what those men were shooting down below them."

"Lt. Todd stayed with the company, telling Tooley to take a look see. I near about tossed up my breakfast. There were eight men, and their horses were back where the wagon was. That's how we knew there were eight, because two was hidden by some brush on that hill and we couldn't see them. They were buffalo hunters. What we saw when we crawled up that hill was a field filled with buffalo. Dead buffalo. I didn't know then, but I did ask Tooley, 'How is it they don't run away, Tooley? They can run and the buffalo hunters couldn't catch them.'"

"Won't run. You find a field full of buffalo, and you start on the outside with the buffalo closest to you, and you keep shooting the next buffalo on the edge of the herd, none of the buffalo will react. All the buffalo around them are dead, and they keep on grazing until it is their turn, Joseph," Joe said, getting quiet.

"It's a hard memory to have. One at a time, a buffalo's legs simply folded up under him. He was dead before he hit the ground. One at a time their legs folded up under one, and then the next, next, next, and I couldn't watch no more. I couldn't see for my tears. My insides took to aching. I never been that kind of sick before. It was something like when one of the slaves was strung up by his wrists and bullwhipped for sassing the overseer or for stealing food."

Joe drank some coffee, finding something in his cup to look at.

"Too ashamed to tell anyone I did that. I wanted to shoot those buffalo hunters. I suppose they killed five hundred buffalo in the time we came and went. I asked Tooley, 'Aren't we going to stop them?' This is what he said. 'Joseph, we is Buffalo Soldiers. We do what we is told, and we never get told to think about it. That's why we don't stop those butchers. They could kill the last buffalo, and they wouldn't so much as shrug. Their business is killing, and our business is following orders,' he said. Anyway, did my heart good to see all them buffalo between here and the river I could cross."

What do you say after you say that?

We did react. We all cried for the buffalo.

That was Joe's latest visit, and we never know when he'll show up, but there is always feasting and endless questions when he does. There are no trips to buy books, but Joe comes back with tales of a country too wide and beautiful to believe.

I have a yearning to see it all, and I would ride off with Joe, but the man I loved couldn't ride off, and so I didn't ride off, and that's why we were so delighted when Joe came home for a spell.

I only made it to four lives, and Joe is on his fifth, but I figure number five is the life he loves. He has a joy for the land he rides upon. In his first life, he couldn't leave the plantation. He never thought he would ride all over the country he was born in, and then, he would ride all over Underworld.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Samuel settled into a quiet life as husband to Echo, just before he gave up his hunting chores to Stone Hand. They hunted together for the first couple of years in Popotu Valley, once Young Antelope wanted to be with his own growing family and not leave them for days at a time.

As was true of many villages, Popotu Valley was a place where families could grow. There were fifty-one in Lone Wolf's clan after the massacre, and there were seventy-five, including Herb Woman, Angel, Samuel, Joe, and Riggs who were all part of Running Horse's clan when we retreated into Paradise Valley.

After a good evening meal when dishes came to our lodge, and meat was cooked at the firepit a few feet away, everyone enjoyed a pleasant evening meal. Once I got things back in order, once the evening meal was done, we took the river walk to aid the digestion and enhance our feeling of togetherness.

We often walked behind Riggs, Angel, Flaming Arrow, and Croaker both born since the move to Popotu Valley. Each of their children would have redder hair than the last, they hadn't stopped making babies yet, and alone they were responsible for a healthy new generation as we watched our village grow.

While Running Horse and I walked hand and hand behind Riggs and Angel, Riggs ended up carrying one or both of the boys by the time we reached the point where we turned around to walk back. Right behind us walked Samuel and Echo. They hadn't started building a family beyond the love the two of them shared, but there were rumors, and Sammy Boy was as happy as could be.

I was glad he didn't leave us. He was a fine man and a better husband. Considering where I found him, Samuel did a fine job of turning his life around. He was still a fine hunter, but he hunted for Echo and himself, and the extra meat they didn't cook after one of his hunting trips came to us to be shared.

He still spent much of his time with us when we stayed in the village, but when we rode out, going up the wider trail on to the mesa, we might be gone a few hours or a few days. There was no longer a need to stay close and be in touch at all times, so our rides could turn into something longer if we were in the mood to stretch our legs and ride toward the outer reaches of Underworld.

Life was good.

"Running Horse is quiet today," I told him as he built the firepit for our evening meal. "We have nothing to cook yet, which worries me, but we never went hungry before, and there's always game about."

"We will have plenty to eat. Have you starved yet? Is our pot not full each night?"

"If I got more food, we would need one of those bigger buffalo robes," I said.

"As I thought. We will have plenty of rabbit for the firepit. I've seen two at the corner of the forest. I only need to take one."

"Life is good," I told him. "You seem sad."

"Not sad. There is no one left on the surface to listen to the bird's songs. There is no one to ride over a ridge and watch wildflowers swaying in a soft summer breeze. Who will keep the water clear, and who will see to it the sky is full of pure clean air? You speak of the white man's villages with homes they pack full of useless stuff. You speak of air unfit to breathe. There are too many people who will not have an evening meal. Too many children who will not know love. Shouldn't we try to bring them to the Pawnee way? I love the valley where we were invited to stay. If we stayed on the surface, maybe we could bring people to the Pawnee way."

"You can't drag people to caring and sharing when they have no knowledge of such thing. They have big houses because filling it with useless stuff is what they do. They don't notice the horseshit in front of their houses, because they are distracted by the bobbles that surround them. They plant their own flowers in gardens they grow. Anything that grows wild is a nuisance too insignificant to get their attention. Europeans live ordered lives. They are told when to rise, when to sleep, and when to eat. The days are arranged around clocks that tell them what time it is."

"Maybe it's time for them to throw away useless things and learn to ride off in the setting sun. Maybe it is time to savor the meat in the pot at the end of the day, and not to worry so much about filling a house."

"They work each day so they can afford the things they fill their houses with. It's what white people do, Running Horse. They need to keep up with other people filling their houses with better stuff," I said.

"This work. What is this work they do? Does it benefit the village? Does this work make life better?"

"No, it makes life worse. You work to have money to buy stuff to fill the houses."

"Who gives them a way to buy what they put in their houses? Would not our lodge do? How much room can you use? We life fine, sleep well, and cook inside or outside. We watch the sunrise in the morning, and we see it set late in the day. What do you need to make this better? We are free and surrounded by the people who make our lives worth sharing the bounty we know, Tall Willow."

"Men own places where the people work. They produce the things people use. Things to fill their houses. Things they think are something other than a distraction between them and those who live around them."

"These men are good to give people so much. What do they get out of it?"

"Good isn't the word I would use. They let people do the work, they pay them, and when they sell whatever has been made, they get rich. It's the white way. Men who own businesses, hire people, pay them, and when all is said and done, they make the big money," I told him.

"What difference between big money and small money?"

"Small money is what is paid to workers. The owners make the big money. They make a lot of money, and with this money they buy and pay for politicians to let them keep more of their money, and they get rich."

"This rich so they can buy more to put in such big houses?"

"Greed is the strangler of hearts, Running Horse. When you have money and make more money, that becomes the biggest thing. They lose a sense of what their life is about. It becomes about getting richer. No heart can be filled with the meanness necessary to keep going after more and more and at the same time hold love and caring for anything in their lives. Everything is about getting richer and richer, getting more and more people to work harder to produce more while being paid less. The less you pay, the richer you get."

"Makes no sense. What does this richer and richer give them? If the people doing the work create what makes the rich man richer, why don't they demand some of the rich man's money? The rich man can't make the things workers make. If he could, he would, and he wouldn't pay anyone but himself."

"While that makes sense, it's not how it works. Workers work. Owners get rich. The power to buy the life they want. By buying and paying the right people, they keep on getting richer."

"I like my life. I work not for greedy men. I fill my pot with game I kill, and I can ride as far and for as long as I like, and I can be happy sleeping out under the stars if I can't make it home tonight. I don't have anything in my lodge that everyone else doesn't have. I don't need more, because life is good for me."

"I can tell you what white people do. I can't tell you why they do what they do. It seems to be how it has always been, and so it continues on and on, because that's the way it has always been."

I was happy when the questions stopped. I didn't understand it while I was involved in it. Luckily, when I lived as Phillip Dubois, I had a purpose and I was paid more than I could spend. I never hated what I did, although as a wrangler, the smell of cow shit got a little old, and that's why I took the job as guard on a wagon carrying gold to St Louis. Once in St Louis, I met Dan, and for years to come I worked as a surveyor and wagon master.

I didn't mind any of it if I had to be away from Running Horse, the life I led was fine. I did work for pay, and mostly I stayed away from people, until I rode back into Running Horse's life.

I suppose mine was a good life, all of my lives were good, once I went to kill me a griz to prove I was a man.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Who will see to it the water runs clear and the sky is full of fresh pure air?"

"You've got me there. I don't remember the water being all that clear, and the air, well, once you get past the smell, you have a thousand fires burning at once, and the smoke from the fires fill the air. Cities are filled with smells and smoke."

"Why so many fires? Why not one fire for everyone. If everyone ate together, just a single fire."

"Too many people. Each needs his own fire. Each fixes a meal for his clan. Few people fix the same meal or even like the same things. That's what freedom is. A thousand people cooking different food and living in separate big houses."

"Do they like rabbit? Deer? Everyone likes rabbit and deer. You say, 'It cooked. You eat now.' It isn't that hard. You don't need a thousand fires. One place to clean up, and everyone gets fed."

I laughed.

"You don't understand how they think. Freedom is having the right not to eat rabbit or deer," I said.

"Bad, this freedom they claim to have. I have freedom to ride out into the setting son. I have freedom to sleep on a grassy hill, watch the sun shine, and birds flying across sky. Freedom to be among my brothers, or freedom to be alone if I like."

"You better not like that too often, Buster."

"Who this Buster? I am Running Horse."

"Yes, you are, and you are still the most beautiful Indian I have ever seen."

This always slowed him down. Sometimes I was aware that we weren't speaking the same language. How could a Pawnee chief make sense of a world that ran on time. Pawnee had no idea there were hours in a day.

The easy days and nights of tribal people made their lives fairly simple. They knew where they would eat that evening, and where they would put their heads down at night. If they moved, they would move together, and when they stopped, they had come to where it was they were going.

It was Samuel who came to brighten our day, even when he usually wanted to go somewhere or do something with free time on his hand. Echo was with child and sometimes she needed to be alone and not watched over every minute of the day.

"Sammy Boy," I said. "How are you this fine day?"

Samuel had a blanket in his arm covering something small.

"Have you brought us meat for the firepit, Hawkeye?" Running Horse asked.

"I brought someone for you to meet, Pop. I want you to meet Lit'l Fox. Lit'l Fox, meet my Pop."

"Oh my," I said, as he moved the blanket to show us the most beautiful baby ever.

"Let me see," Running Horse said.

Samuel turned to show Running Horse.

"I asked Echo if we could name him Lit'l Fox, after my father's brother. She said, 'Oh Yes, that is a lovely name. He'll always be cunning and wise as a fox is.'"

"He's beautiful, Samuel," I said. "That was nice of you. Lit'l Fox would be pleased. Give Echo our love."

Once Sammy Boy left, not daring to keep the baby away from his mother any longer, the day was nice indeed.

"Having a Lit'l Fox in my clan again is nice. Samuel certainly loves you, Tall Willow. You have earned such loyal friends, John, Samuel, Joe, and they all love you. You have lived a good life. Here we are, in spite of it all, we are still here," Running Horse said.

The End of We Are Still Here, book 5 of 5, Indian Chronicles.

Epilogue

On December 15, 1890, about the time a baby called Lit'l Fox got himself born, the Indian police at Standing Rock prison camp were sent to arrest Chief Sitting Bull. His fourteen year old sun, Crow Foot, was incensed that they would dare to arrest the greatest war chief on the plains. Both Sitting Bull and his son were shot and killed

Two weeks after Sitting Bull's death, three hundred old men, old woman, and women with children broke out of Standing Rock to go to Pine Ridge to the south. When the 7th cavalry caught up with them, they were forced into a valley with the 7th Cavalry surrounding them on the high ground. A storm with freezing rain and snow kept the cavalry from escorting the Lakota to Pine Ridge until the following morning.

In the morning, troops were sent to disarm the Indians of what few pistols and old rifles they had kept hidden in other searches. A shot rang out and all hell broke loose. Shooting down into the Indians below them, soldiers kept on firing, and when anyone moved, more shooting rained down, until most of the Indians were dead with many woman and children riddled with bullets.

A hole was dug in the frozen ground, and they dumped in all the dead Indians. The Indians that survived were taken to Pine Ridge.

When General Nelson A. Miles, regional commander went to Wounded Knee, he called it a needless massacre that could have been avoided. He relieved the man in charge at Wounded Knee. He was later returned to duty by a board of inquiry. There was no punishment for killing Indians.

In 1636, the Pilgrims who lived in Plymouth attacked the Pequot village and did their best to wipe them out. In 1890, after a trail of broken promises and treaties, the Indian Wars came to an end at wounded Knee.

The indigenous people would roam free no more. They were imprisoned and out of the way of progress.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

To my indigenous brothers and sisters:

Pardon anything I've written that does not honor you as a great people who once cared for the earth and everything on it.

Peace & Love,

Rick Beck

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