Forgive me, for I have sinned. I’ve done bad. How will I be able to live with myself?
***
Today, I begin my journey. I’m sick of America. The preset cultural and economic standards and the social hierarchy disgust me. I want to escape, head deep into the heartland. Where to exactly? Who knows. I’m leaving my wife and eldest son to go to Chicago and then somewhere even more West. I’m leaving the outskirts of Philadelphia for the outskirts of the plains.
***
A sense of nervousness has encompassed my body. I just left Chicago. Montana beckons. Just recently, my friend in Chicago told me that gold has been discovered in the foothills of South Dakota. I guess I can try to strike it rich when I’m there…
Note- to self- riding a horse for 2 thousand miles HURTS. I’m running low on food. I hope we reach the Black Hills soon. And I hope that the Indians will give me some…
***
I arrived at the camp only to be greeted by ten Indians with rifles pointing down my throat. The chief wore a headdress of a thousand feathers and beaded jewelry hung from his lithe body. The chief (the only one who spoke English) began interrogating me. “Where are you from and what do you want with our people?” he asked. I could tell that they’ve experienced Americans before…
“I have no ill intentions. I came west to escape America. I realized my people have hurt you and I am not like them. I come in peace.”
“I do not believe you,” the leader replied. “You will betray us. Leave, before we kill you.” I reached into my saddlebag and took out my engraved hunting knife, my most precious possession.
“I have a gift for you. Here, is my token of peace. Please accept it.” The Indians huddled and whispered intently. I knew my fate was in the hands of these Indians. The leader walked towards me and stuck out his hand awkwardly. I reached out and shook it.
“You can build on the bounds of our camp and until your house is done you can use one of our teepees,” the leader relayed. “I am Leaping Stallion.” He motioned to one of the women in the distance. “That is my wife, she will tend to you.”
“Thank you Leaping Stallion. I am George Calloway,” I responded. I was so relieved.
***
“George, why do the Americans need gold?” Leaping Stallion questioned as we sat around the fire smoking peyote.
“I really don’t know,” I responded. “It does not make any sense to me. When are the Americans due to arrive?” I asked. Leaping Stallion’s messenger arrived earlier with news that a large group of maybe a hundred settlers are coming towards the Lakota’s sacred land.
“In about one week’s time,” he replied. He took of his headdress and exhaled smoke upward. The wind caught it and carried it off into the crisp night sky. “Who’s side are you going to take?”
I inhaled deeply and let the smoke escape slowly through my nostrils. “This is a difficult question, my brother. You have graciously allowed me to live amongst your tribe. I have grown affectionate towards your people. This is rightfully your land. It is only right if I fight for you.”
“Thank you, my brother.” He looked into my eyes tenderly. I looked away; the smoke stung my eyes.
***
I put on my jacket, grabbed my gun and joined Leaping Stallion and the others at the entrance of the camp. I looked out in the distance and I could see the group approaching on horseback and in wagons. I looked up; the sky was gray. I’ve never been a religious man, but God is angry. I can tell that much.
The settlers arrived. Their leader approached our group. He walked towards us in a condescending manner. He took his hat off and calmly said, “Please vacate your land or we will forcibly take it from you.”
Leaping Stallion responded immediately, “What right do you have to this land? My people have made this land their home for hundreds of years. Why can you come and pry this land from us?”
“I have the express permission of President Arthur to settle this land,” he said coolly. “I have authorization to use force if necessary.”
“You will not have this land until I am dead and forgotten,” Leaping Stallion said angrily. He fired into the group of settlers. The sound of gunshots was all consuming. Everybody with a gun cocked, shot and repeated. I saw some of their men go down and some of ours go down as well. I hid behind a group of boulders and sniped the settlers from my position. Then, I stopped. I saw who was firing at me. Standing behind a tree was my son. I knew that if I stopped fighting, the Indians would perish, one by one, but I needed to see my son.
I laid down my rifle. I sat behind the rock and waited. Leaping Stallion looked over at me and I saw the tears welling in his eyes. I couldn’t stop looking at his disappointing face even as a bullet ripped through it. I hung my head down and wiped the tears from my salt and pepper beard. I waited until the gunshots stopped. It seemed like infinity.
Forgive me, for I have sinned. I’ve done bad. How will I be able to live with myself?
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