Sittin' 'round the campfire
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blacklab101
- Veteran
- Posts: 135
- Joined: Mon Oct 15, 2001 12:01 am
- Location: COLUMBIA , MS
Sittin' 'round the campfire
dang Wingman, did you get that out of a Louis L'amour book? That's some pretty good writing, I'm still waiting for the next page!
Sittin' 'round the campfire
All right y'all...put your thinkin' caps on and come up with some creative stories. Here's mine, all characters are fictitous, of course. In no way do I hold anything against the Crow [img]images/smiles/icon_smile.gif[/img] or the whites-except for Custer..I'da scalped him myself if I'da been there. [EDIT] Head in the Clouds was a real man, but I am using his name in a make-believe setting here.
...Kicking Pony honed the edge of his hatchet
against the sharpening rock. Two Feathers finished
fletching his last arrow and placed it into his quiver.
The autumn breeze was making it's way through the river
valley these days. The coolness in the air was a
welcome relief; summer had been an extremely hot one
and the tribe had suffered from it. The grasses had
dried up across the plains, and the buffalo had moved
on in search of fresh grazing land. Kicking Pony's
middle daughter and Two Feather's eldest son had died
this summer, but not because of the heat. Head in the
Clouds' youngest son had died of smallpox..something
his people had not had to worry about before the wagon
trains came. But there was nothing they could do about
it now; there was no way to stop the white man.
The white man...who could explain his behavior?
They rode in to Lakhota territory, land that had been
Head in the Clouds' people's land for hundreds of
years, and took whatever they wanted. The whites
killed buffalo for their hides, but left the meat to
ruin. The whites cut down hundreds of aspen in a day,
to make houses and stores and barns. Structures that
would be forgotten after two or three moons because the
whites would move on to take other Indian land. But
the Lakhota would cut only a few aspen for each tipi,
and these few trees would last years. The Lakhota
killed only what they needed, and they used every bone,
every hair, every sinew.
The Sioux people did not waste; especially the
Lakhota Sioux. They were a proud people, people who
loved the land, loved their neighbors and they loved
Wakan Tanka. They loved most of their neighbors,
anyway, all except the whites and the Crow. The whites
and the Crow had the same mind, just different skin.
The Lakhota knew that change was coming. Just as
the summer ended and autumn blew in overnight, so would
their way of life change. Yes, the cool autumn wind
felt good for now, but soon the winter would come. The
blizzards would come, the rivers would freeze and
hunting would be difficult. Just like the white man,
the snow would cover everything. Unannounced,
unwelcome and uninvited, the snow and the white man
would come. But right now, it was autumn, and tomorrow,
Two Feathers would count coup on his eldest son's
killers.
Kicking Pony was going with him, so were Red Deer,
Crow Dog and a dozen more Lakhota. They were going to
ride up the river and meet up with some of the White
Mountain Sioux, about sixty in all. From the White
Mountain's camp, they would head west to the canyon,
then north into Crow territory. Then it would
happen....some of them would not come back. Some of
the Crow would not see another moon. But the Crow had
brought it upon themselves.
Back in the summer, about the time of the Moon of
the Cherries Ripening, some Crow had wandered upon Two
Feathers' son and Kicking Pony's daughter in the meadow
below the bend in the river. A party of women had gone
down to the river to wash, some had gone to gather
berries and some to gather firewood. Black Eagle is
the one who found them. She couldn't talk for two days
due to shock. The men brought the bodies back and put
them in the sacred place. Head in the Clouds called a
meeting of the elders, but before long, all of the men
were called into his tipi while the women waited
anxiously outside.
The two youth had slipped off together, which was
against their parents' wishes. Apparantly the worst had
happened; the Crow had ambushed them in the meadow.
They filled Long Knives' belly with arrows, and had
their way with Willow Flower. The youth were helpless
against a raiding party of Crow and the Crow were known
to be merciless.
But now, it was time to find those who were
responsible. Innocent would die, but so would the
guilty. Head in the Clouds knew that attacking the
Crow would only bring more trouble in the long run, but
he also knew that if they did nothing, the Crow would
be back just as well. If the Crow thought the Lakhota
were afraid, then the next time might be worse. So this
is the way it had to be. Between the Crow and the
whites, the Sioux were becoming a less peaceful people
and a more angry one. But they had every right to be
angry...after all, this was Sioux land.
Kicking Pony honed the edge of his hatchet against
the sharpening rock. Two Feathers finished fletching
his last arrow and placed it into his quiver. The
autumn breeze was making its way through the river
valley these days.....
Wingman
ISAIAH 40:31
[ May 03, 2002: Message edited by: Wingman ]
...Kicking Pony honed the edge of his hatchet
against the sharpening rock. Two Feathers finished
fletching his last arrow and placed it into his quiver.
The autumn breeze was making it's way through the river
valley these days. The coolness in the air was a
welcome relief; summer had been an extremely hot one
and the tribe had suffered from it. The grasses had
dried up across the plains, and the buffalo had moved
on in search of fresh grazing land. Kicking Pony's
middle daughter and Two Feather's eldest son had died
this summer, but not because of the heat. Head in the
Clouds' youngest son had died of smallpox..something
his people had not had to worry about before the wagon
trains came. But there was nothing they could do about
it now; there was no way to stop the white man.
The white man...who could explain his behavior?
They rode in to Lakhota territory, land that had been
Head in the Clouds' people's land for hundreds of
years, and took whatever they wanted. The whites
killed buffalo for their hides, but left the meat to
ruin. The whites cut down hundreds of aspen in a day,
to make houses and stores and barns. Structures that
would be forgotten after two or three moons because the
whites would move on to take other Indian land. But
the Lakhota would cut only a few aspen for each tipi,
and these few trees would last years. The Lakhota
killed only what they needed, and they used every bone,
every hair, every sinew.
The Sioux people did not waste; especially the
Lakhota Sioux. They were a proud people, people who
loved the land, loved their neighbors and they loved
Wakan Tanka. They loved most of their neighbors,
anyway, all except the whites and the Crow. The whites
and the Crow had the same mind, just different skin.
The Lakhota knew that change was coming. Just as
the summer ended and autumn blew in overnight, so would
their way of life change. Yes, the cool autumn wind
felt good for now, but soon the winter would come. The
blizzards would come, the rivers would freeze and
hunting would be difficult. Just like the white man,
the snow would cover everything. Unannounced,
unwelcome and uninvited, the snow and the white man
would come. But right now, it was autumn, and tomorrow,
Two Feathers would count coup on his eldest son's
killers.
Kicking Pony was going with him, so were Red Deer,
Crow Dog and a dozen more Lakhota. They were going to
ride up the river and meet up with some of the White
Mountain Sioux, about sixty in all. From the White
Mountain's camp, they would head west to the canyon,
then north into Crow territory. Then it would
happen....some of them would not come back. Some of
the Crow would not see another moon. But the Crow had
brought it upon themselves.
Back in the summer, about the time of the Moon of
the Cherries Ripening, some Crow had wandered upon Two
Feathers' son and Kicking Pony's daughter in the meadow
below the bend in the river. A party of women had gone
down to the river to wash, some had gone to gather
berries and some to gather firewood. Black Eagle is
the one who found them. She couldn't talk for two days
due to shock. The men brought the bodies back and put
them in the sacred place. Head in the Clouds called a
meeting of the elders, but before long, all of the men
were called into his tipi while the women waited
anxiously outside.
The two youth had slipped off together, which was
against their parents' wishes. Apparantly the worst had
happened; the Crow had ambushed them in the meadow.
They filled Long Knives' belly with arrows, and had
their way with Willow Flower. The youth were helpless
against a raiding party of Crow and the Crow were known
to be merciless.
But now, it was time to find those who were
responsible. Innocent would die, but so would the
guilty. Head in the Clouds knew that attacking the
Crow would only bring more trouble in the long run, but
he also knew that if they did nothing, the Crow would
be back just as well. If the Crow thought the Lakhota
were afraid, then the next time might be worse. So this
is the way it had to be. Between the Crow and the
whites, the Sioux were becoming a less peaceful people
and a more angry one. But they had every right to be
angry...after all, this was Sioux land.
Kicking Pony honed the edge of his hatchet against
the sharpening rock. Two Feathers finished fletching
his last arrow and placed it into his quiver. The
autumn breeze was making its way through the river
valley these days.....
Wingman
ISAIAH 40:31
[ May 03, 2002: Message edited by: Wingman ]
Sittin' 'round the campfire
...If only life was as simple as the river. Kicking Pony and Two Feathers sat alone atop the grassy bluff overlooking it. Far to the north, they could see the snow-capped peaks where the Crow land began. The mountains were so far away, that they were blue. They studied the river valley below for the route that would provide the easiest travel, but all the while concealing their position from any would be enemy scouts. Two Feathers was one of the bravest warriors in his tribe, and Kicking Pony knew it. But Kicking Pony was more level-headed and tended to think things through when Two Feathers did not. The two worked well together, and it would take both of their wits to plan a successful attack against the Crow.
Kicking Pony drifted off into a daydream of his little Willow Flower. He rememberd how tiny she was on the day she was born. He could see so clearly the time she first speared a fish in the river..oh how proud she was to help with the catch. Her hair was long and silky, and it shined when the sunlight hit it at just the right angle. Her eyes were like pools of water from the glacial lakes up in the mountains...when he looked into them he could see forever. Willow Flower reminded Kicking Pony of his wife; she laughed like Black Eagle laughed. She smiled like Black Eagle smiled, she had Black Eagle's beautiful face. Willow Flower meant the world to Kicking Pony, and he couldn't bear the thought of living without her. He didn't know what would be worse, to live without Willow Flower or to live without Black Eagle. But he still had Black Eagle.
She was a good woman, always busy around the camp and always ready with an encouraging word when Kicking Pony was down. Since the tragedy, Black Eagle had changed, she would hardly eat, she didn't smile anymore and she didn't laugh anymore. It was as if the Crow had taken Kicking Pony's daughter and his wife. Kicking Pony burned with anger against the Crow...he would bury his hatchet deep into the skull of the first Crow brave he came across, then another and another and......
....Two Feathers tapped Kicking Pony on the shoulder and motioned for him to lie down quickly. Kicking Pony immediately put his belly to the earth, and looked into Two Feathers' eyes. Two Feathers nodded and looked out across the bluff. Down below a horse and rider emerged from the cottonwoods on the river bank and entered the shallow water. It was a white man. The horse was a soldier horse, but the man was not dressed in soldier clothes. He wore buckskin pants and a cloth shirt. His beard was long and unkempt, and the receiver of his rifle glinted in the mid-morning sun. The two Sioux watched as the pair below made their way across the river and up the opposite bank, disappearing into the cottonwoods on the far side. Not to be distracted from their original plan, the two Sioux backed slowly down the bluff and rejoined their comrades, waiting in the shade of a large willow at the base of the bluff. The others had seen the white man too, but they all knew it was pointless to attack one lone, white man. So they let him be.
The plan was to follow the river north, to the mountains from which it came. Then Crow Dog and Red Deer would go with the White Mountain Sioux to the east, flanking the Crow camp that lay just across the first ridge. There was a pass about five miles to the east of where the river came down out of the mountains. Crow Dog's men would cross through that pass, and descend into the valley where the Crow were camped. Red Deer would take his men and cover the entrance to the pass, preventing any Crow out on hunting parties from coming in behind Crow Dog.
Two Feathers and Kicking Pony, with the remaining Lakhota, would take the river valley straight north into the mountains. That would cover the southern entrance to the valley; there was no way in or out from the west. The mountains rose high above the valley on the west, only grey granite and spotted spruce occupied that side of the Crow camp. To the north of the Crow camp, the river valley rose into the mountains, until it reached the lake where the river was born. Kicking Pony and Two Feathers would head the main attack, taking the Crow by surprise ,if all went well. Once the attack had begun, Crow Dog would rip through the enemy camp with the help of the White Mountain Sioux. They would surround the Crow just like they surrounded the tutanka in the bluffs along the river back home. To use the terrain against your prey, or enemies, was to use your head. Red Deer would guard the pass against any Crow not in the camp; his job was of utmost importance. If any Crow got through the pass from the east, the situation would be reversed and the Sioux would lose the upper hand.
So they climbed up on their horses and made like ghosts through the timber on the river bank. It would take a day and a half of good riding to reach the mountains. Kicking Pony did not see the white man anymore. Maybe he was heading west into the mountains to trap beaver, but he was of no concern to the Sioux at this point. Was there such a thing as a good white man? Was there such a thing as a good Crow? Kicking Pony did not have an answer to either question. He sat there in silence on his pony, letting the wind blow through his hair and dodging the occasional low hanging cottonwood limb. If only life was as simple as the river....
Wingman
ISAIAH 40:31
Kicking Pony drifted off into a daydream of his little Willow Flower. He rememberd how tiny she was on the day she was born. He could see so clearly the time she first speared a fish in the river..oh how proud she was to help with the catch. Her hair was long and silky, and it shined when the sunlight hit it at just the right angle. Her eyes were like pools of water from the glacial lakes up in the mountains...when he looked into them he could see forever. Willow Flower reminded Kicking Pony of his wife; she laughed like Black Eagle laughed. She smiled like Black Eagle smiled, she had Black Eagle's beautiful face. Willow Flower meant the world to Kicking Pony, and he couldn't bear the thought of living without her. He didn't know what would be worse, to live without Willow Flower or to live without Black Eagle. But he still had Black Eagle.
She was a good woman, always busy around the camp and always ready with an encouraging word when Kicking Pony was down. Since the tragedy, Black Eagle had changed, she would hardly eat, she didn't smile anymore and she didn't laugh anymore. It was as if the Crow had taken Kicking Pony's daughter and his wife. Kicking Pony burned with anger against the Crow...he would bury his hatchet deep into the skull of the first Crow brave he came across, then another and another and......
....Two Feathers tapped Kicking Pony on the shoulder and motioned for him to lie down quickly. Kicking Pony immediately put his belly to the earth, and looked into Two Feathers' eyes. Two Feathers nodded and looked out across the bluff. Down below a horse and rider emerged from the cottonwoods on the river bank and entered the shallow water. It was a white man. The horse was a soldier horse, but the man was not dressed in soldier clothes. He wore buckskin pants and a cloth shirt. His beard was long and unkempt, and the receiver of his rifle glinted in the mid-morning sun. The two Sioux watched as the pair below made their way across the river and up the opposite bank, disappearing into the cottonwoods on the far side. Not to be distracted from their original plan, the two Sioux backed slowly down the bluff and rejoined their comrades, waiting in the shade of a large willow at the base of the bluff. The others had seen the white man too, but they all knew it was pointless to attack one lone, white man. So they let him be.
The plan was to follow the river north, to the mountains from which it came. Then Crow Dog and Red Deer would go with the White Mountain Sioux to the east, flanking the Crow camp that lay just across the first ridge. There was a pass about five miles to the east of where the river came down out of the mountains. Crow Dog's men would cross through that pass, and descend into the valley where the Crow were camped. Red Deer would take his men and cover the entrance to the pass, preventing any Crow out on hunting parties from coming in behind Crow Dog.
Two Feathers and Kicking Pony, with the remaining Lakhota, would take the river valley straight north into the mountains. That would cover the southern entrance to the valley; there was no way in or out from the west. The mountains rose high above the valley on the west, only grey granite and spotted spruce occupied that side of the Crow camp. To the north of the Crow camp, the river valley rose into the mountains, until it reached the lake where the river was born. Kicking Pony and Two Feathers would head the main attack, taking the Crow by surprise ,if all went well. Once the attack had begun, Crow Dog would rip through the enemy camp with the help of the White Mountain Sioux. They would surround the Crow just like they surrounded the tutanka in the bluffs along the river back home. To use the terrain against your prey, or enemies, was to use your head. Red Deer would guard the pass against any Crow not in the camp; his job was of utmost importance. If any Crow got through the pass from the east, the situation would be reversed and the Sioux would lose the upper hand.
So they climbed up on their horses and made like ghosts through the timber on the river bank. It would take a day and a half of good riding to reach the mountains. Kicking Pony did not see the white man anymore. Maybe he was heading west into the mountains to trap beaver, but he was of no concern to the Sioux at this point. Was there such a thing as a good white man? Was there such a thing as a good Crow? Kicking Pony did not have an answer to either question. He sat there in silence on his pony, letting the wind blow through his hair and dodging the occasional low hanging cottonwood limb. If only life was as simple as the river....
Wingman
ISAIAH 40:31
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Doc & Nash
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Sittin' 'round the campfire
you lookin for a book deal?
Sittin' 'round the campfire
Nah, just getting rid of some brain farts.
Wingman
ISAIAH 40:31
Wingman
ISAIAH 40:31
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