Читать книгу Hillcountry Warriors - Johnny Neil Smith - Страница 12

Lott and Jake decided to travel with mister Mccorkle to Jackson, the state capital of Mississippi, to purchase the supplies needed for life in the Choctaw lands. With winter coming, they felt it would be better to remain in Jackson until spring which would give them several months to prepare for their return to the wilderness. They would have the long summer to build a house and begin limited cultivation before the cold weather arrived.

One obstacle blocked their return. The state government did not want settlers in the area until the Choctaws were removed. This had been planed for the coming summer. Already there was a rendezvous point in the southern part of Newton County where the Indians were beginning to gather. Some Choctaws were still undecided about remaining on their tribal lands. If they did, they would have to adopt the ways of the white man. Worst still, they would have to adjust to living on a small area of land instead of being able to freely roam over thousands of acres of woodland.

When it seemed the Wilsons would have to spend an extended amount of time in Jackson before they could finally return, Mister McCorkle brought them some unexpected news.

Trudging down the muddy street, Mister Mac spotted Lott and Jake sitting out on the front porch of the hotel casually observing a group of children playing on the steps.

“Boys, I’ve got some good news for ya. I got a legal way for you two to get the land you want and to make a little extra. You want to hear about it?” Mister Mac said, as he settled in a chair and filled his pipe with tobacco.

“We sure do want to hear about it, Mister Mac. I’ll be damned if I want to spend another winter here in Jackson. All we do is sit around this flea-bitten shack of a hotel, and Lott won’t give me no money to spend. There is women and plenty of liquor here for the taking but what do I do? Sit and look, and when I get tired of that, Lott tells me to keep on sittin’ and lookin’. I just can’t take it much longer,” answered Jake.

“Jake, just shut up yore complainin. Go on, Mister Mac.”

Their former boss leaned back in his chair and put his arm on Lott’s shoulder. “All right boys, here it is. I’ve got ya the land you wanted and here’s your job. When spring comes, you two go back into the Choctaw lands. There ain’t supposed to be settlers in there for a while. If you find them, run them off. If that fails, report them to the county authorities.”

“Where will they be?” questioned Lott.

“They’ll be located in a camp about seven miles west of your place. Also, when people start comin’ in there, they’s to see you two first. We don’t want no fussin’ and killin’ over land lines. The place is going to be rough enough like it is. There ain’t going to be much law out there for a while,” continued Mister Mac.

“When can we leave? Jake and I can handle it and we know the area better’n anyone,” Lott said, slapping Jake on the back.

“That’s left up to you boys, but you need to get on in there before we have some squatters sittin’ on someone else’s land. Spring will be soon enough.”

“What about Frank? Did he get the piece he wanted?” questioned Jake.

“Well, from what I understand, he wanted some bottom land below your place. The problem is some Choctaws have already taken claim to the place. Can’t say if’n Frank got any land at all. Lott, you boys watch Frank, that is, if’n you ever see him again. I just don’t trust him,” warned Mister Mac.

“I don’t see how them Choctaws is going to make it. We going to tell them that they has to live on a piece of land only one mile square and provide for themselves when they is used to roamin’ and huntin’ and doin’ a little bit of gardenin. I don’t think so. It just ain’t going to work,” Lott said.

Lott and Jake reached their hillcountry on the 26th of March, 1833. For the past two days, they had driven their wagon through torrential rainstorms, some of the worst they had ever seen. They had lost two weeks by having to wait for streams to subside before safe crossings could be made. But finally, they reached the old surveying camp which would now be their new home. They wasted no time constructing a house, because soon the cold winter winds would be upon them.

“Lott, why do I always have to get in the hole to saw, and why can’t we just make us a simple log hut to live in?” complained Jake.

“Well, little brother, we’re going to build us a house that’s going to be here a long time. Maybe our grandchildren will be livin’ here some day, and you’re in the sawin’ pit cause you are the strongest,” replied Lott.

“Damn you. I’ll bet you want a real floor instead of dirt,” answered Jake, as he pulled the saw blade down through the massive log above his head, almost jerking Lott from his position on the top side of the big timber.

“Most folks is satisfied with just a one-room hut, and that would suit me fine too,” continued Jake.

Being frustrated with Jake, Lott sat down and decided to address Jake’s habitual use of profanity. “Jake, why do you always use them words? It’s ‘damn this’ and ‘hell that’ and everybody you don’t like is a ‘son of a bitch’. Mamma never let us talk that way ‘round her, and the church don’t go for it either.”

Jake bounded out of the pit and sat down on the ground below Lott and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Well, Mister Brother, I don’t call ‘damns’ and ‘hells’ and ‘sons of bitches’ as cussing. Has you ever heard me call the Lord’s name in vain? No, you never has. I been to church lots of times in my life, and I do believe in God. And, by the way, saying them words makes me feel better. I can release my tensions, and that keeps my temper down, and when I keep my temper down, I don’t get in fights,” concluded Jake.

Lott had no reply. It was obvious Jake had got the best of him.

Jake began to laugh as he realized his brother was at last speechless and jumped back down into the saw pit, “Hell, Lott, let’s get back to work and build this mansion of yores, and about this house for our grandchildren, I ain’t seen no women around here to start foolin’ ‘round with. What about you, preacher Wilson, you seen any women lately?”

“Jake, just shut up and work. I don’t want to talk to ya for a few days. You make me so mad I could cuss and I don’t ever cuss,” replied Lott, as he shoved the saw blade down through the log toward Jake as hard as he could.

Between working on the house, cutting firewood for the winter, and starting a good size garden, the Wilson boys had little time to venture out into the adjoining property. Only on Sunday afternoons did they take time to saddle their horses and explore the countryside. They tried to stay out of the way of the Choctaws. There was a large village about a mile south of the southern boundary of their property called Bissa Aisha [Blackberry Place]. Jake still remembered how the Choctaws looked at him when their crew had traveled through before. Lott could not entice him to visit and maybe do some trading. Jake still remembered how that Indian had almost scared him to death.

One good thing about the summer of 1833 was that it gave Lott and Jake time with one another, and they became more than brothers, they became friends. They learned to accept the parts of each other’s personality and character that had previously caused conflict between them.

“Lott, when we going to stop this housebuildin^, and try to find sump’n fun to do. I’m tired of sawin’ and working” Jake said, as he finished nailing the last of the white oak shingles on the roof.

“You right Jake, and I’m tired too. We’ve worked like dogs for the past five months and I’m about burned out. We fixin’ to slow it down, little brother.”

“Praise the Lord and get out the Good Book. I can’t believe you’s becomin’ a human,” shouted Jake, as he slid off the roof and landed on the ground with a thud.

“I”m going to go get the brew, Lott. We going to celebrate and I does mean have a party,” exclaimed Jake, as he ran down the trail leading to the spring.

“When did you have time to make brew, Jake? What did ya make it out of?” shouted Lott, trying to get Jake’s attention before he was out of hearing range.

Down in the woods, Lott could barely hear Jake’s reply, “Corn! Brother, corn! Ain’t you missed some from our patch? I’m puttin’ it to good use.”

Tired, but now relaxed, Lott and Jake sat down under one of the large oaks growing in front of the new house, sipping brew and admiring their work. It was an unusual sight to see such a fine cabin in the middle of a wilderness with not a single white settler except for them in the area. The house had three rooms down the left side. The first two were bedrooms and the last was a kitchen with an adjoining well where water could be easily drawn. Across an open hall were two more rooms Lott planned to rent out to travelers.

“Jake, it ain’t bad lookin’ is it? I wish Mamma could see it. She’d be proud of us, wouldn’t she?”

“Yeah, she sure would,” replied Jake, as he guzzled the home brew. “Lott, I’m as hot as a tater in hell. I’m goin’ to the creek to take a swim and cool off a little. You want to go?”

“Naw, f m going to stay here and start some plans on a barn. You go on,” replied Lott.

“Barn! Damn a barn! I thought we was through workin’. You just lied to me, Lott,” stormed Jake. “To hell with you and that barn. You build it yoreself. I ain’t workin’ no more and that’s it,” shouted Jake, stomping and fuming as he headed toward the creek.

“I don’t mean now, Jake. We’ll work on it durin’ the winter. Okay?” shouted Lott, trying to get his brother’s attention.

Jake, ignoring his brother’s attempt to reconcile their differences, made his way through the woods toward the creek stopping often to tip the jug. The further he walked, the dizzier he became. When he had almost reached the creek, weary and a lot drunk, he sat down to catch his breathe.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, floated sounds of women talking, laughing, and squealing.

Jake being drunk and confused, thought that his “spirits” were working on his mind.

“Hell, this stuff must be killin’ me,” he mumbled.

But the sounds continued and they were coming from the direction of the creek.

“I’m going to go down there and see what’s going on, and if’n I am crazy, I’m just crazy,” Jake said, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t hallucinating.

He dropped to his knees and crawled across the soft, leaf-covered ground as quietly as a bobcat stalking its prey, still dragging his precious jug of spirits behind him. Finally reaching the high creek bank above his favorite swimming hole, he peered down on a scene he thought must have been heaven sent.

There were four beautiful Choctaw women swimming and playing in the stream and enjoying every moment as they splashed the cold creek water on each other. They wore no clothing, at least from their waists up.

Jake lay still, admiring the group, especially one of them. She resembled the others, but her complexion was lighter and she appeared to be taller.

“Damn! This is sump’n,” thought Jake. “I can’t believe what my pore eyes are seein’. I wish they would get out of the water so I can get a better look. Damn, this is sump’n.”

As the afternoon passed, the women seemed to be in no hurry and Jake became impatient.

“Well, if they ain’t gettin’ out, then I’ll just route them out,” reasoned Jake. “I’m going to strip down, take a few more swigs of brew to get my conf’dence up, and I’m going to leap off this high bank and splash them out of there. All f m going to see is women’s butts runnin’ up that creek banks on the other side.”

Jake quietly stripped off his clothes, took several big gulps and lay his jug on the ground. He then backed off to get a running start. With one giant leap he was on his way through the air and headed directly toward the middle of the Indian women. When Jake hit the water, it sounded like a huge boulder striking, a sound so loud it could be heard all through the creek bottom.

No sooner had Jake submerged, than his head popped up as he expected to see nude Choctaw bodies scrambling up the creek banks terrified at the unexpected guest who, one could say, dropped in on them.

But to Jake’s surprise, the Indians had simply lowered themselves into the water with only their heads exposed, and were just calmly staring at him. After a few moments, they began to talk to one another. No one moved.

Suddenly, the women looked up toward the top of the creek banks, and Jake sensed company had arrived and he knew it wasn’t Lott. He slowly turned around and was horrified at the sight. Standing on both sides of the creek banks were at least fifteen Choctaw men, weapons in hand, staring down at him. Some had spears, others had bows and arrows, and two had some kind of strange club.

Jake prayed to himself, “Dear Lord, this is it. I sure didn’t mean no harm to them women, and I never called yore name in vain. Have mercy on my soul. Amen and amen.”

Feeling his time was over, he began to talk and pray out loud, “Lord Jesus, forgive me of my sins, and Lord don’t hold it against these here savages for killin’ me. I probably deserves it.”

Suddenly, one of the men interrupted Jake’s prayer. “Oka akocha! Tunshpa!” [Get out of the water! Quickly!]

The women hurriedly emerged from the water and gathered their clothing from a big boulder near the edge. In a matter of seconds, they vanished into the woods. To Jake’s disappointment, they had been clothed from the waist down.

Looking closer, Jake recognized the Choctaw who was giving the orders as the same one he had encountered before. He remembered the scar.

The tall Choctaw pointed to Jake and spoke to the others. “Katima hon nahullo kmat minti. [Where did this white man come from.] Im anukfilit iksho [I think he is crazy.] Homa Chitto kat nata katimi [Something is wrong with Big Red] Imakfili ikono, kano hon hotupa la he keyo [He acts crazy, but does not seem to want to hurt anyone]. Chihowa im alia isht anumpali [He also talks of Jesus] Okla hasha takmalini [We will leave him alone]. Chukaia Homa Chitto [Go home, Big Red]!”

Jake did not understand, but one thing was clear: they pointed at him and then in the direction of his house.

Jake gathered his courage, “I think what you fellows are tellin’ me is, to get the hell out of here. Ain’t that right?” Jake said, not expecting a reply.

“Right,” the Choctaw said, to Jake’s surprise. “Get hell out. Stay away from women.”

They turned and walked away leaving Jake alone and naked in the cool creek water.

He wasted no time getting up the creek banks to retrieve his clothes and check on the jug. But to his surprise, all he found were his boots and socks. The Choctaws had taken everything else.

“Damn! Damn you savages! You stole my clothes and took my jug. You sons of bitches! You might as well have killed me!”

Jake headed toward home after pulling on his socks and boots. “How am I going to explain this to Lott?” he thought. “He’ll laugh at me for the rest of my life.”

Back at the house, Lott had finished designing a plan for the barn and sat on the front porch steps enjoying the end of a hot summer day. Cool evening breezes ruffled the leaves at the tops of the trees in front of the house, and afternoon shadows were creeping across the front yard.

“Jake should’ve been home long ‘fore now,” thought Lott. “I think I’ll saddle up and go check on him.”

He realized that, for the first time, he was worried about the safety of his brother and also that he had become selfishly dependent on Jake. If anything happened, how could he continue to build their dream? Worst still, he would lose his best friend.

Lott headed for the horses, but something moving in the woods caught his attention, darting from tree to tree and working its way toward the house.

“Somebody or sump’n is up to no good,” thought Lott. “It could be an Indian or a trader trying to jump me. I wish Jake was here.”

Lott returned to the house, eased down the hall and gently picked up his rifle, powder, and shot and quietly crept down the back steps. He would work his way through the woods and come up behind whoever or whatever was approaching the house.

He quickly moved through the forest and was soon in a position to challenge whatever was in front of him. Something moved again, and even though it was almost dark, he could tell that it was human. Lott took several bold steps and leveled his rifle.

“Stop just where you are. If you move an inch, you’ll have a hole in ya big enough to see through.”

Crouched in front of him, naked as could be, except for his boots, was his one and only brother trying to cover his private parts with his hands. His face was as red as his hair.

“Jake! This is one heck-ov-uh sight. What in blazes are ya doin’ without yore clothes? Where are they? I’ve been worried about ya.”

Jake’s embarrassment quickly turned to anger.

“Lott, this ain’t none of yore bus’ness, and I’ll be damned if’n I ever tell you what happened to me,” Jake said, as he stalked toward the house.

“You don’t have to tell me anything Jake, and why are you mad at me? I’ve been worried about ya, but you do look kind of funny. I didn’t know you did have such a white backend,” Lott said, as he followed Jake to the house, trying to conceal his laughter.

“See what I mean. All you doin’ is makin’ fun of me. Hell, you don’t understand at all,” Jake said. “You can laugh all ya want, but tomorrow, I’m leavin I’ve had enough. And by the way, see this big ole white ass.” Jake slapped his backsides. “You can kiss it goodbye.”

“Jake, how can I understand? You won’t tell me what happened. I ain’t laughin’ at ya either,” replied Lott. “Not too much, anyway.”

That evening, the brothers were silent. Each stayed in his own room, not knowing how to handle the awkward situation.

Hours later, right before daybreak, Lott heard a commotion near the barn site. Something was disturbing the livestock.

“Jake! get your rifle. Sump’ns out there botherm’ the horses and cows. We can’t lose them animals,” whispered Lott.

“I’ll be right with ya,” answered Jake.

They eased the door open and sneaked down the hall quietly as possible. When they reached the front porch, they noticed a small bundle on the top step.

“What do you think it is, Jake?” Lott said, as he picked it up to examine more closely.

“Jake, these look like yore clothes! What in heck is they doin’ here?”

Before Jake could answer, five Choctaw men moved slowly from the woods near where the horses were secured and approached the house.

Lott and Jake raised their rifles hoping a show of force would discourage the Indians if they intended to start trouble.

“All right, that’s close enough. You can stop right there,” Lott said, praying they would understand.

The Indians stopped and raised their hands to show they were not armed and motioned to talk to Jake. Once again, it was the Choctaw with the scar that seemed to be in charge.

“Homa Chitto pist okla laya,” [We have come to see Big Red,] the Choctaw said, pointing toward Jake.

He stepped forward and presented Jake with a large bundle of furs and then handed Jake his empty jug.

“Trade furs for spirits, Homa Chitto. Want more,” the Choctaw said.

“How do you know English?” Lott asked, surprised with his ability to communicate.

“Jesus, Mary School teach us English,” he answered, still pushing the jug toward Jake.

“Jake, I’ve heard that Catholic missionaries have been workin’ here with them Choctaws. I believe it now,” Lott said. “Come up on the porch. We’ll talk”,

Conversation was difficult since the Choctaws could speak only a few English phrases. At one point, Jake went under the house to get a jug of brew, but not before he received a lecture from Lott about how the government would not approve of his trading liquor to the Indians.

Lott and Jake soon realized the Choctaws had been observing them without their knowledge since the first day they had arrived. They knew much about them, even their names. They preferred to call Jake, Homa Chitto, which means Big Red in Choctaw language.

The Indians were fascinated with Jake. They had never seen a redheaded white man, especially one with such size and strength. At the same time, they did not understand why he acted as he did. They had observed how Jake appeared afraid of the forest, but yet, had wandered off into the woods by himself and like a crazy man, leaped into the creek amidst the women. They weren’t sure Jake was sane.

As the days and weeks of autumn crept by, the Choctaws visited the Wilsons almost every day. Often in the early morning when Lott opened the front door, they would be sitting quietly on the front porch steps waiting.

It was always Jake the Indians wanted to see and, in turn, Jake was outwardly pleased at the attention he was receiving. He looked forward to their visits and after several weeks, gained enough confidence to go with them into the forest.

Winter finally arrived and Lott was relieved that the house and barn had been completed, but Lott was concerned about the relationship Jake had developed with the Choctaws.

“Jake, you going to help me get some firewood up today or you going to go off with them Choctaws again?” questioned Lott feeling jealous that his brother preferred their company to his. Lott was spending more and more time by himself, and loneliness was beginning to take its toll.

“Sure, IT1 help ya. I always do, don’t I?” answered Jake, as he pulled up his suspenders and put his heavy coat on. “But I’m s’posed to go with Hatak Minsa [Birth Scar] huntin’ rabbits this afternoon. You know Lott, they hunt them damn things with sticks.”

“How in the devil do they kill them with a stick?” questioned Lott. “And tell me more about Hatak Minsa and you.”

“Well, I just call him Minsa, and he’s the man I first met in the woods. I thought he had a scar down the side of his face, but it turned out to be a birthmark. That’s how he got his name. I never told ya that story about the woods, did I?”

“No ya didn’t, Jake, and I think you haven’t told me a lot of things you been doin’ lately. I just hope you is not gettin’ into some kind of trouble out there. And what about that huntin’?”

“Lott, a bunch of us get together and surround a thicket or briar-patch and then start closin’ in makin’ all kind of racket, really raisin’ some kind of hell, and when them rabbits start runnin’, we start throwin’ our clubs at them. Damn! if’n it ain’t fun. We kill them by the dozens,” bragged Jake. “You want to go with us?”

“Might as well, little brother. I’m gettin’ tired of stayin’ here by myself, and I want to see some of that stick huntin’,” answered Lott, chuckling as if he thought Jake was making a joke with him. “You get the saw, Jake. I’m going to get the splittin’ ax. I’ll meet ya at the barn. We got wood to get up ‘fore we go.”

After an afternoon with the Choctaws, Lott understood why Jake spent time with the Indians. They were a lot like Jake: free-spirited, humorous, and excellent hunters. Well, Jake was not really that good of a hunter, not yet anyway.

The sun was going down when the hunting party finally decided to quit. Minsa handed Lott two big cane cutter rabbits which Lott eagerly accepted since he and Jake had not been able to make a kill with their borrowed sticks.

“Onakma owata kiliachin, Homa Chitto? [We hunt tomorrow, Big Red?]” asked Minsa. “You too, Lott.”

“We probably will,” answered Lott. “We’ll see ya later.”

It was dusk as the Wilsons found their way home through the forest trails barely able to identify landmarks in the darkness.

“Jake, what about that Choctaw woman you were talkin’ about the other day? You ever see her?”

“Yep, I sure do and she’s some kind of a looker. You know what, Lott? She’s Minsa’s sister.”

“Then ya better behave yoreself around her or you might get some of them holes shot in ya like you always talkin’ about,” laughed Lott.

The two boys finally got the rabbits cleaned and settled themselves in front of their fireplace to reflect on the day’s activities.

“You know, Jake, we better enjoy this quiet livin’. It’s going to change you know, and it won’t be long,” remarked Lott.

“What ya mean by that?” answered Jake, as he got up to put another log on the fire.

“Come the first of the year, settlers will be in here by the droves to take this land,” explained Lott. “And Jake, most of them Choctaws will be leavin’ for land across the Miss’sippi. You going to like that?”

“Hell no! I ain’t going to like it,” replied Jake angrily. “These is good people. They don’t harm nobody, and they mind their own bus’ness. When the white people come in here, all they going to do is cause trouble and rape mother nature of these woods and animals. I might just go with the Indians.”

“Jake, when you talk about white folks, you know ya talkin’ about yore own kind, don’t ya?”

“I guess so, Lott, but I don’t feel like white folk. Them Choctaws taught me a new feelin’.”

“I feel the same way, Jake. I don’t look forward to what the New Year’s going to bring,” Lott said. “I’m ready to turn in. How about you?”

“See ya in the morning,” answered Jake.

Several days later, Jake saddled up his big buckskin and left at daybreak, not telling Lott where he was going nor when to expect him back. Since Lott didn’t worry about him as much as he used to, he went about splitting white oak shingles for the barn knowing Jake would probably be back before sundown.

About mid-morning, Lott stopped his work and looked up when the sound of a galloping horse caught his attention. In a few seconds, the horse bounded from a clearing in the woods two hundred yards south of his work site, and Lott could clearly distinguish Jake’s red hair and massive body astride his big buckskin. Looking closer, he detected a rider sitting behind him holding on for dear life. In a matter of seconds, Jake brought his horse to such an abrupt stop that it threw dirt and grass all over Lott.

“Dadburn it, Jake, I thought you was going to let that horse run over me. You gone crazy?” exclaimed Lott, as he brushed the debris from his clothing and shook the dirt out of his hair.

“Damn it, brother. Can’t ya be a little more socialable?” laughed Jake. I’ve got somebody I want ya to meet.”

Lott, looking up, saw the most beautiful woman he had seen in years. She had black shiny hair that flowed below her waist and dark brown eyes that returned his stare and curiosity. She wore a buckskin dress that had worked itself up to where all of her legs plus a hint of her buttocks were exposed. Her legs were long and muscular, almost as long as Jake’s. She wore buckskin moccasins characteristic of the Choctaws. Lott could also see she had an ample upper body. Lott stood speechless.

“Lott, you can shut yore mouth now. I told ya she was a looker, didn’t I?” bragged Jake sitting tall in the saddle and reaching back to pull the young woman closer to him.

“This here is Ohoyo Hatta, which means Pale Woman. You can call her Hatta. She’s the one I’ve been talkin’ about.”

“Chi pinsa li ka achukma [Good to meet you], Lott. Homa Chitta speak good of you,” Hatta said, reaching her hand down.

Lott finally reached to return the greeting and muttered, “Nice to meet you too.”

“Well, help her down, big brother. We plan to visit a spell.”

Lott grasped her around the waist and slowly helped her off the big stallion. Lott momentarily held her close to him feeling the warmth of her body and admiring the beauty of her face which was only inches from his. His heart began to beat rapidly and he felt that the blood veins in his neck and face were going to burst. Lott realized this woman had excited him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He was inwardly embarrassed at what he was feeling and the thoughts entering his mind.

“Jake! This is some kind of woman you’re runnin’ around with. Where did ya meet her?” questioned Lott, letting go of Hatta and easing her toward Jake.

“She was one of them women that was bathin’ in the Rock Hole when I jumped in a while back.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about that, Jake. That’s one you’ve kept to yourself.”

The three spent the rest of the morning and most of the early afternoon talking. Lott learned that Hatta was the daughter of a Choctaw woman and a white missionary. Her father had come into the Choctaw lands to convert the Indians to Catholicism and teach them something about the French and English languages. Even though Hatta spoke mostly Choctaw, she still was fairly fluent in English. Lott quickly realized that not only was she beautiful, but intelligent as well.

Hatta told Lott about how her father had died, and later her mother took another man for her husband. This time, it was a Choctaw and the father of Minsa. She was his older sister.

During the weeks to follow, Jake spent more and more time with Hatta. He would often stay overnight with the Choctaws who were still camped south of the Wilson property.

In early January of 1834, Jake had been gone for almost a week, and Lott began to worry once again that something had happened to him. He decided to ride down to the village called Bissa Aisha [Blackberry Place], but found it almost deserted, and the Choctaws who were left could not speak enough English for him to find out about Jake. A feeling of despair crept over Lott as he realized that Jake might have gone with the Choctaws to Oklahoma.

The short ride home seemed like an eternity as he recalled all he and Jake had been through and how he truly missed and loved his brother.

’Ill just have to learn to live without him, because I can’t live his life for him,” thought Lott, riding his horse up the creek and finally mounting the bank on the opposite side that led to the trail that would carry him home.

Lott was still in bed the next morning when he heard shouting and singing. “What in the world is goin’ on?” thought Lott, as he quickly rose and ran onto the front porch.

Coming down the path was Jake and some of his Choctaw friends. As they approached, Lott saw that Jake was covered with skins and beads and looked as if he had been in some kind of fight. He had bruises and cuts all over his face, and even his legs had large purple marks where someone or something had hit him. Lott had never seen Jake so beat up and bruised, yet at the same time hilariously happy.

“Istaboli, Lott, istaboli, you ought to been there!” exclaimed Jake. “It was legal warfare. We made all these bets before it started, and when it did start, it was sump’n to behold!”

“What ya talkin’ about, Jake? And what’s a Istaboli?” questioned Lott racing across the yard wearing only his long-john underwear.

After a warm embrace, Jake revealed what had happened. “An Istaboli is sort of a ballgame, Lott. There was probably a hund’rd on each side, and we had to use a stick with a pouch on the end of it to throw a small leather ball through these two trees and the field was about a quarter of a mile long,” exclaimed Jake, still excited.

“And Lott, everything goes. You can hit each other with them sticks. You can bite and slug the hell out of them. I mean the Choctaws on the other side, that is. And I did! I beat the hell out of droves of them. I was knockin’ them out faster than they could tote them off. I knowed I broke two of thems leg. I was the hero, Lott! Our clan won and we got our bets. Look at all this stuff we won. Damn! It was some kind of fun. If’n the good Lord wants me in heaven, he better have some of these kinds of games up there.”

That afternoon Jake had finally calmed down and was sitting on the front porch letting Lott clean and dress some of his wounds when Lott began to reveal something that he knew would anger and disturb his brother.

“Jake, we had a visitor today, a Mister Williams.”

“So what,” answered Jake. “What’d he want?”

“He came here to claim his land and wanted me to show him to the place,” continued Lott.

“I hope you kicked him out of here, Big Brother. We don’t need that kind ‘round here. Hell! We’ll run them all out. Everyone that comes in here.”

“Jake, we can’t do that. They have their legal rights, and they bought their land,” Lott said. “And the Williams seem to be good folk. They said lots of settlers would be comin’ in here in a few days. You understand what I’m saying?”

Jake picked up the chair where he had been sitting and slung it across the porch. “Damn them folks! They ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of sons of bitches. I hate ‘em all! I wish you hadn’t told me,” shouted Jake, going into his bedroom and almost slamming the door down.

Lott knew it would be useless to try to reason with his brother right now. He would stay away from him until the next morning.

Lott sadly contemplated the change that would bring their time as the sole white inhabitants in this virgin timberland, living in harmony with nature and these remarkable Native Americans, to an end. Soon he would hear the sound of axes as the forest would be cleared for farming and the smell of smoke as these magnificent timbers would be stacked and burned.

He also knew he would hear the sounds of gunshots causing the large herds of deer and flocks of turkeys to vanish from the hills and hollows that had for centuries protected and nourished them.

Lott prayed to God, “What will become of these wonderful, peaceful people who have been such diligent keepers of this land. I can’t imagine a future for them here. We going to need yore help Lord.”