2002-03-26 � Oklahoma

Oh, Diaryland. I've missed you so. I was away in Oklahoma and it's just like in the movies. By day, the wagon train set out on a desolate desert landscape, the wind whipping up the sand and blinding the horses. At night, Sha-wah-tee, our Cherokee guide, would sound the warning cry and we would make camp by circling the wagons to protect the women from the savages.

One night I took the early watch. Sha-wah-tee was restless and prowling, of course. I will never understand the way the mind of the noble savage works. He would scamper behind a tumble weed and scurry over by the horses to check their bridals. He moved by loping on all fours in that quaint Indian style.

Soon I noticed that he was clearly troubled. His heightened Indian senses had picked up on something. Something sinister and dangerous if his countenance was any indication. I signaled him by the call of the whipperwill, a call Sha-wah-tee had taught me when he helped my pa rescue me from the cattle rustlers holding me hostage when I was eight.

He looked up and acknowleged my call. "Silent. Still. Watch. Danger." He was using Indian sign language. I suddenly felt very, very cold. I hugged my rifle in to my cheek and looked down the barrel, ready for anything.

It wasn't that I heard it so much as felt it. The first flaming arrow arched over the waggons and landed squarely in the middle of camp. Inches from my ma's right leg.

Sha-wah-tee and I sprang into action. We were whooping and hollering in that Indian war cry way and shooting at the miserable savages with our fire sticks. For a while, I wasn't sure if it would be enough to repell them. Wave after wave of flaming arrows beseiged our camp. It had been decided long ago better to burn than be scalped, so we hunkered down for the long fight. And we sure as hell weren't gonna let them get our women to do with as they please.

I'm not sure how Sha-wah-tee had time to apply his war paint, but when I saw him running for his mustang (crazy savage still rides bareback. We'll never get him civilized!) I had a sickening feeling I knew what he was up to. He broke camp on back of Whistling Wind and charged the savage army with his fire stick blazing. Pa and I laid ground cover for him from camp. When he ran out of amunition, he took after them with his tomahawk, and HOO DOG! Weren't it a sight to see!

It weren't long a'fore he'd scared off all them Injuns, cept o'course the chief, who don't back down to notin! They charged each other, the chief with his arrow drawn, Sha-wah-tee with his tomahawk ready.

When they's about ten yards from each other, they both let loose. Sha-wah-tee threw his tomahawk and its course was straight and true. It landed square tween the chief's eyes and he fell over dead.

But the Chief's arrow was just as true and Sha-wah-tee cried out in pain as it pierced his mid section, knocking him off Whistling Wind.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" I cried. I ran out to his side and held his hand. "You're gonna be just fine. Just hang on."

"You lie, Smell-of-Goat," Sha-wah-tee always called me Smell-of-Goat. He was hilarious like that. "I go now to dance with the great spirits."

"No, Sha-wah-tee. Stay here. Stay with me. I need you here!"

Sha-wah-tee spat up a little blood. I tried to wipe it up as best as I could. "No, Smell-of-Goat. You must be warrior chief now. You must protect women from savages. Honor my memory." And then he died.

So, basically, I had a pretty shitty time because our pet Indian went and got hisself killed and we lost two wagons to flaming arrows. Ma and Pa are fine, mostly, and we got my sister hitched up. I'll post some pictures when I get some. Thankfully, we didn't get no trouble from the cattle rustlers.

My chores doubled because Sha-wha-tee, which come to find out means "Yellow Snow," couldn't do 'em on account of being dead and all. So, naturally, I didn't have time to attend to my diary. I hope you all understand.

Oh, and we tried to break Whistling Wind, but he was wild and wouldn't take a saddle so we sold him to the glue factory. Them Indians can't even take care of their horses right.

Posted at 10:27 p.m.

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