

### Brindle's Oddysey

by

Nicholas Antinozzi

PUBLISHED BY:

Nicholas Antinozzi

Copyright (c) 2010 by Nicholas Antinozzi

Edited by Coleta Wright

Cover Design by Steve Peterson

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

### Prologue

There were three members of the Grand Medicine Society, known in the Ojibwe language as the _Midewiwin_ , standing outside the _Mide_ lodge. The lodge had taken days to build and it had been _abweson_ _anokiwin_ , sweat work, for three old men. Still, they did not complain because each of these men knew that the completed lodge would protect them from evil, and that an evil spirit was definitely headed their way. The lodge was constructed of poles made from birch saplings. Three tall poles stood in the middle of the lodge, one for each man at the ceremony. The men lashed the frame together and then set about cutting the many pine boughs that needed to be placed carefully around the structure. There was no sign of rain, so no roof had been needed. Three dead dogs stood guard outside the door and the men had to step over these before entering the lodge. The old ways needed to be followed to the letter, just as they had always been.

The afternoon was warm, but an occasional gust of wind helped keep them cool. The Mide lodge sat in the middle of a small clearing deep inside the Fond Du Lac Indian Reservation in northern Minnesota. _Odemini_ _Gissis_ , or the month of June, had been cool and wet, but with the new sunshine the surrounding forests had come to life. The sounds of life came from all around them and it helped lift their spirits.

Odd Whitefeather would be first as he was the youngest of the group. Barely into his mid-nineties; leather-faced and solemn, Whitefeather entered the lodge in his everyday clothes, faded blue jeans and a tired denim shirt. Much to the relief of the others, he took off the straw hat and left it outside the door. He was tall and lean with long white hair that hung to the middle of his back. He remained standing until the other two men entered the Mide lodge.

The next man to enter was _Wawanishkam_ , known as Crooked Walker, (one who covers much territory.) Crooked Walker was said to be at least one hundred and five years old. He also had long white hair, which he had tied back over misshapen ears the size of saucers. He was dressed in his summer outfit; a fringed buckskin shirt, buckskin leggings, and a pair of fine moccasins that never seemed to age. Like Odd Whitefeather, Crooked Walker stood tall and erect for a man of such considerable age. He stood next to the younger man and waited for the last of their group.

Dog Breath carried the sacred piece of birch bark, known as the Mide roll. The roll had been engraved many years ago with a bone stylus and the lines had been carefully filled with vermillion, to protect it against the ravages of time and the elements. The time had come to complete their number and the Mide roll needed to be shared with the newcomer, whoever that person might be. This needed to be smoked over and discussed among the three. Some people said that Dog Breath was one hundred and fifteen, but no one knew for sure. He was a fierce looking man, still lean and muscular despite his great age. He wore a simple breech cloth and walked on his bare feet. Like the others, his wrinkled face was painted green on the top half and red on the bottom. Like the others, his Mide bag, Medicine bag, was tied to his side and filled with things he would need.

They sat down on the floor of the Mide lodge and smoked for a long time. Crooked Walker nodded in appreciation at the flavor of the tobacco. Odd Whitefeather had visited many tobacco shops looking for something that would remind the others of the old blend. The shopkeeper had sold him the pipe tobacco, which he had called the _Fragrant_ _Vagrant_ , for twenty dollars. He had hoped they would like it. They hadn't smoked in many years. They used Crooked Walker's pipe which had been carved out of the antler of a whitetail deer.

Dog Breath began to speak after they had finished smoking and he had set the long, ornately carved pipe, aside. "Tell me about your grandson," he asked Odd Whitefeather. "We should know about him and his character. You say he is a good man?"

Odd Whitefeather nodded and began to speak, but he was cut off before uttering a single syllable. He had grown used to this over the years, just as he had the unmistakable smell of the breath of the man across from him. He sat and listened as Dog Breath asked him yes or no questions, answering each of these with a nod or a slight shake of his head. Dog Breath had a deep voice that sounded like a bear's growl. He spoke in the old words, using sign language to accentuate their meanings. A _beneshi_ , little bird, sat above them on top of the middle pole, which they all took to be a good sign.

Crooked Walker took over from there, asking serious questions about a serious matter. The Midewiwin had very strict rules and it was no small matter that they were about to initiate another into their fold. Crooked Walker spoke in a dry voice that floated up and down like the tones of a well-played flute. He asked many questions, none of which required Odd Whitefeather to even open his mouth.

When Crooked Walker was satisfied, he turned to Dog Breath and the two of them spoke as if they were alone. They nodded in agreement and they turned to face the youngest of their group. Odd Whitefeather stood and stretched and scratched his bottom, which had fallen asleep. He peered over the walls of the Mide lodge and was happy to see no one. The beneshi watched him from its perch on top of the pole.

"It is true, he has no idea of who he really is and it will take time for us to teach him the old ways. He was raised by white men, but somehow he managed to live a good life. There is no time to waste. The end of time will surely arrive if we do nothing to stop it. The white men are very close to making that happen. We need to complete the circle if we have any chance of stopping them. I will go now and bring him to you. Prepare for our return."

Dog Breath and Crooked Walker stood and stretched their old bones, which signified that the meeting was over. When Odd Whitefeather walked out the door he was followed by two sandhill cranes; his grandfather, and his grandfather's grandfather. Crooked Walker and Dog Breath then flew to the sky, flapping their great wings in the crane's mysterious way that defies logic. They had lived to be old men and had come back from the dead, disguised as the strange birds.

Odd Whitefeather stood and watched them fly over the trees until they disappeared in the distance. He was hungry and wanted a cheeseburger and fries. He checked his wallet and found a crumpled twenty dollar bill inside. He would go have a cheeseburger before going out to see his grandson, Huckleberry Brindle. Maybe he would work out an explanation as he ate. He hoped so. This was going to be tricky.

He walked down the trail, the hunger pangs were sharper now as he slowly began to run out of energy. The Polaris ATV was parked just where he had left it. He shed the straw hat, storing the hat in the large trunk behind the machine. He climbed aboard and thumbed the engine to life. The tuned exhaust rapped and he shifted the Polaris into gear. Odd Whitefeather loved his machine and he rode like he was in his mid-twenties. Mud flew in chunks and his eyes watered as he wound out the ATV on the old logging road.

The other people in the little restaurant stared at him as he entered. He had grown used to this over the years and he walked right by them, heading to the men's room to wash his hands before ordering his food and eating.

He moaned when he saw his painted face staring back at him in the mirror. He washed the paint off and cleaned the sink with some paper towels. He then walked back out to the counter. His young waitress, Judy, nodded in approval. He ordered a chocolate shake to go with his cheeseburger and fries. He thought about what to say to his grandson, who had no idea they were even related. Nothing came to him. The food was good and he tipped Judy five bucks. Knowing what he needed to do, Odd Whitefeather straddled his machine and began to ride out to see Huckleberry Brindle.

### Chapter One

I found out five years ago that there are some things that cannot be cured by medical science. That was when I learned that this embarrasses those people, and, that inexplicable maladies that don't threaten your life are usually swept under the rug. That was how I felt, like I had been swept under a rug. I lived alone and there was no one close to call on, or even to visit. I had spent five years talking to myself and had grown tired of my own company. The days came and went, separated by restless sleep. The only difference was the change in the weather. I had stumbled into something evil and I was paying the terrible price.

I knew they'd come; knew it like I knew my own name, except that I wasn't expecting them to send two young boys to relay the message. They were no older than twelve and they could've been a lot younger than that; I wouldn't know; I never had any kids of my own. They rode up to my place on their bicycles and waited for me out by the equipment shed.

The morning was sweltering hot and the air was thick with humidity, but there was a nice breeze blowing out of the west and the equipment shed is on the west end of my property. The boys may have been young, but they were smart enough to make their stand up by the shed. I'll explain that in a moment. They stood out there in the hazy sunshine and flung rocks against the old corrugated steel and hollered my name after each toss. They couldn't have been out there for long; the racket was loud enough to wake the dead, not to mention washed-up drunks, such as myself.

I dressed after splashing cool water on my face and taking a nip of the bottle. The cheap whisky tasted like turpentine and I washed it down with a Coke and a Lucky Strike. I may be a drunk, but I don't usually drink my breakfast. I simply needed the liquid courage to face them.

My name is Huckleberry Brindle, but my family raised me as Huck. I am forty years old and I own what used to be a thriving demolition business just outside of Carlton, Minnesota, a two hour drive to the north from the Twin Cities. Let me be clear on one thing, the booze came _after_ the incident, long after I lost my crew and my business had dried up like a fallen leaf. I don't want anyone to think it caused any of my problems; I brought them all on myself, the whisky simply helps me deal with them.

I walked out of my little trailer and sat down on one of the steel folding chairs. I then laced up my Red Wings and watched the boys head over towards me. They moved like a pair of whipped dogs, careful and wary, and they stopped a respectful twenty yards away. "Close enough," I said. "What the hell do you want from me?" I asked, snarling my teeth. I didn't want them on my property, young as they were, they were from town and they would know all about me.

"We need your help," replied the taller of the two. "Please..."

The two kids looked tired and dirty, like they'd ridden up a mountain to come and see me. They kept their distance as they waited for my reply. I stood up and put my hands on my hips, preparing myself for the argument that was sure to come. I knew why they were here and I knew exactly what they wanted of me. I wasn't about to risk my life for a town that had banished me from its city limits for nearly five years.

I looked at the boys again and I could see the tears falling down their cheeks. I immediately understood why the town had sent the two young messengers; no man with an ounce of self respect could look them in the eyes and turn them down. I closed my eyes and nodded my head in defeat. "Fine," I said. "Go back and tell the others that I'll do what I can."

I couldn't believe how fast they were, they covered the twenty yards in the blink of an eye and were on me before I could think. They grabbed me by the waist and hugged me with all of their strength. I couldn't help but hug them back, what was I supposed to do? One of them handed me an envelope and I took it in my right hand.

"Oh," snorted one of the boys, as if I'd poked him in the ribs.

"Whoa!" the other one shrieked, holding his hand over his nose.

And, just like that, they were gone. The two boys ran away from me as if their hair was on fire. I stood there and laughed, I couldn't help myself. I watched them hop on their bikes and speed away as fast as their little legs could pump the pedals. I laughed until I cried.

I already told you that I was raised as Huck Brindle, but for the past five years the locals have taken to calling me _Stinky_ ; and as much as it pains me to say so, the name fits me like an old shoe. I may have grown accustomed to the stench, which smells similar to the inside of a turkey barn in high August, but the people from town certainly aren't. I live like a pariah on the edge of town. My supplies are delivered and I never get any visitors. I've tried every product known to man to scrub that stink away, but five years down the road and I still smell the same as I did on that first terrible day.

Which brings me to the beginning of my story: I wasn't always a stinking lowlife, shunned by anyone, or anything, with a pair of nostrils. I used to be a respected member of the community, a second generation owner of a family business. Brindle Demolition employed thirty men in its heyday, but that was years ago. I still get a little work, just enough to make ends meet, but the glory days are in the past and I've been sitting at rock bottom for as long as I care to remember.

I should feel fortunate, God, how I know that. I remind myself of that simple fact a hundred times each and every day. Five summers ago, on a day not much different than this, I became the last man to walk inside the Soliah Home and live to tell about it.

The Soliah Home had stood alone on the shores of Spirit Lake for as long as anyone could remember. Spirit Lake lies just outside the Fond Du Lac Indian Reservation, and is two miles from the nearest gravel road. The majestic old Victorian looks out of place, as if it had been built only yesterday. The truth was that it had been vacant for nearly fifty years, when the last of the Soliah clan had passed into the next world. The last time I had been there the lawns looked to have been freshly tended and flowers blossomed in the many window-boxes. There are people who claim that there has never been a time when the house wasn't there, but that would be impossible, right? I'll let you decide for yourself.

I sat on the couch and took another nip of the bottle; I then opened the envelope and read what had been printed on the wide-ruled page of notebook paper. I sat and reread that folded sheet of paper for nearly half an hour.

Being an outcast has its advantages; it spares you from the local news, the type of news that the media shuns because it can't be spun or twisted. On that sheet of notebook paper, written in pencil, was that type of story. The news left me feeling short of breath, unable to trust my knees or my bladder. The house was up to its old tricks again and it was calling me home.

The letter had been printed by an old Ojibwe man who lived on the reservation. Odd Whitefeather was a name I immediately recognized, even though I had never met the man. I had heard the stories and understood that he, like myself, was an outcast among his own people. He was said to be a Medicine Man, half crazy, and I knew he had to be well into his nineties. His was a name that was whispered in both communities, as if speaking it aloud would bring bad luck. The last line of the letter said that he'd be visiting me, and soon.

The first stone he tossed at the shed sent a ripple of fear down my spine. I didn't have to get up and look out the window to see who it was. Odd Whitefeather had come to bring me back to the Soliah Home; to where death waited to embrace me, to where five of my closest friends had perished in unspeakable agony. I reached for the bottle, but the brown glass felt scalding hot and I instantly pulled my hand away. I rubbed my cheeks, stood, and walked out the door into the blazing sunlight.

I had never seen the man and he looked much younger than I had expected. He was tall and stood straight with long white hair hanging beneath a straw hat. He was dressed in blue jeans and a faded shirt that looked older than he was. Something that looked like a homemade fanny-pack was belted around his waist. He smiled at me; his bronze-colored face was lined with age. "Huckleberry," he called from the shed in a leathery voice. "Have a seat for a moment, please."

I pulled up a stump next to the woodpile without saying anything. Odd Whitefeather was digging in the fanny-pack and muttering something I was too far away to hear. He seemed to find what he was looking for, which couldn't have been very big, because when he held it before his eyes between his thumb and finger, I couldn't see a thing. He then sang something that I was able to hear. I had no idea what he was singing about, the words were periodically lost in the wind and utterly foreign to me, but the melody was haunting and somehow beautiful at the same time. He slowly began to circle in an area roughly five feet across, chugging his long arms. I had to stifle a laugh, because Odd Whitefeather looked like he was doing the locomotion to his own strange tune.

It became easier to stifle that laugh after five minutes.

I don't wear a watch, but a long time passed before Odd Whitefeather finally finished his dance. He grabbed the back of his hat and lifted his nose high in the air. He remained like that for nearly a minute before he seemed satisfied. He then walked up and stood over me, closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

"How do you feel?" he asked, looking at me with a slight grin playing at his lips.

I hadn't noticed anything different, but something had definitely changed. I instantly knew what he meant. The smell; the terrible decomposing odor that spewed from my pores had been shut down like a fire hydrant. I held my right arm up to my nose and snorted it like a buck in the rut. If I have ever felt truly thankful for anyone, or anything, more than I felt gratitude towards Odd Whitefeather at that moment, I can't remember it. I leapt to my feat and put my arms around him, careful not to squeeze too hard, but not giving a damn what he thought about the gesture. "Thank you," I managed, before I fell to my knees and wept with absolute joy.

Odd Whitefeather hunkered down on one of the stumps with the sun at his back, and he watched me with interest as I composed myself. Imagine having a tumor the size of a basketball removed from your face after five years, without any visible scars, and you'll begin to know how I felt at that moment.

"You got air-conditioning in that thing?" Odd Whitefeather said, pointing towards my trailer. "How about anything to eat? I sure could go for a cheeseburger. I had one a while ago, but I think I could use another. Do you like cheeseburgers?"

I nodded and wiped the tears from my eyes. I was suddenly hungry myself and I knew the temperature was close to ninety. I certainly didn't want the old guy to drop dead of a heatstroke. I got to my feet and motioned towards the front door. "Come on," I said. "I think I can do a helluva lot better than a cheeseburger."

Two sandhill cranes were now standing up by the equipment shed on spindly legs that seemed impossibly long. I held my hand over my eyes to block out the sun. They were common in the area, but this was the first time I had seen them in my yard. They seemed to be watching us.

We walked inside and it suddenly dawned on me that he was the first guest to step inside the trailer in a very, very, long time. I hadn't done a good housecleaning in at least six months. I figured, what was the point? A great wave of shame washed over me as I recalled the old adage about wearing clean underwear, just in case you end up in a hospital bed. The place was a disaster of epic proportions.

Odd Whitefeather seemed to take it all in stride. "My sister had a place like this," he commented, clearing a place at the kitchen table. "I think the hallway went the other way. Do you have cable television? I think Andy Griffith is on."

"No cable, I'm sorry. Can I get you something to drink?" I asked, gathering up pizza boxes and empty Chinese take-out containers. I could suddenly smell things that hadn't been there this morning. My stomach felt queasy as I realized the stink was of rotting food and garbage.

Odd Whitefeather nodded, but didn't tell me what he wanted, so I gave him a can of Coke as I continued to dispose of the worst of the trash. He watched me as I worked, sipping from the can of soda and looking interested in an empty cereal box. I left it there for him to read as I took two large trash bags out to the can. When I returned, I looked around for the bottle, but it was gone--never to be seen again. I had taken my final drink of whisky, even though I didn't know it at the time. I grabbed myself a Coke and drank half of it in one fizzing gulp. "You know," I said. "I've eaten three meals a day here for five years, would you mind if we went into town to eat? Or, I could pull a couple of steaks out of the freezer..."

"Sure," Odd Whitefeather said. "We could go eat at Bing's. Just do us both a favor and take a shower, you still smell pretty funky."

Again, I felt a rush of embarrassment as I remembered the last time I had bathed. I guess it hadn't seemed very important to me, and I had adopted the old school schedule of bathing on Saturday nights. I sure didn't have anything better to do. Wordlessly, I excused myself to the bathroom where I took a hot shower. I then shaved and ran the electric clippers over my short, thinning hair. I looked at myself in the mirror and for the first time, I realized how the past five years had aged me. My salt and pepper hair had lost its pepper and I had gained nearly twenty pounds. The weight didn't sit right on my small frame and the lines on my face made it look like a dried-up apple. I had never been a vain man, but I had been handsome enough in my youth. Those days were gone, the man in the mirror proved that without a doubt. I walked into my bedroom wearing a towel and desperately searched for some clean clothes.

I dressed in an old work uniform, leaving the shirt un-tucked to hide the fact that I was unable to button my pants. I zipped them up as far as I could and held them up with my belt. I looked into the full-length mirror that hung on my door and stared into the face of a stranger. Finally, I walked out to rejoin Odd Whitefeather. He hadn't said a word about the Soliah Home, but I knew he'd want to talk about it soon enough. The thought made my knees tremble.

When I walked into the kitchen, I was stopped dead in my tracks. Odd Whitefeather had been a busy man in the short amount of time it had taken me to shower and change. The living room and kitchen were sparkling clean, as if a team of hyperactive maids had attacked the mess. I was stunned; the tile floor looked to have been scrubbed and waxed, the carpet had been vacuumed, and the mountain of dirty dishes had been washed and put away. I found myself speechless and once again on the verge of tears.

"I got bored," Odd Whitefeather said, almost as if he were apologizing.

"Yeah, well thanks a lot. I don't know what to say..."

"Don't say anything. There will be time for talk after we eat. I feel like a bear after waking from a winter's sleep."

I nodded and led the way out the front door and into the hot sunshine. The temperature had seemed to rise twenty degrees since we'd walked inside.

"We're not going to have much time," Odd Whitefeather said, holding his palms up in front of him, as if he were checking the temperature. "Things are speeding up."

I didn't ask him what he meant by that and I continued to walk towards the road. Town was a mile away and I didn't have anything with gas in it that still ran. I'd sold most of the equipment that was worth selling and I hadn't driven anywhere in years. I hoped that the old man didn't mind the walk.

"Where are you going?" he asked. "My machine is parked behind your shed."

I shrugged my shoulders and followed him up towards the equipment shed. "Can I ask you something?" I said. "Just out of curiosity, could you have helped me a few years earlier? I was like that for five years...it was terrible."

"Life is about what is, not what could have been. You need to remember that."

I was thinking about those words as we rounded the corner of the shed and I saw his Polaris ATV. The machine had been custom painted with Ojibwe art and looked to be nearly new.

"Make sure to hang on tight," Odd Whitefeather said, taking off his straw hat and stowing it in a wooden crate lashed to the back of the Polaris with nylon rope. He closed the lid and latched it. "I like to feel the wind in my hair."

I nodded, noticing for the first time that a Bald Eagle was circling overhead. It dove low over the old man, as if to let him know that it was looking out for him. I climbed on behind Odd Whitefeather and my hands found the luggage rack, just as he fired up the engine. He hadn't been kidding about liking to go fast, the tires howled on the hot asphalt and my eyes watered from the wind. We made it to town in about a minute's time and before I knew it, we were parked outside of the little Chinese restaurant named Bing Louie's. I was hoping to see someone I knew along the way, anyone, just so I could prove that the smell was gone. I knew word would travel fast in the small community of Carlton. Much to my dismay, we didn't see anyone I recognized. Odd Whitefeather led the way into the restaurant and we took a booth in the corner. The air-conditioning was on high and the cold air felt wonderful on my hot skin.

The restaurant was empty and Oriental music played softly from overhead speakers. I could just make out the top of Bing Louie's head behind the partition in back, and it sounded like we were interrupting an argument. I don't speak Chinese, but there was no mistaking the tone.

Bing's wife came out and took our orders, if she recognized me she never commented about it. She was a small, ageless woman, slender and graceful, with jet black hair and creamy white skin. Our food was served a few minutes later, two steaming plates of cashew chicken and fried rice. We ate our meal in silence and I became more nervous with each bite. I realized that this was probably as good as it was going to get; the proverbial calm before the storm. Those thoughts proved to be true.

"Are you going to eat that eggroll?" Odd Whitefeather asked, reaching for my plate before I had a chance to reply.

"Go ahead," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "I'm stuffed."

The sound of a kettle or perhaps a wok, being thrown across the wall in the next room, exploded inside the small restaurant. The argument had resumed and it sounded like it was getting nasty. "That is why I never remarried," Odd Whitefeather said, looking back over his shoulder.

Bing suddenly charged out of the kitchen, untying his apron as he did so. His face was wild with anger. Mrs. Louie followed a few feet behind him. She was threatening him with a wooden ladle and screaming at the top of her lungs. Bing tossed the soiled apron over his shoulder and stormed out the front door.

Mrs. Louie stood at the front window and held a tiny porcelain hand over her mouth. She turned to me. "You got to stop him," she pleaded to us in broken English.

When I didn't rush to my feet she shrieked something in her native language and ran after her husband. "I wonder what that was about," I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin. "They always seemed like such a happy couple."

The sound of tires squealing on the hot pavement brought me to my feet and over to the window. Mrs. Louie was chasing a blue Dodge Caravan with her ladle. She stood in the middle of Main Street with her head tilted to the sky and screamed. I couldn't leave her out there, not like that, so I gathered my courage and walked outside to bring her in. She watched the back of the van as it became smaller on the horizon.

"Come on," I said. "Let's get you inside."

"He going to Spirit Lake," she whimpered, looking small and vulnerable. "Help me... Please?"

I opened my mouth to speak when what she said hit me with the force a wrecking ball. I stood there in the bright sunshine, wanting, needing, to say something, but I felt like a fish out of water. I turned away from her, my mouth chewing on words that would not come out. I walked back into the restaurant and stood next to the table.

"He is headed out to Spirit Lake, isn't he?" Odd Whitefeather asked, fishing a folded twenty out of his shirt pocket and tossing it onto the table.

I felt lightheaded and all I could do was muster a nod.

"We'd better get going, we haven't got much time. Are you up for this, Huckleberry?"

I shook my head, but I followed him anyhow. We left Mrs. Louie, weeping inconsolably out on the empty street. She was still clutching her ladle and she looked as pitiful as a lost child. I knew exactly where we were headed and suddenly, I couldn't wait to get there. Odd Whitefeather drove the Polaris like a man possessed, whooping as we roared west out of town at high speed. I urged him on and tried to make sense of the situation.

### Chapter Two

They would remember it as the _Dead Winter,_ the terrible season of the spotted sickness. Everyone would lose someone. Indeed, some would lose many friends and relatives during that cold and cruel winter. Spring arrived not a moment too soon and the members of the decimated Ojibwe band began to prepare for their annual trek to the summer camps. The season brought much needed hope back into their lives and the camp buzzed with activity.

Man Killer was tall and slender, with curves where the men liked to see them. The women thought of her as a temptress, while the men did their best trying not to notice her. She kept to herself and practiced as a Mide Woman. That was her place in the camp and everyone agreed that she was more valuable to them now, than ever. Her entire family had slowly perished over the past three years and she had withdrawn from what friends she still had. She wished that she had a friend to share her troubles with.

The birch-bark canoes needed to be repaired after the harsh winter and supplies needed to be gathered. Few babies had survived the Dead Winter and many of those that had; had lost their mothers. The People would look after these children as their own. No families survived the winter intact, but these people had done their grieving and it was time to look ahead to the next season, their lives depended on it. The excitement built as the days grew longer and the tasks grew fewer. They would leave after the rainy season, when the rivers lost some of their anger.

She constantly thought about what else they might need for their journey. The last of the old Mide Women had died during the winter and there was no one to remind her of what was needed. The Mide Women were not nearly as powerful as the men, but they were every bit as important to their number. She was responsible for easing pain and suffering and to aid in the healing process. The Dead Winter had drained her of her valuable resources and she had spent a great many hours gathering the roots, berries, and medicinal leaves that would guard the young ones against the tiny biting flies and the hungry mosquitoes; also to ease the pain of broken bones and other ailments. There was so much to remember and she knew that soon she would need to teach a younger woman the ways of a Mide Woman. When the training was complete she would become one of the Old Ones. Man Killer dreaded that day, she still felt young and full of life.

Their world had changed so much in a single lifetime that it was hard for most to comprehend. The trappers had come and taken most of the little animals before moving north into Canada and west across the Dakotas, into the far away mountains. The traders were becoming more common in the area and the Long Robes appeared now and then with their faith lessons. The big game was becoming scarce and the People worried how they would ever survive in this world with such a large hole in it. Like the animals, their way of life seemed to be running away from them at great speed.

There were rumors that this may be their last visit to the summer camps to the east. It was said that the White Chief did not want them in _Ouisconsin,_ (Wisconsin) which confused them. They had been spending summers there for as long as any of them remembered.

Their need to survive the present day was enough to keep their minds from straying into what the future held for them. The Great Spirit would watch over them, just as he always did.

She thought about all of this while quietly gathering herbs and roots for her Mide bag. The medicine bag was her most precious possession and the long winter had nearly emptied it. The bag was fashioned out of a _zhingos_ , (weasel) skin and she wore it around her neck.

He followed her through the woods where the trees were just beginning to show their summer colors. He had tried to make _pinwabo,_ (small talk) with her, but she ignored him as if he were a skunk. He did not understand her ways and he struggled with that. How could she not see that he wanted to take her for his wife? He was very strong and had proven his bravery many times. All of the men his age had taken a wife by now and had families of their own.

She could feel his eyes upon her as she went about her work. She felt sorry for the young brave, but that did not mean she cared for him. She would never marry this one. She had been having strange dreams which she held sacred and kept to herself. The face of her father's father had come to her many times in her sleep and had pleaded with her to remain strong. Her life was about to change, she only needed to remain patient and she would know when the time came. She missed her grandfather, for it was he who had taught her the ways of the Mide. The healers were needed now more than ever. The Dead Winter had proven that.

She prayed to the Great Spirit to watch over them and to ease their miseries. Many in the camp were beside themselves with the grief that comes with losing a loved one. The pain was everywhere and she knew it well. She had lost everyone of importance in her life. She prayed as she searched the forest floor for herbs, prayed for a man to come along and rescue her from her own loneliness. That prayer would be answered very soon.

### Huck

The terrain began to change as we entered the eastern edge of the Fond Du Lac Reservation. The lush birch trees and jagged rock outcroppings of the Canadian Shelf, gave way to tall pines, old trailer homes and tamarack swamps. I squinted my eyes against the wind, feeling the tears streaming behind my ears. I was wishing Odd Whitefeather had shown up in helicopter. I wanted to go faster and somehow felt we were losing time.

We took the rutted road that my crew had cut into the woods, it looked well traveled and Odd Whitefeather barely slowed as we rounded the tight corners. Pine branches slapped at our arms and small birds and red squirrels wisely got out of our way. My heart began to race as we approached the end of the line. Suddenly, we were slowed to a crawl by the back end of Bing Louie's Caravan, the door was open and I was sure it'd been abandoned. The van was parked at the end of a long line of vehicles. Odd Whitefeather shook his head as he pushed the ATV ahead, doing a remarkable job of navigating between the parked cars and the pine trees.

I began to recognize more of the cars and pickups and I wondered what everyone was up to. There was no reason for them to be out here, and considering what had happened here in the past, I thought these people should know better than to come out here. The ATV slowed to a crawl as we approached the clearing. Odd Whitefeather braked, rolled his head and finally killed the engine. I stepped off the machine as he reached for his straw hat.

We walked out of the woods and onto the lawn of the Soliah Home. The afternoon sun was overhead and I cupped my right hand over my eyes to get a look at the place. It looked just as it did five years back, which didn't surprise me at all. The paint still looked fresh, as did the cedar shake roof; flowers still lined the walkways where weeds dared not grow. I wondered _what_ looked after the old place and found that I really didn't want to know.

"This is far enough," the old man said. "We are going to need some help, his magic is very strong."

I nodded my head. I was still looking around for Bing and the others that had driven out here. "Where is everyone, you don't think they went inside, do you?"

"They are in there, the bait to his trap. He does not care about them. The one he is interested in is you, Huckleberry. He needs you so he can move on from this place."

I turned and looked at the old man. "How could you possibly know that?"

"This devil came to me in a dream and asked me to bring you here. I asked him why he needed you. So, he told me."

"And here we are?" I asked him, shaking my head. "A _devil_ asks you to do him a favor and you come through for him? Didn't you think that might be a bad idea?"

"I did not bring you out here to help him. I brought you out here to protect you from him. A great man once said that you should be close to your enemies."

"Are you kidding me? That's a line from a movie. Listen, we came out here to find out where Bing went off to, now we know. Why don't we ride back to town and get the cops. I think the further away I can get from this place, the better."

"This is family business, there will be no _cops._ You might also open your ears when advice is given. That movie you speak of has changed my life. Do not speak poorly of it. Now, take a seat in the grass and let me call for help. This will only take a minute."

"Who would we call?"

The old man held up his hand and gave me a harsh look. I sat down in the grass, thinking the old man was crazier than I thought. The fact that he possessed a little magic up his sleeve only made him more dangerous. I thought I'd play along for a while; but the first chance I got I would run for the hills.

Odd Whitefeather unzipped his fanny-pack and fumbled among the things inside there. He removed a small satchel that looked like an animal skin, and he took a pinch of something that looked like pipe tobacco. He then chanted something or other, in a language that I certainly didn't recognize. He did a little dance and released the tobacco, continuing to chant as he did so. The ground seemed to be instantly full of electricity and I nearly screamed as I felt my rump getting zapped. That was the last thing I remembered for a long time.

### Chapter Three

I woke up lying on the lawn where I had been sitting. I blinked hard, trying to clear my head and remember where I was. I turned my head and saw the sun had already dipped behind the trees in the western sky over Spirit Lake. I turned my head in the other direction and found myself staring at a newcomer. He looked very old; like he had just stepped off the set of a John Wayne movie. The old man bore a strong resemblance to an older looking Odd Whitefeather. He was dressed in buckskins and wore his long white hair in a ponytail.

"Huckleberry, this is my grandfather. He is called Crooked Walker."

I didn't believe him, not at first. The notion that this was his actual grandfather was beyond my thoughts, like winning the lottery. I thought I would humor him, just the same. "Nice to meet you," I said, offering my hand to the old man. "Thank you for coming out here to help us."

He looked at me for a long time as if he were sizing me up. The old man scrunched up his nose and scowled. "Oh no," said Crooked Walker. "Only my wives can get me to work for free. What do you have that I might like?"

This totally threw me. I had nothing but the clothes on my back and my pockets were completely empty. The barefooted old man looked down at my Red Wings and smiled.

I stood there for a moment and tried to reason this out. Was he asking me for my boots? I looked at Odd Whitefeather and he smiled, because he knew that was exactly what was happening. As much as I loved my Red Wings, I knew we needed the help far worse. I gave the old man my boots; socks and all.

A minute later, Odd Whitefeather nodded his head to his grandfather. "Those are nice boots, you made a good trade."

"My feet are thanking young Huckleberry. I will never take these boots off."

"Our work here is done," said Odd Whitefeather.

I stood there in my bare feet and pointed to the house. "Not so fast," I said. "We've still got to get everyone out of there."

"No," said Odd Whitefeather. "Now it is time to go to the mattresses. I need some sleep. You and Crooked Walker can watch over me. Wake me up if anything happens, you will know it if it does. If nothing happens, I will wake up at first light."

I stared in disbelief as Odd Whitefeather stretched out on the lawn and propped his straw hat over his face. I looked over at Crooked Walker and the old guy was smiling at me. The smile sent a shiver down my spine. How well did I know either of these men? What was I doing? How did I get back here?

"It has been a long time," said Crooked Walker. He was seated across from me on the grass and was now only a shadow in the growing darkness. I could just see the whites of his eyes and teeth, which had both seemed remarkably white. The shadow began to move his arms and I suddenly found myself seated across a nice little fire from the old man. If Odd Whitefeather noticed the campfire, he never moved to show it. The night had cooled and I scooted a little closer to it, happy for both the heat and the light. I smiled at Crooked Walker to show my appreciation.

"Watch the fire," Crooked Walker said, holding his hands just above the tips of the flames. "I will show you something."

I did as he asked and saw nothing but sparks and flaming branches. I was just about to say as much when the flames began to twist and change colors. The fire seemed to grow, and maybe it did, but I had become mesmerized by what was taking shape inside those flames. The flames turned from orange to red to blue, and became three dimensional as they did so. A picture was forming.

"Can you see it?" Crooked Walker asked in his dry voice that sounded like autumn leaves blowing in the breeze. "That is what we are fighting against. It was good of you to wake me from my earthly slumber and bring me out here. I feel pretty good and this is a very powerful spirit. You will need my help to defeat it."

I heard what he was saying, even understood what he said, but I was looking into those flames as if I were seeing my first fire. The blues had formed a burning wasteland that seemed to be without end. Tiny green shapes of flame languished in this landscape, very small, but undeniably they were suffering and they were _human_. I began to hear the fire moan.

"Maybe you should not sit so close to the fire."

I could see hot red shapes that weren't quite human, torturing the little green people inside the supernatural fire. The moaning grew a little louder. Though the People were very small, I was now able to see their facial features. I imagine this is how an eagle sees the world from half a mile away. The little red gnomes were everywhere, lashing out with whips and swinging molten clubs. Green sparks flew when they made contact.

"Huckleberry, can you hear me?"

A red gnome appeared across the terrible burning vista, the largest gnome of the bunch. He continued to move towards me and I could see that this was not a gnome at all. This creature had horns growing out of the side of his head. He seemed to be picking up speed.

"Get back!"

I don't think he needed to tell me that, but he was looking after me which was good to know. The bright red creature was charging across the flaming hell and the moans suddenly became shrieks of terror. I shot back five feet in one quick kick.

"Further!"

I could see the eyes of the creature were focused on me. The look was of unabashed hatred and extreme anger. The creature was close enough for me to see that he was much larger than I had originally thought. Thick red muscles rippled across his bare chest and arms. From the waist down he looked like a two-legged Ram. I tried to get up and run, but I was completely frozen with fear. I could hear a mighty roar escape the lungs of the rushing devil, and the shrieks of the little green men rose to an ear-splitting level.

"Now!" Crooked Walker screamed at me. He then grabbed me by the shoulder and hefted me like a sack of potatoes. I continued to stare at the charging creature inside the flames. The fire was now a solid blazing wall that stretched high in the air. Whatever that thing was, it was trying to leave that place. I was praying that it wouldn't, as hard as I'd ever prayed about anything. The devil was galloping on his two hind legs and I could hear the clomping of his cloven hoofs. He was very close and he suddenly dove at me like a flying linebacker on a goal-line stand. I felt Crooked Walker grab me by the ear and he twisted my head with enough force to bruise it.

"Ouch!" I cried, grabbing my swelling ear with both hands. Ears are very sensitive to pain and I was finding that out. I turned, but the fire had shrunk to near coals and the portal, if that is what it truly was, had disappeared the moment I had taken my eyes off of it.

"Will you guys keep it down?" Odd Whitefeather asked. "I am trying to sleep here."

"You nearly killed us all, you have to be more careful with your Medicine," scolded Crooked Walker in a hoarse whisper. "Let us take a walk."

"My ear, you almost tore it off."

"He was going to kill you. Don't invite him here again."

Odd Whitefeather waved his arm at us. "Let me sleep, please."

I got to my feet and followed Crooked Walker away from the glowing embers and into the shadows. I wondered if what he said was true, was it possible that the creature could have passed into our world? I certainly hoped not. I could still feel the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention and my arms were covered in goose-bumps. My heart was pounding and I tried to control my breathing as we walked across the lawn. After we were a respectable distance from Odd Whitefeather, I turned to Crooked Walker. "I didn't invite him; I don't have any _Medicine_. I am not like you."

"Oh, that is a good one," he said with a snort of laughter. "You are and you will see so for yourself, very soon. We are going to try something else up at the big white house. Right over there," he said, pointing at the big bay window that overlooked Spirit Lake. The window was as black as coal and the house looked as dead as any cemetery in the middle of the night.

"That's okay; we don't need to try anything. I'll believe you. I don't think we should get too close to the house."

"Come on," urged Crooked Walker, waving me to cross the final ten feet of lawn and join him at the window.

I could barely see his face, but I could see that he wasn't asking me. I moved forward on trembling knees. The house was an undeniable presence, all its own. I had known this from the get-go and I loathed the damn thing. I stood staring into the window, but it was still a great void of blackness.

"Listen to me this time. Your life depends upon it," whispered Crooked Walker. "Okay, now I want you to light up that room."

### Chapter Four

The morning they left the winter camp was overcast and cool. Man Killer shared her canoe with two orphans and after what seemed like an eternity, the canoes were loaded and they shoved off into the big water. The Water Spirit had heard their prayers and _Gitchigoomie_ was no worse than it was on most days. They had traveled many miles when they finally made their camp where the Brule emptied into the big water. There, they would rest for the night. Weather permitting, they would leave the following morning and continue on their journey, which might last an entire week.

Although no one knew it then, the band of Ojibwe was about to spend its last summer in the place known as _Meenon_ or Blueberry country. They paddled their canoes up the Brule River, making many portages along the way where the whitewater gurgled over large rocks that would smash the small birch-bark canoes into pieces. There were always the young and the old and the sick to tend to. Still, the summer season was a time to look ahead after a winter of disease and death. The English had come to trade and they had given more than the band had bargained for. The traders had brought smallpox and diphtheria into their camp and many had died. There were many young orphans and they were passed around by the women to be fed, which was their way. No one should go hungry.

Man Killer carried two of these children in her canoe. She had never had children of her own and most thought that she was too old to have any, even if she could find another man to marry her. Even in her mid-thirties, she was by far the most beautiful woman of their numbers, but Man Killer had already outlived all three of her husbands. Some whispered that she was bad medicine. Most, never dared to speak of her at all. She wondered why she had been cursed for so many years. How had all of the other women seemed to find their men with such relative ease? What caused men to die after marrying her? She hadn't killed any of them, not that anyone actually believed her. The Old Ones had told her that she may not have put a hand on any of her former husbands, but she had certainly killed them in their sleep. She was close to the end of her child-bearing years and the thought of it made her eyes water.

Man Killer went about her business after the old women had come to reclaim the two children who had been put in her charge. They did not want her to become too attached to them, or the other way around. These children now belonged to all of them and it was important that they understood this. They would learn many things and never again feel the horror of losing a parent. Man Killer understood this, but it didn't make it any easier in her loneliness. The children had been a nice diversion and the day had been filled with their little songs.

Man Killer slept very little that night as she worried about the days ahead. This would be a very different trip than all of the others. The spotted sickness had claimed so many during the winter that it gave their village an uneven feeling. Many of the Old Ones were gone and they had taken their great wisdom with them. She missed them, all of them, and felt a lingering sense of betrayal when she thought about an individual for too long. The orphans were what really troubled her. While they would look out for these children as if they were their own, they had never traveled with so many in tow. The rivers would still run with the white water, making their journey very difficult and extremely dangerous.

Then, there were also the Sioux to worry about. The band seemed to be split on what to do about them. Two of the white traders had visited in their village for a few days. The men had traded them four rifles for some _biwabik_ , or iron, which the white men seemed very interested in. The biwabik had yet to be forged into anything of value and the village thought the men to be very poor traders. Rifles were needed if they encountered the Sioux. Traders were rare these days, partially because of the disappearance of the small furry animals, but mostly because of their refusal to trade goods for alcohol.

The village also liked these men because they were great storytellers. They liked to sit at the fire from sun to sun, where they would spin their tales in a mixture of French, Sioux, and Ojibwe, adding sign language when their words failed them. There had been a lot of talk after the men had left, for they had reported that a troublesome band of Sioux was camped near their summer home at the head of the Brule.

Many of the trappers and traders had inquired about her, but they had all shied away when her story was told.

The world was changing before her eyes and Man Killer wondered where that would stop. Would the white men be happy with taking so many of the trees, or would they want to cut more of them down? How long would it be before they grew back? What about the little animals, could they hide their families until the last of the trappers had left the area? She didn't like change and she wished she could somehow slow things down. She wanted to find a husband and time was running out.

### Huck

I shook my head, even if I could light up the inside of that old morgue, I didn't have the stomach to look in the windows. Still, I stared into the gloom and a green light began to slowly glow from across the blackened room. I gasped and tried to pull away. Why was he doing this to me? I didn't know why he kept pretending that I had magical powers. That was simply ridiculous and I had seen enough.

"Be careful now, you don't want to make it very bright. Green is a good color."

I could now see the inside of the great-room and it looked lived-in and comfortable. There were two bright red sofas on a royal blue carpet. A fire appeared from out of nowhere and it began to cast a glow of its own around the massive fieldstone fireplace. From that point on, I was hooked like a fish.

"That is too much light."

I nodded my head and the green glow dropped a shade of intensity. I knew it was Crooked Walker's way of putting me on, but I was drawn to the light like a moth to a flame. A child suddenly charged into the room. The boy couldn't have been more than seven or eight, and he was dressed in clothes that had gone out of fashion a century ago. He was a handsome boy with brown hair and he was dressed in a little jacket, vest, and tie. He wore shorts and red socks under a pair of lace-up boots. He was followed by a young girl, perhaps two years his junior. She looked like a perfect porcelain figurine, with flowing blond hair and a mischievous smile. She wore a crimson dress with white lace. The two children were the picture of happiness.

"Remember what you see here," whispered Crooked Walker. "And do not make a sound."

I nearly fainted when three men appeared from out of the blackness and approached the house on tiptoes. They were bare-chested and their faces were painted. They whisked by us without a glance. There was something strange about them. I could hear it in their whispers and see it in the way they staggered as they walked. These men were up to no good. I watched them as they paused at the door. One of the men opened a sack and handed the other two, black wigs. He then tied feathers to their heads to complete the illusion. The men wore cowboy boots.

I felt Crooked Walker's hand grip my shoulder. I turned my head from the men to the children and I swallowed hard just as the front door crashed open. The two men in their Indian disguises charged into the room. I nearly screamed along with the children, but Crooked Walker gave my shoulder such a squeeze that I thought he had broken my collarbone.

"We have to help them!" I hissed. "Let me go!"

"This is the past, you cannot interfere," whispered the old man.

What I saw next was enough to send a thousand gallons of adrenaline crashing through my veins, and I tried to twist away from Crooked Walker, but he held me like a cat in a sack.

I heard a man and a woman shouting from somewhere inside the house. The children let out terrible cries that went suddenly still. I closed my eyes to block out the stinging tears. The men let out exaggerated war whoops and they left their bloody weapons lying on the floor. I could see that these were not the knives of white men. What was happening here? To what end did killing these children serve, what motive would be so dark and sinister, and why did I have to witness such treachery? The father of the children was none other than Barnabus Soliah. I will never forget the look on his face.

"You needed to see that," Crooked Walker said from the shadow of a tall pine. "I am sorry, but sometimes the truth can be a bitter thing. The source of a man's evil can be traced back to its origin. You saw what happened in there?"

I nodded and the tears once again flooded my eyes. I held my hands to my face and wept.

We returned to our little fire and we sat across from each other as Odd Whitefeather snored on the lawn. Crooked Walker studied me in the firelight as I wrestled with what I had witnessed. A loon called from across the lake and was answered by another. I began to hear crickets and they calmed me in that crickety way of theirs. This man called Crooked Walker had powerful magic, and I was torn between being happy to have him on our side and wanting him to go away and to bring his magic with him. I had seen too much and I didn't know if I would ever be able to sleep again. We sat there in the relative silence for a long time.

"Do not be afraid of me, Huckleberry," Crooked Walker said, looking at me with pleading eyes across the glowing flames. "I will do what I can to help."

"Yeah," I said. "Well, I think you've helped enough for one night."

"I let you in on a terrible secret, but it was a secret that you needed to know."

"No, I disagree with you. What good could possibly come of me seeing something so horrible? Who were those men and how could they do that? What happened to them?"

"Those men were hired by a lumberman. There is a good chance that you could meet him before this is all over. Never trust him, he is pure evil and guided by greed and lust. He will want what you have, right down to your last breath. The three men were shot dead when they went to be paid. They spend eternity in a special place for men such as those."

"They went to hell?"

"They pray to go to hell. They are in a place that is much worse."

I thought about this for a moment and nodded my head. "Good, the bastards... I hope they're getting what they deserve."

The night was warm and I was sweating. Crooked Walker then did a strange thing: he clutched at his shoulders with his weathered hands and shivered. "I will not show you where they are, but you can be sure that they are being punished in ways that you cannot imagine. The lumberman is a man named Millhouse, who died long ago and has yet to be punished. He is a friend of Soliah's, but I think that would change if he found out that Millhouse was responsible for murdering his children. I need you to help me deliver him to the Great Spirit for justice."

"What are we waiting for?" I asked. "You just tell me what I need to do."

"I will when the time comes, Huckleberry. I only hope you are ready."

"Don't worry about me."

The loons continued to speak to each other from across the water and the crickets chirped with a million voices. The fire crackled and we were content to enjoy these sounds. The night passed quickly and soon the morning sun began to rise in the east. That morning there was a sunrise unlike any I have ever experienced. Low clouds blotted out the rising sun until it was just an orange sphere on the horizon. The sky in the east turned blood-red and small clouds danced across the crimson sky. The clouds were purplish and they churned into impossible shapes. I saw animals in the sky, every kind under the sun. These weren't conjured up by my imagination; they seemed to be carved by the likes of Michelangelo. I watched them move across the sky as if they were running from something. My chest hammered when I saw my own face on a Mount Rushmore of a cloud. I gasped when I saw the other faces. Odd Whitefeather was next to me; on the other side of him was Crooked Walker. There was another face carved upon the hypnotic cloud, but I didn't recognize it. The face was wild and angry, and it scared the shit out of me. I stared at it until it was only a memory.

We watched the sunrise without exchanging a single word; which didn't bother me a bit, I thought I had been given enough information for one night. If Crooked Walker saw the same sunrise, he never mentioned it.

How did all of this fit together? I still didn't understand why I had been summoned. These two guys didn't need me. I didn't have any special powers to share with them; Crooked Walker could pretend all he wanted to. I was an ordinary, _average_ guy. Wasn't I? The last face on the floating monument continued to haunt me; as did the charging devil from the depths of Hell. I was doing my best to block out what I had seen inside the house, but it was still there. I supposed that it always would be and the thought made me sad.

Daylight came and I motioned to Odd Whitefeather, who hadn't moved an inch since he'd went to sleep. "Shouldn't we wake him up?" I whispered.

"He is very tired and he needs his rest. Leave him be."

I nodded, but Crooked Walker's answer somehow got under my skin. I let it sit there for a while, simmering. I thought that he had slept long enough, and I was ready to start whatever the hell we were supposed to do. I hadn't asked to come out here. The gleaming white house stood out like an abomination on the freshly cut lawn. It seemed to be taunting me, or more likely, it was _haunting_ me. Either way, I wanted to get things moving. I had lived alone for longer than any man should ever have to. I wanted to try and find a wife before it was too late. The thought was never far from my head. I watched Crooked Walker as he sat like a lump on a log. His eyes were glazed and unfocused as he stared out over the lake. "When are you going to tell me what I need to know?" I asked. "Shouldn't we have a plan?"

"True knowledge needs to be digested a little at a time," Crooked Walker said in his raspy voice. "That is what keeps children young, and is what separates wise men from fools. I am not finished with our lesson. Are you ready for the test?"

_Oh shit,_ I thought to myself. _Here we go again._ I nodded my head, knowing that I couldn't turn back now. "Anytime you are, bring it on," I said.

"Bring it on?" Crooked Walker asked, arching his white eyebrows on his wrinkled forehead. "Bring it on! I like that. I may use it one day."

"Right... So, whenever you're ready?"

"Do you see that piece of driftwood down by the water? I want you to bring it to me, but I don't want you to move to do it."

I looked down toward the water at a waterlogged limb and back to the old man. There was a twinkle in his eye and he slowly nodded his head. "I keep trying to tell you, I'm not like you guys. I can't do those sorts of things. I wish I could, but I just can't."

"Concentrate on the driftwood."

"You'll just wave it over here to try and make me think that I moved it. Why do you want me to think that _I_ _have_ _special_ _powers_? I don't and I never will."

Crooked Walker's eyes darkened. "Stop with your blabbering and do as I ask. You have to believe in yourself, in whatever you put your mind to. You sound like a spoiled child. I _can't_ do that. How did you ever learn to walk? Do you think that it came easy to you? Close your eyes and concentrate. I want that piece of driftwood."

The tone of his voice had changed and I thought I would amuse the old guy. I closed my eyes and actually concentrated on doing what he had asked of me. After a few moments I began to see bright colors in my mind's eye and felt some strange muscle flexing inside my brain. I began to feel dizzy and I opened my eyes. The colors were gone and there was a plopping sound on the lawn. I looked to see the piece of driftwood, which was about the size of human leg, lying wet on the green grass.

"You _do_ have special powers," Crooked Walker said with a smile. "I did not do that."

The look on his face was enough to convince me that he wasn't making it up. I still felt a little woozy from the experience, but I managed to return the smile.

"I feel much better now," Odd Whitefeather said from over my shoulder. "A man needs his sleep."

### Chapter Five

The sun was setting in the west as the shadows completed their daily stretch. Someone was cooking venison over a fire and Man Killer's stomach rumbled. She unloaded her canoe and then flipped it over to check for damage. Much to her delight, she found nothing that looked like it needed repairs. Tomorrow they would see much white water and she knew that many repairs would have to be made. This would slow them down, which would make them vulnerable to the Sioux. Man Killer set about preparing her pallet as she chewed on some of the berries she carried with her.

He was taller than any of the other men, broad in the shoulders and he walked with a distinct arrogance. They called him Stump Nose and he did as he pleased. Man Killer had decided she didn't care for him a long time ago. She thought him to be a bully and to be very hard on her eyes. Suffering fell in his wake and most simply avoided him.

Stump Nose was in the prime of his life and had never taken a wife. The other braves had begun laughing behind his back. He was a determined man, ready to die to defend his own honor. He would make Man Killer his wife and they would have many children. He had grown tired of living with his mother and was elated that she had come up with the plan to trap Man Killer. Stump Nose thought she was the smartest woman in the camp.

"I brought you some food," Stump Nose said in his gruff voice. "Eat."

Man Killer turned to face the voice. She saw Stump Nose looking over his shoulder, his brown eyes darting around to see who was watching. His eyes grew panicked when he saw a great many of their number were watching them. Man Killer had a moment to process the information. What could it hurt to accept his offer? She was hungry and Stump Nose would be greatly embarrassed if she refused his offer. She would eat and quietly explain to him that she was not interested in taking a husband. When he turned to face her again, Man Killer hesitated for a long moment, savoring it in her mind. Stump Nose gave her a pleading look, tilting his head towards the others. "Thank you," she said, taking the offered food in the wooden bowl.

Stump Nose looked overjoyed and he quickly squatted down on his haunches. "It is rabbit from my mother's fire. You will like it."

Man Killer picked at one of the small leg bones and tasted the meat. She decided that Stump Nose's mother really knew her rabbit. She smiled. "Tell your mother that the rabbit is very good."

"You can tell her yourself," Stump Nose said enthusiastically, squishing a red beetle on a moss-covered stone.

Man Killer's jaw nearly fell from her mouth as she saw the three old women walking over to _chaperone_ them. Stump Nose's mother was leading the group and she looked as proud as a peacock. Man Killer cursed herself and her own foolishness. This had all been carefully planned by Stump Nose's mother. He was far too thick-headed to plan such a devious plot. Now it would be thought that the two were a couple.

She was known as Wind In Her Face, because of the way she bent forward as she moved, as if she were facing a brutal north wind. She knew that Man Killer would have figured out her scheme by now, but that did not matter. She was desperate to rid herself of her last son. He was lazy and spent most of his time boasting about his athletic abilities. He had few friends and most of them were friends borne out of fear. There was no denying that Stump Nose was a man to be feared, but real men were only supposed to be feared by their enemies. People shied away from him and Wind In Her Face saw her hopes of marrying off her son, wither, then fall from the vine of her dreams. She would not fail.

"Wind In Her Face," greeted Man Killer, trying to look shocked that she would visit them in her camp. "How are you today?"

Wind In Her Face stood with her shoulders stooped forward, looking as if she might be blown over at any second. She was a solid woman with a wide face that was deeply lined. She smiled at Man Killer, pretending not to hear the offered greeting. She then held her gnarled hands to her bosom and spoke in a very loud voice. "Oh, it warms my heart to see love in the eyes of the young. We must celebrate! Man Killer has just consented to marrying my son. Build a fire and we will dance to celebrate this great day!"

The two old sisters that had accompanied Wind In Her Face played their parts perfectly. Owl Woman wailed with excitement while her sister, No Tongue, raised her hands in the air in jubilation. They then wandered off to share the wonderful news with anyone who hadn't heard Wind In Her Face, just as they had planned.

Man Killer stared into the dark eyes of the treacherous mother. She saw nothing but challenge and Man Killer found herself looking away. The moment passed in the blink of an eye and the camp suddenly sprang to life. Two drums began to play as a large fire was prepared in the middle of their camp. Man Killer wanted to cry.

Wind In Her Face pressed her attack, moving next to the stricken woman and she sat down next to her. "I do not care if you kill him," she spat. "He is of no use to me."

Man Killer recoiled at the words. What sort of mother was she? She looked to Stump Nose who was smiling stupidly. The comment hadn't seemed to bother him in the least. "That is good," Man Killer replied. "Because he will surely never wake up again after we are married."

"I will not go to sleep," said Stump Nose, as if what he said mattered to these two women.

"I know he will die, but that will be your fault. The Dead Winter has taken many braves. Do you think it is wise that we lose another? Who will be left to fight the Sioux?"

Man Killer had already thought about that. The People might be very angry because of this. It did not matter that nobody liked Stump Nose. They would only remember that he was a great warrior and that he had been senselessly murdered by one of their own. The old hag had carefully plotted this out and she was playing it perfectly. Man Killer shook her head and continued to eat. There was nothing more to do.

Stump Nose thrust out his chest and began to pace the area. He had never been happier and he didn't know what to do with himself. This was indeed a great victory. Wind In Her Face smiled her old woman smile and thought about living alone after all of these years. Finally, an empty nest where she would be free of his terrible snoring and the frequent thunder that erupted from his pallet. Man Killer thought her life was over.

Stump Nose sang and danced until the last of them had left the fire. He was a poor dancer and a terrible singer, in Man Killer's opinion. She held her hands over her ears as she tried to go to sleep. Man Killer wept and quietly cursed the old woman as she slowly drifted off into her own broken dreams.

### Huck

The sun was hot and I was thirsty, my stomach begged for food. So much had happened, yet we were so far from finishing what we'd started. The thought was nearly too much to bear. What other misfortunes awaited me? I was beginning to want my stink back and to be left out of this. To be honest, even with their combined powers, I doubted the old men were any match for what lurked behind the door of the Soliah Home.

"What do you know about that place?" asked Odd Whitefeather, perspiration running down his forehead. "We need to know."

What did I know? Too much and not enough, I thought. The old house had been standing there for longer than anyone could remember. I told them that and they replied that neither had ever visited the area, so it was possible that it had been there for centuries, if not longer. I then explained how I'd been contracted to demolish the old place, and about what happened to my crew. The entire lot of them had been swallowed whole by the house, never to be seen again. Both men agreed that this was powerful magic. They continued to look from me, back to the house, with a newfound glint of respect in their stoic expressions.

I then expressed my deep-seated concerns about the evil demon that lived inside the house. I told the men that it was likely that we'd all fall victim to the Soliah Home, and spend eternity together down in the filthy basement. I had to be honest, even if I wanted to lie, I couldn't. This had suddenly become very serious. I didn't want any more blood on my hands.

"Wait here," said Odd Whitefeather. "We will be back for you after we talk about this. When I get back we will have some lunch. I know you are hungry."

I nodded; the mere mention of food was enough to send my stomach growling. I sat down and crossed my bare feet, waiting as the two men began to argue. I sat there and watched them for a while. A sandhill crane stood not five feet from them at the water's edge. That was very strange to see and I watched them for some time before turning my attention to the old Victorian home that loomed above me. I hoped that the men would settle this soon, because I knew we were still in great jeopardy. A shadow passed in front of a shaded window in one of the two turrets, and I felt a tingle of fear at the back of my neck.

And when I looked back at the old men there were three of them.

They turned and headed in my direction. I couldn't believe my eyes. The newcomer was dressed in moccasins and a breech cloth. His face was painted with intricate designs and he looked to be twice as old as time. I had seen his face in the clouds and the sight of it made my mind numb. This was a cold, hard face that looked incapable of anything but a scowl. He looked at me with obvious contempt which bordered on outright hatred.

"This is my grandfather, Dog Breath" said Crooked Walker. "He will help us."

The man named Dog Breath was standing over me, as if he were curious about my species. His skin was a deep red and he was thin and muscular for a man of his obvious age; and what that age would be, I could only guess. He said something in their tongue and the other men laughed.

"He says that he has fifty wives and that he wants to cook you over a fire and eat you," Odd Whitefeather said, looking barely able to contain himself.

"Hurry up and tell him that I'm not on the menu."

"A pity," said the eldest of the clan. "I'll bet you taste just like black bear." His voice was dry and his breath reeked of skunk and rotting teeth. I noticed that his lips didn't match the words that I heard. I suddenly realized that I was only hearing what he wanted me to hear.

Despite his age, Dog Breath was the fiercest looking of the three. He continued to stand before me, his dark brown eyes boring into my own. The old man didn't move for nearly a minute and his gaze slowly brightened into a smile. My mouth dried up and I swallowed nothing. That smile looked as out of place as teeth on a chicken. He finally drifted off to join the others and I felt relieved that he had done so. I walked away from the others as they began another heated conversation. I walked down to the lake and sat down on an old wooden bench that sagged under my weight. The bench was just as I had remembered it and it made me think of things that I had done my best to forget.

The waters of Spirit Lake were calm and clear, and the reflecting rays of bright sunshine made it hard to look at for very long. I remembered being here. This was where it had all began. The day had been much like today, warm and still. There were six of us. My pickup had been parked on the lawn and we stood next to it as we drew straws. The moment had arrived.

My team had been hired to demolish the Soliah Home and to cart away the rubble. There is one unbreakable rule when it comes to safety at a job-site. The building is without fail, searched from top to bottom for any sign of life. None of us wanted to go inside the dreaded place, who could blame us? The house on Spirit Lake was alive, even though no one lived within five miles of it. As far as anyone knew, the house had also been vacant for generations. Yet, there it was in all of its whitewashed glory. The stately Victorian stood flanked by two rows of mature pine trees. Twin turrets graced the upper corners of the massive, three story home. Tall dormers protected paned windows, and not a one of them was broken. Six tall pillars stood like sentries at the front of the house. The front porch stretched the length of the house and looked to have been built only the day before. This simply couldn't be, but I knew that somehow it was. I know that after a long period of time that an empty house goes bad, it turns mushy like a rotten apple and it needs to be removed before someone stumbles into it and gets hurt, or worse.

I should have known better to bid on the job. The People from the state wanted the land and I had seen the Notice for demolition bids in the local paper. I was no stranger to this place and I knew something of its infamous history. How many kids had drowned in that lake? How many had simply disappeared after entering the house on a dare? There were many stories and they went way back. I wish I had never seen that Notice. We stood there and stared at the place for a long time.

The sun was warm and you could feel the tension. Business had been slow and this job was the best paying contract we'd seen in years. Three days and we were all going to head home with a year's salary. That was the deal; at least it was part of it. The second part was that I made it clear to all of the men that like any other building, like it or not, this one would be searched. I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life in prison because some kids got locked in one of the closets. I let them decide if we'd send one man inside, or if we'd go in together. They chose to draw straws, which was what I thought they'd do.

Wally Swengard was the first to draw. Swengard was a large, simple man, who drove one of the dump-trucks and lived in town with his mother. I watched him as he ran his pudgy fingers across the six white straws, before choosing one with a quick pull. Wally held one end of the short straw and his expression was priceless. I could see it in his eyes. He looked like a cornered rabbit. I felt bad for my friend, but like the others, he had voted to decide it this way. Reluctantly, Wally pulled on his suspenders and looked up at the house. He grabbed one of the walkie-talkies from the hood of my truck, tested it and walked away. Nobody said a word.

And we watched Wally, dressed in his flannel shirt and oversized suspenders; walk up and into the Soliah Home, never to be seen again.

"What do you see, Wally?" I asked, holding the transmit button of my walkie-talkie.

For a moment there was something that sounded like Wally's voice, but it was gone before we could make out what it was. Again and again, I tried calling to him over the radio. I could hear panic in my voice.

John Nitti, who was the toughest man on the crew, dropped his sights on the house and he followed Wally's footsteps, right into the house. He disappeared and suddenly the front door slammed shut and we heard the terrible sound of Nitti's screams.

"Huck, we've got to get in there!" Mike Mathews shouted at me. "We've got to help those guys!"

That was when the four of us were freed from our paralysis; we foolishly armed ourselves with wrenches and hammers and sprinted for the door. The Tatum twins were first to reach the door and they entered it together. Mike was close behind. I followed him by no fewer than five steps, but after Mike disappeared inside, the heavy door slammed shut in my face.

I have never heard men scream like babies in a crib, but that was what they sounded like. I tried the handle of the door but it was locked. I put my back into it, trying to rip the door free of its hinges. I had never felt so helpless and I thought this had to be a bad dream, and that I would wake in my own bed at any second. I pounded on the door with the pipe-wrench, watching as it bounced back without even making a mark on the heavy oak door. I moved to the front window, stood back, wound up and flung the pipe-wrench at one of the large windows. The tool bounced off the glass like a tennis ball. The screaming grew in intensity before it suddenly stopped, as if someone had just flipped a switch. The door slowly opened, the creaking hinges digging hooks into my ears. I will never forget that sound. I walked back and retrieved my weapon, useless as it was, it was better than nothing.

I took a deep breath, held my pipe-wrench high in the air and walked inside. There was no sound except for my boots on the hardwood floor. I was going to die, I was certain of it. I turned in circles as I walked and probably looked like a ballerina in slow-motion. Dark oak shelves lined the walls, still decorated with antiques. They looked fresh-from-the-box. Besides that, I saw nothing that looked out of place and no sign of my men. "Wally?" I called. "Mike?"

The foyer opened into a large dining room with an oak floor that looked freshly waxed. Heavy drapes hung over the windows and the room was nearly dark. The air smelled fresh and I could even catch the scent of lemons. I stood there for a moment as my eyes adjusted to the light and I waited to be attacked by the boogie-man. I slowly walked further inside.

The floor creaked beneath my feet and that's when they started screaming again. I could hear Wally, followed by John Nitti, desperately pleading for me to come downstairs and rescue them. Mike and the Tatum's quickly joined in and the sound began to hurt my ears. It sounded as if I was standing right on top of them, and maybe I was. I had to find the door that led to the basement, but I had never been in a house like this one. Where would the stairs be? I frantically began to run around and open as many doors as I could find. Most led into rooms and closets and one even led to stairs, but that staircase only went up. I was breathing hard and tears were now falling down my cheeks. The screaming sounded as if they had been locked inside a room with hungry lions.

This moment would change my world, forever. He waited for me in a room off the foyer where double doors led into a study. He was a tall, elegant man with pale white skin and piercing green eyes. His head was covered in a golden mane of hair, parted in the middle that fell to his shoulders. He wore a navy blue military uniform, vintage, by the looks of it and there were medals on his chest and bars on his shoulders. He was an officer, or apparently wanted me to think he was. I felt as if I was somehow standing outside of myself, and staring into the past.

He smiled, revealing a set of ivory teeth. "Huckleberry Brindle," he said. "How very pleased I am to finally get to meet you." The southern voice sounded well-schooled and cultured. The hair stood up on the back of my neck when I saw that he stood on a pair of cloven hoofs. "Let me introduce myself, my dear boy, I am Major Barnabus C. Soliah." He then did something strange, he followed my gaze to the floor and then scurried behind a stout oak desk; the sound of those hoofs tapping on the wood floor was unnerving.

I was scared to death and wondered why this man cared enough about me to introduce himself. "What have you done with my crew?" I asked him, continuing my way into the room. The window looked out over the great backyard; where nothing looked as it did a moment before.

"Please, have a seat. Everything will be explained to you in good time, my dear boy."

Across from the desk were a pair of cane-backed chairs, I took one and sat down, continuing to stare out the window where fifty or more, pale white tents billowed in the afternoon breeze. Between the tents milled more military men, perhaps as many as one hundred. They wore soldier's uniforms, but they looked to date back to the Civil War era and many carried what I recognized to be Winchester rifles. The men also shared Soliah's paper-colored skin. They looked like they'd been dipped in cream and their expressions were deadly serious.

"Those are my men of the Third Infantry," said Soliah, swiveling in his chair. "They are an exceptional group of men, aren't they? Quite exceptional."

"When did _they_ get here?"

"Long before you," Soliah said, with just a touch of authority. "We've been waiting for you, Huckleberry. Oh yes we have, indeed, indeed. You've been away and I should string you up by your neck. Desertion is a serious crime and it will not be tolerated."

I returned my attention to him. "You've got the wrong guy. I just want to get my men and get off the property. I wash my hands of this."

"My dear boy, I'm afraid that's impossible. You're into it up to your neck, we _all_ are," he said, holding his arms up to frame the window. "We've got a mission to complete and you signed on with your blood. We're going to eliminate every red man in the territory, just as we should have a long time ago. You're part of that mission, soldier!"

"I sure as hell am not!"

"Don't you take that tone with me, you little puss-bellied spittoon. How dare you speak to your dear old grand-pappy like that?"

Somehow, I got to my feet and stood behind my chair, holding it for support. "My name is Brindle, not Soliah."

"What's in a name?" Soliah said with a chortle. "Your blood comes from your mother's side of the family. I know lad, Brindle isn't Soliah, but it's still a fine name. You are still bound to avenge the death of your little aunt and uncle. What could be more important than that? You will make a great name for yourself. I can guarantee that. I can also guarantee that when this is over you'll be a very wealthy man. This will all be yours. Hundreds of square miles of Indian reservation; a casino, bait shops, hot dog stands. My dear boy, you'll be the wealthiest man in the territory."

If he thought that he could buy my loyalty, he was sadly mistaken. There was no way I was going on the last westward march of the Indian Killers. I didn't care if they were ghosts; I didn't care if they locked me in the basement, and to be frank, I didn't care if they hanged me. "No way, I'll never do it." I said.

"Your friends will die in the bowels of this home. Have you ever watched grown men skinned alive? I can be sure that you do. I don't need them, I need you. What do you say, lad? Let me make a man out of you."

I began to run and Soliah shouted at me with fury in his voice. "Get back here, you pile of horse-shit! You stink of fear, do you hear me? Stink of it! Come back and see me when you get tired of it!" He then began an uproarious fit of laughter that echoed throughout the house. I reached the front door and pulled hard on the handle, where, much to my surprise, it opened freely and I dashed out into the sunlight.

The tents were gone and my idle machines sat without their operators. That was all I could process before I was overwhelmed by the horrifyingly pungent odor, which I would carry until the day I met Odd Whitefeather. I continued to run, hoping to outrun the terrible stench. I ran into the bushes and vomited for the first time, but certainly not the last. I have never returned and suffered the knowledge that I'd sacrificed my friends' lives for the lives of others. I had thought about little else since it all happened. Now, I was back.

I had to tell Soliah that his dear friend was responsible, but I knew that he would never believe such a story. I would need proof before I sprung it on him. Something Soliah had said was gnawing at my brain, something that had bothered me for a long time. He had promised me the entire reservation, _including the casino._ White men didn't have Native American Gaming rights, not in Minnesota.

I rubbed my face and stared out into the water with my elbows resting on my knees. I didn't know what to believe and I wanted a drink worse than I've ever wanted one. Everything seemed to be getting away from me, and I thought that there was no way I could gather it all in before it suddenly swept me away. I was in a quandary, torn between telling Odd Whitefeather the rest of the story and staying mute, hoping that somehow we'd get out of this alive. I turned my head and found myself staring into his weathered face. I turned my head and looked for Crooked Walker and Dog Breath, but they were gone.

"You and I need to have a talk." Odd Whitefeather said, putting his arm across the back of the bench. "There is something you need to know."

"I need to tell you something, too."

"I shall go first, I am your elder. As a matter of fact, young Huckleberry, you are my grandson. I have been searching for a way to tell you, but first, you needed to pass the three great tests."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, a numb sense of shock washing over me like a rogue wave.

"It's a long story and we don't have much time. It will take me many years to tell it. Always remember that my blood runs through your veins. You're not like other men and it's about time you understood that. You are next in line, do you understand me?"

"No, no, no... I am not your grandson, my last name is... Brindle..." I said this as my stomach fell to the bottom of my bare feet. I had just put it all together and it roared inside my head like a D-9 Cat. I put my head in my hands and moaned.

### Chapter Six

They were camped on the shores of the Brule where many of the tall trees had been cut down and floated down the river. The old men discussed this while the younger men set to work repairing the canoes. The women looked after the children while they prepared a meal. Man Killer tended to her canoe, patching the holes with _wautab,_ or pitch, that she had gathered from the fading number of pine trees. She had grown used to this over the years and worked alongside the men if the situation called for it. She could fight and had killed many braves while defending them against attacks from the Sioux. Some of these braves were the finest fighters of their enemies and her name was well known.

He watched Man Killer for a while and finally walked over to where she squatted over her canoe. "You do fine work," he said. "Maybe when you are finished you can help me with mine?"

"Don't hold your breath," replied Man Killer.

"What else can I do if my canoe sinks in the deep water? That is funny, right?" Stump Nose asked, laughing at what he thought was a very funny joke. When Man Killer did not respond, Stump Nose picked up a passing spider and began to slowly pull off its legs.

Man Killer saw this and quickly turned away. "Hilarious," she said. "Now, will you give me some room to work? I have four babies to look after and plan to take a bath before we get moving," she immediately regretted saying this last part. The look in Stump Nose's eyes was one of desperate hunger.

"Need someone to wash your back?"

"I do not. Please leave me alone."

He dropped the one-legged spider and watched it twist in agony. "I am good with my hands..."

"I will cut them off and make paddles out of them. It can be done."

Stump Nose was puzzled by this. He looked down at his large hands and shook his head. This wasn't going as planned and he needed to go back to his mother and tell her what Man Killer had said. She would know what to do. He grunted, leapt on a hapless toad, and walked away.

She ran her hand through her hair and fought back the tears that were behind her eyes. She pulled her knife from her belt and thought about crawling into the thicket and cutting the veins in her arms. They might not even miss her. She closed her eyes and saw her father's face. The fleeting glimpse was all it took for her to stick the knife back in her belt. She returned her attention to her canoe and tried to put Stump Nose out of her thoughts.

### Huck

There it was, all sewed up and delivered with a ribbon. This explained my dark skin and ink-black hair. This explained Odd Whitefeather's visit to my trailer and his urgent need to bring me back to where it had all begun. This also explained why Soliah had mentioned the casino, he had known about my Odd, and confusing heritage.

"I'm sorry you disapprove of your family roots... Our grandfather's will be very disappointed," Odd Whitefeather said, staring out over the water. He then turned to me and said with great urgency: "Dog Breath will be here shortly, you will spend a single day with him and his people. You will next spend another day with Crooked Walker. You will need to listen and learn what you can, do not forget that. The last day you will spend with me. I will try to teach you the little of what I know. You will be welcomed into our number during the _Midewiwin_ ceremony. Do you understand me?"

"No... I don't understand any of it." I didn't and I didn't want to. I wasn't going to be a Medicine Man, the President of the United States, or the next Jim Thorpe. I just wanted to be Huck Brindle and get on with my life. That wasn't meant to be.

"You will learn to understand, but there are times when that is all you need to know. Remember that. Digest what you learn slowly, like a good meal."

"You don't understand," I said. "I'm also related to what lives in that house."

"Soliah," said Odd Whitefeather, nodding his head slowly. "We know all about that."

"Did I hear somebody mention my name?" asked a velvety smooth voice from behind the bench. I didn't need to turn my head to see who had spoken. The voice belonged to Major Barnabus C. Soliah.

"This is my time," Odd Whitefeather said in a stern voice. "Leave us!"

"How dare you take that tone with me," snarled Soliah. "I've got you surrounded and all I have to do is give the order. _Your time?_ You come to my home and sit on my bench, and have the nerve to call this your time? How _savage_ of you. Trust me, your time will come. Your minutes are numbered. Brindle is coming with me."

"No!" shouted Odd Whitefeather.

But Soliah had already put his hand on my shoulder and we were both whisked away. One second I was sitting next to Odd Whitefeather, the next I was seated in Soliah's study. It was as if no time had passed since my last visit. That was confirmed with a glance out the window.

The ghost soldiers were still there and I recognized a few of them. Was it possible that they hadn't moved from their posts in five years?

As if to drive the point home, Soliah held up his arms. "They are an exceptional group of men, aren't they?" He asked, looking pleased with himself. "So, there you have it, the rest of the story. Now, where were we? Yes... I remember, I was explaining to you the true meaning of duty. Ah, Huckleberry, so much has changed. The path the country has chosen is despicable, simply despicable. Did we die in vain?"

He fixed his blue eyes on me and toyed with the ends of his considerable blonde mustache. I could see nothing but cold contempt in that stare, a challenge to contradict him. I was more than happy to oblige him. "You died the way you lived your life, without mercy," I said. "You got what you had coming to you. You all did!"

This sent Barnabus Soliah into a terrible rage. He rose from his chair and clomped his hoofs around the desk until he stood inches from my face. "I was murdered by those blood-thirsty savages!" Soliah quickly seemed to compose himself and he softened his tone. "Think of it," he said. This is truly a win-win situation for you. The land, the casino money, the power that comes with such money, it will all be yours."

The sight of those cloven hoofs was enough to take my breath away. Soliah seemed to sense this and he sat on top of his desk, crossing his legs. The hoofs glowed red in the sunlight that filtered in from the window.

Just as I was about to speak I felt a hand fall upon on my shoulder. I turned and stared into the wise, wrinkled face of Dog Breath. He smiled at me and turned his attention to Soliah. "We go now," he said in a tone without compromise.

"By all means," said Soliah with a forced smile. "But he is mine in three days time. Don't you dare be late or the truce is over. I'll be waiting."

Dog Breath nodded and suddenly we were engulfed in a whirlwind. The room began to spin and I closed my eyes, wondering what I had gotten myself into. Had I known, I would have ran from the room and headed straight back into the world I understood.

I opened my eyes and found myself standing next to Dog Breath on a rolling, windswept prairie that stretched for miles in every direction. We stood knee-deep in the tall grass and thunder bellowed in the distance. I looked down and saw that I was dressed in the same manner as Dog Breath. I wore a breech-cloth and little else. My skin was much darker than it had ever been on a summer's day and I seemed to stand taller. Dog Breath had also changed, except he had somehow grown much younger. He looked to be a man in his mid-forties, in peak condition and still in the prime of his life. He smiled at me and sniffed at the air.

"Our people live in that direction," he said, gesturing to his right. "The buffalo are coming from this direction," he said, pointing the other way. "You and I are all that stands between our village and the great stampeding herd. You need to be brave or we will all be trampled. Our people are depending upon you."

With the thunder growing in my ears, I thought of how impossible this all was. Surely, I had to be dreaming. Dog Breath gave me a hard look, the same look he had given me when he threatened to cook me over a fire. I knew then that this was no dream. I looked to the horizon and saw a huge cloud of dust rising in the distance.

"We must part the herd," Dog Breath said, raising his voice above the building roar of the charging animals. "Pray to the Great Spirit for strength. Do it now! The time is upon us!"

Those were the last words that I heard. The first wave of stampeding buffalo appeared over one of the rolling hills. Soon, they were followed by what seemed to be a million more. The ground shook and I wanted to scream as I was paralyzed with fear. There would be no running from this place, it was either stand and pray or lie down and die. I chose to pray.

The sound rose to a deafening crescendo and I nearly screamed in terror. The leaders of the herd were merely two hundred yards away and they were threatening to swallow us whole. I stole a glance at Dog Breath and he stood facing the onslaught with his eyes closed, his lips were moving and his hands were held defiantly on his hips. With time running out, I followed suit, closing my eyes and praying like I had never prayed before.

My eardrums threatened to burst, but I couldn't think about that. I asked for strength and begged for intervention. They were soon upon us and I could feel their hot breath and the wind with their passing. I resisted the strong urge to open my eyes, for I knew if I did that the end would come quickly. I continued to pray and with each passing second I felt just a tad bit stronger. The crashing hoofs thundered across the plains and I seemed to be feeding upon the sound.

How long had passed I could only guess; fifteen minutes perhaps, or maybe longer. By the time the last of the herd had straggled by, I was a changed man. We had parted the herd. My eyes were open and I practically dared the galloping beasts to oppose me. They continued to dodge to the left and to the right as they grew nearer to our position.

As the thunder died away in the distance, I felt stronger and more alive than I ever had in my entire life. Dog Breath said nothing, but he smiled at me like a proud parent. I then realized that he was exactly that, _six_ generations removed.

"You will be called Buffalo Head," Dog Breath said in a matter-of-fact tone. "The wind will whisper your name and you shall be blessed with great powers."

I didn't care much for the name, but I didn't say that to the old man. He nodded his head and repeated the name. "Yes," he said. "It is a good name."

Dog Breath motioned me to follow him and we walked across the freshly turned earth. The sound of the stampeding buffalo grew muted and more distant with each passing minute. I had thought we would walk to the village, why else would he have brought me to this strange place? We walked across the path of the buffalo and we soon found ourselves back in the lush green world of the prairie grass. We walked over and around the rolling hills, keeping the sun at our backs and saying nothing. Occasional groves of trees appeared. An eagle circled overhead. I saw rabbits scurrying away from red blurs of fox fur and whitetail deer with their heads buried in the tall grass. The afternoon sun was warm, but there was no humidity to speak of. A slight breeze blew at our backs and helped keep us cool.

There was no sign of man. There were no fences, roads, sidewalks, or buildings. There were no airplanes in the blue summer sky, no lawnmowers growling in the distance. There was just Dog Breath, me and nature, the way it had once been.

We must've walked for two or three hours. My bare feet began to protest, but I wasn't going to say anything. I had grown to trust Dog Breath and knew he had a reason for taking me on such a long, quiet walk. We crossed something akin to a small mountain and came to place where I could see a roaring river spilling into a great ocean of water. I would later find out that it was the mother of all Great Lakes, Superior; in all of its vast, pre-developed glory.

"I came to this place when I was a young boy. I was not the first of my people to walk here, but that does not matter. The white man came and claimed it as his own."

I watched his eyes cloud over at the mention of the name. I had no idea of what he was talking about. I listened and gave him my undivided attention.

"Sit," Dog Breath said, pointing to the sand. After we had both sat down in the warm sand he continued. "We were forced from our sacred tribal lands. I watched our people die in great numbers. We had no way to defend ourselves, yet many tried to do so. We were starving to death. I want you to close your eyes."

"What?"

"I said close your eyes. I want to show you something."

I did as I had been told, bowing my head as I closed my eyes.

"You may open them now."

The season had suddenly changed and the air took on a distinct chill. Where there had once been nothing but a natural landmark, a small town, had sprouted from the earth. A great wooden mill stood on the opposite shore, where a large water wheel sat turning in the current. People roamed the streets and some were very close to our position. After seeing this place as it had once been, the sight was obscene in a way that I cannot describe. I looked to Dog Breath and pointed at a large man in a cowboy hat, who wore a scowl on his face and was walking straight for us. He wore an unbuttoned tan slicker that billowed behind him like a cape.

"Do not be alarmed," Dog Breath said. "He cannot see or hear us."

His words helped, but they only went so far with the wide man bearing down on us. He looked as mean as a junkyard dog and he stalked along with a definite purpose in his stride. He carried an old flintlock rifle over his shoulder and it looked like a toy against his massive frame.

"At this time the Treaty read that this place was the property of the People. We waited with the hope that someone would see what was happening here, but no one cared. The Treaty was rewritten again. More lies fed to desperate people."

The cowboy was nearly on top of us now and he stared right through us. I turned my head to see what had captured his interest. I saw two Native teens standing outside a large barn. Two horses were tethered there and the boys were lashing bundles to their backs. The cowboy walked past us, missing us by mere inches. He stank of sweat and whisky and the gun was suddenly held in both of his capable hands.

"Do something," I said, for it was obvious that this man was about to attack the two Native boys.

"I can do nothing to stop this," Dog Breath said, but he nimbly took to his feet and crossed his arms at his bare chest. I could see fire in his eyes and his teeth were bared.

For the first time I noticed that Dog Breath had aged a decade since I'd closed my eyes, only a few moments before. Crows feet had dug deep around the corners of his eyes and there were streaks of white in his coarse black hair. "What is he going to do?" I asked, watching as the cowboy walked to within fifty feet of the boys and stopped. I then stood up and held my hands out in front of me. "Stop him!" I shouted as the cowboy leveled his rifle at one of the boys.

"Close your eyes!"

"I won't look away," I said, feeling helpless and outraged at the same time.

"You will close your eyes," Dog Breath said, waving his hand quickly in front of my face. My eyelids snapped shut as if they were heavily weighted. I heard the terrible sound of a gunshot and I felt my stomach fall. We were moving again.

A moment later my ears were assaulted by a thousand sounds, none of which were pleasant. I opened my eyes to find that it was mid-winter and nearly dusk. I stood barefoot on glare ice, yet I could not feel the cold biting into my feet as I should have. The town had grown into a city and the only thing that remained from the recent past was the end of the frozen river and the open waters of the Great Lake. Men on horseback lumbered down muddy, rutted avenues and the river stank of raw sewage. Gas lights glowed from behind paned-glass windows.

"The white men found the most inhospitable tracts of land and they called them reservations. The Original Ones were ordered to go live there. Still, there was no getting away from the iron fist that continued to strike without pity." Dog Breath's voice was weary and even in the fading light I could see that he had aged, considerably. He was now the man that I'd first laid eyes upon out on the lawn, impossibly old and weathered. The age he had been on the day he had left this world.

"What do you mean?" I asked, returning my gaze to the brick buildings and the men that milled about in front of them.

"The logging companies wanted our timber, which was our sole source of income. They had taken everything from us, but it wasn't enough. They had stolen our land, murdered generations of our people, and finally forced us to live like starving animals, but they still wanted more. They came for our timber and iron. They passed something called the Dawes Act. We believed that someone would see the injustice. No one did. So many lies had been told that the truth could not be seen."

I saw a Native American man dressed in shabby clothes and knee-high moccasins. He held his head high and was constantly jeered and harassed as he walked down the side of the road. He looked to be close to sixty, if not well past that age. He stared straight ahead as he walked, and it appeared as if he would walk directly past us.

"That man spoke out against the lumber companies, so he was arrested and brought here. He now has to walk one hundred miles back to his people. This is not the first time for him. His name is Bugonaygishig and he knows that it will be a miserable journey back home."

"Why?" I asked, shaking my head in disbelief.

"They wanted to take the fight out of him and to make an example of him to others. There was no voice out there speaking upon their behalf. The killing had stopped, but the torment continued for many years."

I watched the curiously named man walk ever closer, I marveled at his simple dignity as he endured the catcalls from the men on horseback. He paused at a cigar store and stood before a carved wooden statue of an Indian. He shook his head and continued to walk towards us. He suddenly stopped as he drew to within three feet of us. He got a strange look on his face and he sniffed at the air. Wordlessly, I looked to Dog Breath and quickly back to the man.

"You've been gone for many moons, but there is no mistaking your odor. I know you are here, Dog Breath," he said, blindly. "Do not worry about me."

Dog Breath held his hand in front of his hawk nose and breathed into it. He scowled and waved at the air. The man he had called Bugonaygishig continued on his journey, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "He was always too smart for his own good," Dog Breath commented wryly, as the man walked away from us. "Still, he is a great man and is about to change the way the white men look at our people."

A moment later we were back at the fork of the two great rivers. Gone were the dirty brick buildings and the smell of raw sewage. The prairie grass stood as far as the eye could see and the only sound was the gurgling of water crashing over the rocks. Dog Breath then began to instruct me in the old ways. I sat and listened as he explained everything in great detail. He called me Buffalo Head and I answered to the name.

I left that place having an intimately deeper understanding of the balance of nature. I looked at things differently, and felt as if Dog Breath had somehow removed the blinders from my eyes. I was a completely changed man and would never look at things in the same way.

The sun set and rose again in an unblemished summer sky. I felt no urge to eat or take water, only the need to drink from the fountain of this man's knowledge. All too soon, we returned to the shores of Spirit Lake and I was remanded into the custody of Crooked Walker. I remember wanting to share my experiences with Odd Whitefeather, who sat alone on the shore among the cattails and the chattering of starlings.

"We must not waste time," Crooked Walker said, laying a hand on my shoulder. I suddenly felt the world grow fuzzy again and I quickly closed my eyes. Whatever was happening, I didn't think it was wise, or safe, to experience it visually. I felt my bare feet resting on the firm ground and I opened my eyes. Crooked Walker had regressed in his age, looking to be in his forties and every bit as fit as his grandfather had looked. He was dressed in a homespun shirt made of burlap and buckskin leggings; on his feet were my Red Wings and they looked both outrageous and comfortable at the same time. I found that I was dressed similarly, except that my feet were still bare. The cold of the ice and snow didn't seem to affect them in the least.

We stood on a well-worn path between tall stands of birch. An inch of fresh snow covered the path and it twinkled in the morning light. A lone set of footprints were in the snow and we began to follow them. A quick check behind me confirmed what I already guessed to be true, and it was that we left none of our own. We walked for many hours and I could see how the man had earned his name. He meandered back and forth across the path like a dying river. The further we walked to the northwest, the more the terrain gave way to huge areas of tamarack swamp and frozen marsh.

We rounded a corner and came into a small, derelict village, where children played with a hoop and a stick, while the elders crowded around the man I'd seen earlier.

"His white name is Hole In The Day," said Crooked Walker, stopping me with an outstretched arm. "He is a hero among the Ojibwe people. Have you ever heard of him?"

"I was told his name was Bug-O-... something or other."

"His name is Bugonaygishig, do not forget it," Crooked Walker admonished, shaking a finger at my face. "Do not forget any of what I am to tell you, your life will depend upon it."

"Okay," I said, holding up my hands. "I won't forget. Bugonaygishig, Hole In The Day, the same guy. I got it."

"I got it? What kind of language is that? Words have power, you have to learn that. Any man can site such gibberish and yet they only fool themselves. I got it? I never wish to hear such words again. They cheapen you. You need to learn to act as an Ojibwe. We do not waste our words."

I was beginning to wish that my hours with Crooked Walker would pass quickly. He was a gruff man who seldom smiled.

He motioned me closer and we eavesdropped on the conversation of the elders. Bugonaygishig was angry and he let that be known. He went on to say that he had grown tired of being mistreated by the white men and that he wasn't going to take it any longer. Calmer voices tried to prevail, but he shouted them down. He viscously condemned the practices of the lumbermen and openly speculated that they were paying off the soldiers to turn a blind eye to the plight of their people.

Crooked Walker grabbed me hard by the shoulder and soon we were falling away. Once again, I closed my eyes and wished that my time with the second of the Medicine Men would pass quickly. I got the distinct feeling that he didn't much care for me and that he thought it was beneath him to teach his ways to a half breed, such as myself. When I opened my eyes again we were standing in the same place. The only thing that had changed was the season, and it looked as if we'd skipped past summer. The leaves were beginning to change colors and the area around the village was bathed in shades of burnt orange. A crudely made sign hung above a door on a log building, announcing it as the Onigum Indian Agency. Two white men waited there.

"Now watch and see what happens," Crooked Walker said. "And see if you can't learn something."

I watched as Bugonaygishig walked into the village along with another man. They didn't seem to be in any particular hurry and they laughed as they spoke to one and other.

"That is Sha-Boon-Day-Shkong," said Crooked Walker, carefully sounding out each syllable in a voice just above a whisper.

The two Natives walked up to the Indian Agency and were immediately taken into custody by the two white men who stood by the door. They were informed that they were wanted on charges of bootlegging and that they would now be transported back to the city of Duluth to face those felonious charges. The two Natives were beside themselves with fury. They pleaded with the men to let them go, that there was some kind of mistake. They were not bootleggers; they had simply been targeted as troublemakers by the lumbermen. The white men shook their heads and began to lead the two men to their horses.

That was when the one called Bugonaygishig began to plead for help from the others in the shabby little village. He called out to them in his native tongue, but I understood every word of it. The villagers had come outside to see what all the commotion was about and they looked on with resignation. Finally, an old woman charged into the fray. She carried a short stick and she began to curse at the white men. A few other women followed suit, and soon a small throng of women, children, and old men had crowded around the lawmen and their captives.

Suddenly, from out of the middle of the scrap, the two captives emerged and they ran into the woods. The crowd that had gathered began to cheer their escape. Not a single shot was fired. Eventually, the two white men, looking highly embarrassed and more than just a little frightened, took to their mounts and rode away at great speed.

I looked at Crooked Walker and I was happy to see that he was smiling. He nodded his head and a chortle escaped him. He caught my eye and tried to compose himself, but I began to laugh and he quickly joined in. The confrontation had been a serious matter, but the lawmen had been foiled by a bunch of old women, a few men, and a pack of small children. After we finished our laugh, Crooked Walker put his hand back upon my shoulder, only this time he did so with a touch of reverence. I closed my eyes and felt the sudden rush of time travel.

When I felt my feet find the earth I opened my eyes. We were no longer in the Indian village, but we were standing on the sandy shore of a large lake. Sleet fell from the gray sky and a high wind had whipped the water into a sea of whitecaps; behind us, on a point of land that fell into the roiling lake, stood a small log cabin, crudely built and rugged looking. A group of perhaps twenty Ojibwe men had gathered there and they stood facing the lake.

"The two white men reported that they were attacked and this is how the Great White Chief responded," Crooked Walker said, nodding out across the water.

Two steamships had suddenly appeared where none had been only a moment ago. There were many soldiers gathered on the decks of the ships, well over a hundred. One of the steamers towed a barge and it slapped across the churning waves. I looked back to the cabin and saw that the Natives had taken great interest in the approaching steamships.

"This place is called Sugar Point, have you ever heard of it?" asked Crooked Walker.

I shook my head and waited for Crooked Walker to show his displeasure. He simply nodded his head and pointed off into the woods. "A Grand Medicine Dance is taking place inside the woods. These men will be protected. The white men in the two big canoes will not."

"Where is this place?" I asked.

"This is Leech Lake, a name that should rest on the tip of your tongue. This is where the last battle of what the white men called the Indian Wars was fought. I highly doubt you would have read it in any of your history books."

I stared up at the cabin and watched some of the Ojibwe men melt off into the dense growth of towering White Pines. The small clearing was bordered by a rail fence and at one corner was what looked to be a small vegetable garden. I returned my attention to the lake and was surprised to see that the ships had dropped anchor and the soldiers were being ferried to shore on the barge. They arrived in wave after wave, looking sullen and ill-tempered. They were cold and wet, and most of the soldiers appeared to be very young.

Some of the men took up positions at the shoreline, while others marched up to the little cabin. They threw open the door and rushed inside. Moments later they hauled out one of the Native men. He fought them bravely, nearly escaping before he was brought to his knees by a viscous blow from the butt of a rifle.

"That is _Makwa_ , he is known as The Bear. He could have beaten any three of them."

I nodded my head as I watched The Bear be shackled and led away to the barge. He was loaded inside without ceremony and ferried out to one of the ships. I could read the names stenciled into the sides of the ships, one was named the Flora, and the other was named the Chief of Duluth. I remember thinking how strange it was that the Chief of Duluth had delivered these young men. There was irony there.

Some Native men were detained and questioned, but were allowed to leave. They quickly disappeared into the surrounding woods. A group of roughly twenty-five soldiers marched in the same general direction, away from the peninsula and into the unknown.

We stood and watched the remaining soldiers pilfer the small cabin. I could read the fury in Crooked Walker's glare and said nothing as we stood and waited in the driving sleet. The icy raindrops pelted off of us, as if we were made of wax. We stood there for a long time before the group of soldiers returned, bringing along another captive.

"That is _Bahdwaywedung_ , he was there when Bugonaygishig escaped," Crooked Walker said, interrupting his silence. We watched as the Native was ferried away to one of the ships. "Now, look over there. I want you to watch what happens at that point of land."

I concentrated on the spot and I saw the prow of a birch-bark canoe emerge from behind the last of the tall pines. The canoe glided out into the open waters and headed to the opposite shore. I held my breath, not that it did any good. The canoe was paddled by a small group of women. The first rifle shot fell short of its mark and the battle was on.

I was relieved to see the canoe stop dead in the water and reverse directions. It didn't appear that anyone was hit before it disappeared back to safety. The soldiers had enough to worry about with the deadly volley of gunfire that exploded from the woods. I saw many of them fall.

The shooting continued with the soldiers suffering great casualties. The Natives grew more brazen and they appeared at the edge of the woods. One of them climbed to the top of the split-rail fence and slowly walked across a section, shouting: "Look, they can't hit a thing!"

Shots rained in that direction and finished; the Native, unharmed, leapt to the ground. The sound of great laughter followed.

"That, my grandson, is called courage."

I thought it might be closer to insanity, but I kept my mouth shut. I pointed to one of the men dressed in blue. He repeatedly helped the wounded to the cover of the cabin in a selfless display of bravery.

"That is also a good man," Crooked Walker agreed, nodding his head.

We stood there and continued to watch the battle; daylight fell with a bang and morning arrived in fast forward. The experience made me woozy and I quickly sat down. When the battle appeared to be over, one young soldier emerged from behind a small hill and ran to the little garden. He shouted something about potatoes as he quickly fell to his knees and began to dig. A lone rifle shot rang out and the young soldier was thrown back by an invisible hand. He would never move again.

The soldiers quickly retreated; back to where only one of the ships remained. After they'd been loaded, the ship was put into the wind and returned in the direction that it'd come. The Native men rushed to the shore and jeered them as they steamed away.

"Six soldiers were killed and ten more were wounded. The Ojibwe suffered no casualties because the Great Medicine Dance had protected them."

"But, the soldiers... Didn't they come back?"

"No. One of the White Chiefs made a great apology to the People and things slowly began to change. There was an investigation into the practices of the lumbermen and new rules were adopted. One man is responsible for all of this, do you remember his name?"

"Bugonaygishig," I quickly replied.

"I see that you are learning," Crooked Walker said with a smile. He had suddenly become old again, as if he had aged fifty years in the blink of an eye. "And why do you suppose that this great show of bravery has gone unnoticed for generations?"

"I... I do not know."

"It is for the same reason that you know very little about what the white men call the Indian Wars. We welcomed them into our country with open arms, and this, this, is how we were repaid for our generosity. We shared our crops with them, opened our lives to them. This is a terrible truth that must never be forgotten. Bugonaygishig is my blood brother. I have never met a braver man."

I looked back toward the cabin and it was suddenly gone, replaced by a gleaming resort and wandering tourists. I wondered if any of them knew the story, and quickly decided they knew precious little as to the historic significance of the place. Crooked Walker shook his head sadly and replaced his hand on my shoulder. I closed my eyes and felt my stomach lurch. I very nearly got sick as the hands of time flew full-speed in reverse. I opened my eyes to see the uninhabited point of land as it had been for many thousands of years.

And Crooked Walker began with his lessons. I learned how to cure the sick and how to do a Rain Dance. I was gifted with the knowledge of the tall trees and the stony earth, both of which were interconnected and vital to my understanding of the powerful medicine that flowed from each. I listened with rapt attention as he slowly warmed to me. Much of what I learned during my three days was learned from Crooked Walker. He was articulate and fierce in his delivery when he needed to be. I learned about the origins of the origins, which was a very deep subject.

I returned with the story of Bugonaygishig and the Last Battle of the Indian Wars, etched into my mind. I also returned a much better man and more powerful than I'd ever felt. Odd Whitefeather was waiting for me at the bench. Crooked Walker motioned to me and said: "He is truly one of us, there is no denying it. I am sorry for doubting you, my grandson."

Odd Whitefeather nodded, but said nothing to his grandfather. I suspected that they communicated on many levels. Crooked Walker bid us farewell and walked in his own peculiar way to the water's edge.

"Finally, it is time for the last of your lessons," Odd Whitefeather said softly. "I hope there is room inside your head for what I am about to say."

I thought that was a strange way of putting it to me, but I simply nodded and closed my eyes, ready to be taken to some other time and place.

"You can open your eyes, Huckleberry. I do not have the power to bring you into the past. Someday," he added wistfully. "But, that will be a long time from now when I visit the Happy Hunting Ground."

I opened my eyes and said: "I am Buffalo Head. The name was given to me by your grandfather's grandfather, and I am proud to be called it."

"Hmm..." Odd Whitefeather said, a shadow of a smile passing over his wrinkled face. "Buffalo Head?" he asked. "That is a good name. You should be proud of it."

I stood taller than I ever had, as I came closer to knowing the truth about my tangled heritage. I was looking forward to my hours spent alone with Odd Whitefeather, who had become very close to a father to me in a very short amount of time.

"Tell me what you know about _hate,_ " said Odd Whitefeather. "I want to know what it is that you hate, because I sense there is a great deal of it living inside of your body."

I was suddenly speechless. My mind raced to come up with a lie because I did not wish to share my hatreds with anyone, especially my grandfather. I felt that they were my own burden to carry and they had found a somewhat comfortable spot inside my head to wait to be recognized.

"There is much conflict and you do not wish me to know these things. Why could that be?"

"Because... I do not feel they are worthy to share."

Odd Whitefeather smiled warmly. "You let me be the judge of that."

The truth came spilling out of me as if a dam had been broken. I began by telling him of the intense hatred I felt for my ex-wife, of the misery I had endured by spending five long years as a total outcast. I hated the snow and the rain when they interfered with my plans. I hated death and the finality of the act.

But what I really hated, the _elephant in the room_ ; was the fact that I hated my parents for putting me up for adoption.

Odd Whitefeather listened and urged it all out into the open. I could physically feel the negative energy being flushed from my body. The sensation was wonderful and liberating, as I began to dig deeper into my sub-consciousness and did a thorough housecleaning. I was amazed to find that I hated so many things. They were expelled by Odd Whitefeather as evil demons; one terrible hatred at a time.

A long time passed before I became silent, searching the depths of my being for any more of the negative energies. Odd Whitefeather nodded in appreciation. "Do you see how much lighter your spirit has become?" he asked. "Your hatreds will weigh you down and they serve no purpose but to connect you with the Dark One. You need to understand that there is no need for hatred. It will consume you if you let it."

### Chapter Seven

Stump Nose seemed to follow her everywhere. Man Killer grimaced when he and his wicked mother began to set up their campsite next to hers. They were nearing the head of the Brule and their summer camp; Sugar Bush. Everyone was very happy because their journey had been blessed with good weather and few problems. Man Killer could not find that happiness. She had a big problem that seemed to be growing with the passing of each sun.

The day had been beautiful and the afternoon sun was fairly hot on their skin. Man Killer should have been happy, and would have been, if it weren't for Stump Nose. He had begun leering at her the way the other men leered at their wives before the darkness came. The look frightened her and she knew that she had to think of a way out of the trap. She thought about telling the truth, but who would listen? Wind In Her Face was already planning their wedding ceremony and she was a loud talker. Man Killer's hands shook when she first heard the old woman telling No Tongue of the fine buckskin shirt she was making for her son.

Man Killer went about her business and tended to the day's injuries, which were nothing out of the ordinary. She checked on the babies, making sure that they weren't getting chewed up by the biting insects. A nice breeze had followed them on their journey and it had blown most of these insects deep into the woods. The sick appeared to be getting better and the wounded seemed to be healing, all of which added up to a very successful journey to the summer camp. She thanked the Great Spirit for this and while she did, she asked something for herself. Man Killer had never done such a thing and she felt funny doing so. She was healthy and the band was doing well, despite what had happened during the Dead Winter. Prayers were not to be wasted, and was her problem worthy of prayer? She certainly thought so.

Her old canoe was holding up quite well under the circumstances. She patched a few holes, neither of which was bigger than a tick. She then coated the bottom with a thin coat of the leftover wautab and left her canoe in the sun for it to dry. She was running out of things to do and she dreaded the idle hours. How she longed to spend time with the little orphans, but they were being looked after by nursing mothers, which left her out of the mix.

She glanced over at Stump Nose and much to her horror, she found him staring at her and he gave her a knowing smile. There was a huge gap where his two front teeth should have been, which did nothing to help overshadow his great crumpled nose. There was also something not quite right with his eyes--- they were set too far apart. Man Killer imagined little Stump Nosed children running around and she felt the revulsion in her throat. She turned away and walked down to the river, pretending to look for berries. A minute later she found herself staring into the eyes of two sandhill cranes. They were less than two feet away from her and they did not give an inch.

"Fear not," said the nearer of the two long-legged birds. "We have come here to help you."

Man Killer quietly gasped and held her hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. From her earliest days, she remembered the stories of the strange birds. They were said to hold the spirits of the Mide Men who had passed on to the next world. While she believed this to be true, she had never expected one to actually speak to her.

"It is true," said the other crane in a soft voice. "You are going to be needed very soon. You must be ready to act when the time comes. Do not worry about the ugly one. Things will be different before you know it."

Man Killer looked around and saw no one. "Thank you," she whispered, bowing her head. "I knew the Great Spirit would hear my prayers."

The cranes looked at each other for a long moment. They then flew off toward the setting sun. She stood there and watched them fly away, her heart pounding hope into her thirsty soul. She stood there a while longer, absorbing this hope and wondering about what had been said. Had she been dreaming?

"Who is the ugly one?" Stump Nose asked from behind her, causing Man Killer to jump.

"What are you doing?" hissed Man Killer after she had collected herself. "Why do you keep following me?"

"Why did the cranes speak to you? Who do they call the ugly one, my _mother_?"

Man Killer didn't think they had been referring to his mother, but she let it pass. "How dare you interrupt the work of the Mide? Have you no shame? Speak of this to no one. Now, let me be. I wish to be alone to watch the sunset."

"I am not going anywhere until you tell me about the cranes." Stump Nose said, driving home his point by smashing an anthill with the sole of his moccasin.

"I will ask them to send a bear to feed on your throat while you sleep. Do you want that?"

Stump Nose lost some color to his face and he swiveled his head a few times. "You can do no such thing. You are a Mide Woman, not one of the Mide Men. You have no such power."

Man Killer grimaced. She fought to think of a reply to this, but something spoke on her behalf. " _Oh_ , _yes_ _she_ _does_ ," growled a husky voice from just behind her. The voice was so close that Man Killer could feel the hot breath on her neck.

Stump Nose's jaw dropped and his face went nearly white. He began to back away slowly, ever so slowly.

" _I'll_ _be_ _watching_ _you_ ," snarled the voice.

Man Killer spun on her feet and saw nothing except a few jittering branches. There was a loud crash and then there was nothing. When she turned around she found that Stump Nose had fled. And for the first time in so many days, Man Killer smiled.

### Huck

I rubbed my temples and tried to absorb what he was telling me. The water of Spirit Lake was shining brightly, reflecting the unabashed sunlight from the midday sun. Odd Whitefeather directed my attention to the woods. A whitetail deer was standing there, a great buck with velvet antlers.

"I want you to meet a friend of mine," the old man said, beckoning the deer with his hand. I was amazed to see the noble beast nearly prance into our presence. Odd Whitefeather stroked his nuzzle with a leathery hand. "I call him Otis, simply to give him a name. It is not my right to name him, but I needed to call him _something_. Hello Otis, I'd like to introduce you to my grandson. He is called Buffalo Head."

The great buck snorted with laughter and Odd Whitefeather quickly joined in. I had never seen a laughing deer, and the sight of it was very strange. I waited for them to stop.

My grandfather and the buck exchanged a look and it was the old man who spoke first. "Let me guess, our grandfathers brought you back in time to show you what had once been. That is very important to know, but the story wouldn't be complete without an understanding of the here and now. One cannot change the past. We can only learn from it and move on."

I think what Oddfather is trying to say is..." said Otis, before Odd Whitefeather cut him off.

"What have I told you about using that name?" the old man asked the large whitetail deer.

"Listen to you, and just who was it that graced me with the name _Otis_? I'm hip to your game, _Odd_. You go on and play like you didn't know Otis was the name of the drunk in that old TV show, you just go right ahead. What, you think I ain't never seen a television set?"

"Enough about your name!" shouted Odd Whitefeather.

"You've done hurt my feelings, there's no need to shout. What, you're not my friend anymore?"

"Don't put words into my mouth."

"You didn't answer my _question_."

Odd Whitefeather stared at Otis in consternation. He started to speak, twice, but thought better of it on both occasions.

"Don't worry about it, old timer, I was just havin' a little fun _witcha._ Buffalo Head, it's very nice to make your acquaintance. I would prefer you not to think of me as a common drunkard, but if it helps make things easier, tear it up."

I was also speechless, Otis the deer had suddenly shifted gears and I looked at him in a different light. "Pleased to meet you," I said, stupidly sticking my hand out for a shake.

"Oh," said Otis. "I can see that the fruit didn't fall far from the tree! Let me guess, you taught him everything he knows, right?"

"Knock it off, we don't have much time," Odd Whitefeather said with a slight edge and a stern look.

"Right," said Otis. "As I was saying, we are free to learn from the mistakes of the past, but only if we choose to do so. How is it that a buck of my obvious maturity _and_ incredible stature, has managed to stay alive all of these years? I learned from the mistakes of others. I know of places that are impossible for dudes like you to get to. Can you dig it?"

He gave me a moment to comment, but when I stayed silent he picked up where he left off.

"So, I've got me a dozen does down there and life is pretty good for your old friend, Otis. Well, let me tell you something about does..."

"Otis!" Odd Whitefeather said between clenched teeth.

"Steal you blind, make your fawns turn against you, never let you get a good night's sleep..."

"Otis!"

"Oh, lighten up, old dude. I don't get to try out my new material very often, why you gotta keep a brother down?"

"We don't have time. I promise to bring him back after this is all over and you can have as many hours of his time as you please."

"Hey," I said.

"Deal," said Otis. "As I was saying, we need to learn from our mistakes and the mistakes of others. Think of it this way, the past is never far behind and mistakes are being made every second. If you go through life paying attention, you'll be all right. The things that kill you are the momentary lapses in good judgment. I have a good friend hanging on someone's wall, just a few miles from here. He knew better, but he let the moment get away from him. Bang! Can you dig it?"

"Like sending a text message when you're driving," my grandfather added. He then dug in his pocket and removed a flat cell-phone.

" _Right_ ," said Otis, giving me the slightest of winks. "As I was saying, remember where you are and where you came from. Remember the bad places you've been and what situations to avoid, that is good advice and you would do well to live your life that way. Now, Odd wouldn't have called me if there wasn't some sort of fighting involved. I love a good fight, my record is ninety and zero, isn't that right?"

We both looked at the old man. He was thumbing the keypad of his cell phone with a fair amount of skill for a man of his advanced years. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" he asked.

"Will you put that _thing_ away? I'm trying to make a point here."

The message sent, Odd Whitefeather closed the cell phone and returned it to his fanny-pack.

"I think I know where you're coming from," I said, trying my best to sound _hip_. "So, answer me this: the last time I was inside that house was five years ago, I walked out smelling like a rotten skunk and it was only three days ago that I was rid of the stink. Do you think it's a good idea to go back inside?"

Odd Whitefeather and Otis exchanged a strange look and they both turned to face me.

"You're getting ahead of yourself," Odd Whitefeather said, slapping me on the back. "There are still places we all need to go, and sometimes, they aren't very pleasant. We can't bury our heads in the sand, it only makes matters worse. We will speak of our mission in due time, right now it is time to learn. Otis is the best fighter I have ever known. You have a very good teacher."

"No offense," I said. "But he's a _deer_ , what can he teach me about fighting?" I was flat on my back before the last of the words had fallen from my mouth. Otis had taken me down so quickly that I scarcely had time to register his movements.

"Let that be your first lesson," said Otis. "Fighting is the same for everyone and everything. There are times when fighting is governed by rules, mutually agreed upon. There are other times when it's no holds barred, which usually means to the death. You may never need this knowledge, but it's necessary to know some things. Now, get up and let's get started."

The three of us stood out on the lawn for over an hour as Otis taught me about fighting. I was shocked at how much of what I was taught was applicable to a human being. He may as well have been teaching me the tactics of war. Odd Whitefeather was right, Otis was an excellent teacher and I felt invigorated by the lessons. The old buck had a way with words and I began to look forward to talking with him after all of this, whatever _this_ was; was completed. The truth be told; I still had no real idea of what we were up against.

I bid farewell to my new friend and I watched him bound back into the woods. He was a noble creature with a fierce dignity and a strange sense of humor. I had been enlightened and I would never look at a whitetail deer in the same way.

"What did you think of Otis?" Odd Whitefeather asked, removing his straw hat and scratching the top of his head.

"How can we allow such great beasts to be hunted down and killed?"

"Ah... I thought you would ask me that. Remember this, we all live in harmony on our little planet and we are all interconnected by the Great Spirit. Hunting is part of your heritage and it is necessary for survival. Killing for survival is accepted, killing for the sake of killing is not. You must walk softly on Mother Earth. There will be a day of reckoning. Each life here is significant, _necessary_ ; there is a cycle of life. Do you understand me? When you eat something you have killed, part of that animal's soul lives on inside of you. If you kill something and leave it to rot, that is unacceptable and the consequences will be terrible."

"What about war?"

"War is no different, but you don't want to eat your enemies."

"Right..."

"Sit down with me on the bench, all this standing has made me tired. I am nearly one hundred years old, did you know that?"

I sat down next to him and nodded my head. "You have told me."

"So, what do you think about that?"

"I think it's great, what do you mean? Happy birthday..."

"It is not my birthday; I was born on Christmas Day, which is a blessing and a curse... No, what I would like to hear is how you think I was able to live so many years and still have my wits about me and the stealth of an eagle."

I should have let it go, but I couldn't let it pass. Odd Whitefeather was an amazing man, but on no occasion had he exhibited any sort of stealth. The mere thought of the old man tip-toeing about was enough to make me chuckle. "Stealthy? _You_?" I asked. "I'm sorry, you may be a lot of things, but stealthy isn't one of them."

"Is that so?"

"All right, let's get serious. I am very impressed that a man of your age is still capable of so many things. I applaud you on your accomplishment..."

But when I turned to look at him, Odd Whitefeather was gone. I turned my head up towards the house, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"What do you think of my new boots?" Odd Whitefeather suddenly asked, causing my heart to thunder inside my chest.

I turned my head and looked down at Odd Whitefeather's feet. He was wearing my Red Wing boots. "How did you do that?" I somehow mumbled.

"That is not important right now. I was asking you about living to be my age and still being a force to be reckoned with. The key is clean living, but good genes never hurt. You drink a lot of whisky, those days are over. Do you understand me? You are a different man now, it is time to learn from the mistakes of your past and move on with your life. You have many great things yet to accomplish."

"I do understand and I promise you that I will never drink again."

"Don't promise me, promise yourself. You need to know something about yourself. There are two separate beings living inside your skin. You must learn to look after each of them. Your mind has a clear voice and an unfair advantage over your body. You must listen closely to what your body is telling you. Your mind will ask for whisky, not caring much what your body will think of it the next day. Slowly, your own mind will reason that its need for the whisky is more important than the health of your own body. The whisky will eventually kill you."

"I see..."

"The mind does not want to go for long walks. The mind asks for extra sour kraut on your pizza, even when it knows the consequences. You must tend to each of their needs, being careful to weigh things out. What if your body told you to drill a hole into your head, would you do it? Of course you wouldn't. That is why you must think outside of yourself. Feed your mind knowledge, and give your body good food and exercise."

"I had heard this before, but not quite in the same way. I didn't speak, I merely continued to look at my teacher and absorb all of what he said. I didn't want him to waste his breath. The man _was_ nearly one hundred years old.

We sat there on the bench for countless hours as the sunset gave way to a black sky and a million shining stars. I was taught how to spot weasels and leeches and to avoid them. I was schooled in the art of explosive movement, which I had to admit would come in very handy. This was how Odd Whitefeather had acquired my Red Wings. The old man talked long after the sun had risen in the eastern sky. I learned many things that night, but one thing stuck in my head above all others.

"Remember this," Odd Whitefeather had said, turning his head and putting a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Everything is pre-ordained. Only you have the power to change that, but that is something you must never do. Follow what is in your heart and you will stick to your chosen path. Stray from that path and you soon become lost. Finding your way back to the path is a terrible waste of time. Sometimes, it will cost you all of your dreams."

Later, as we sat in the sun and Odd Whitefeather began to wind down, I asked him about what had been chewing at the back of my mind. I wanted to know about Major Barnabus C. Soliah. Why was he here, and why did he need me? How did he fit into everything?

"I was getting to that," he said, rubbing his tired eyes and staring straight ahead at the lake. "Soliah was in command of the men at the Battle of Sugar Point. He wants revenge for himself, and for his men. They suffered a huge embarrassment. White men foolishly believe that they always have to find a way to gain the upper hand. This has been the cause of many wars, both great and small."

Why does he seem to need me? I have no interest in helping him."

"He needs you because he believes that you owe it to him to avenge his death. He is your grandfather and you are the last of his bloodline. They cannot travel in the present without someone's permission. That someone is you."

"I won't give it to him."

"You say that now..."

I gave him a confused look, but we were suddenly interrupted by Crooked Walker. "Thief," he said, pointing to the boots. "I should have known better to take a nap while you were around."

Odd Whitefeather laughed. "I was only proving something to Buffalo Head."

"Buffalo Head," spat Crooked Walker. "What kind of name is that?"

"It is my name and I am proud to own it," I said, rising to my feet.

"I am glad you like your name," said Dog Breath from over Crooked Walker's slumped shoulder.

Crooked Walker turned. "Don't you sneak up on me like that, I'm an old man!"

"And what does that make me?" Dog Breath asked with a wry smile.

"That makes you an old dog."

"Let us eat," said Odd Whitefeather, and he swept his hand towards the lawn and a picnic table appeared. There were four places set at the table and food was heaped upon the plates. I quickly discovered that Odd Whitefeather had known what we had all been craving, and we easily found our places at the table. I sat in front of a steaming New York strip steak, a baked potato topped with sour cream and a side of hot buttered carrots. Texas toast and a small salad sat on small plates to the side and a large glass of chocolate milk had been poured for me. I nearly fainted at the sight of it.

Odd Whitefeather said a few words of thanks and we began to eat.

Crooked Walker dug into the belly of a great cooked fish and pulled out the tender meat with his fingers. Dog Breath held an ear of multi-colored corn to his mouth and chewed at its uneven rows with his gums. Odd Whitefeather held a fat slice of greasy pizza topped with sour kraut and he bit into it with relish. I wanted to comment on it, but I was too hungry. We ate in relative silence, and I tried to block out the sound of old men chewing food.

Although nobody suggested it, when we had finished we all rose from the table at once and we lay out on the green grass of the lawn. I was soon fast asleep.

I must have slept hard, because when I woke up I felt completely refreshed. I just didn't remember changing into an old pair of pajamas and crawling into a soft bed.

"Did you sleep well, young Huckleberry?"

I instantly sat up and found myself staring into the ghostly face of Major Soliah. He was smiling and his teeth gleamed in the light. "I know what you want," I said. "And I'll never give it to you. I am Ojibwe!"

"Yes, there is that, isn't there." sighed Soliah. That is what makes this so _damn_ hard. You see, Huckleberry, I had two families in my lifetime. The first was savagely murdered, which nearly killed your grandmother and me. We had to start over, which wasn't easy after what happened here. How did you come along? I blame my daughter for that. After everything that happened, she took up with a redskin. Well, a done bun can't be undone, can it? You are also a Soliah, don't you forget that."

"That isn't possible," I said. The years don't add up. You're far too old to be my grandfather, can't you see that?"

"A very astute observation, my boy, but you're wrong. You assume that I lived like a normal man. Look at me; do I look like a normal man to you? Oh, I believe you have just hurt my feelings. What a strange sensation... You cannot deny me, I am your grandfather."

"I sure as hell can," I snapped back. "I'll never support you!"

Soliah's pale face grew a violent shade of red and his eyes narrowed into slits. "Is that so? Come over here to the window," he said, nodding his head towards the wall, as if he meant for me to see something that would make me change my mind.

I rose and walked to the window, feeling foolish in the nightgown-like pajamas. I took my time, thinking that there was nothing out there that could possibly sway me. I looked down upon the lawn and I instantly changed my mind. The soldiers were gathered on the lawn, some were on horseback. Dog Breath and Crooked Walker were lashed to four horses apiece, with each man tied by a single limb to the mounted animals. I could plainly see that Soliah was about to have my Native grandfathers drawn and quartered. "Stop," I said. "You win, let them go."

"I don't think so."

"You don't have to do this. I _said_ I would do it!"

"And then what would you do? You wouldn't _believe_ me in the future and I would have lost your trust. You would always think I was bluffing. Real men never bluff, young Huckleberry. Real men charge into the heat of the battle and there is no bluffing out there. Watch carefully!"

"No... No... I'll do anything you ask, just spare their lives!"

"Never bluff, young Huckleberry. Never, ever..."

I slowly backed away from the window.

"Now!" screamed Soliah in a voice loud enough to echo inside the bedroom.

I put my hands over my ears and spun toward the opposite wall. Despite my attempts, the sound of old men screaming was all I could hear. I thought I would go mad. Suddenly, something inside of me snapped. I turned on Soliah and landed a punch to his face that brought him to his knees. With unbelievable speed, before I could even land a second blow, half a dozen stout soldiers dashed into the room and restrained me.

Soliah rubbed his cheek and scowled at me with a furious hatred. "You'll pay for that," he said. "I can promise you that."

"You didn't need to kill them!"

"Shut your mouth and listen to me. You still have the power to save the last of them, what's his name, _Old_ Whitefeather?"

"What have you done with him?" I asked, twisting against my captors.

"That information will be shared with you _after_ we complete the mission. Now that you know me to be a man of my word, what do you say? Would you like to save the old man's life, or would you like me to cut out a few inches of his intestines and give it to the dogs? I could do that. I could do that right now."

"I _believe_ you!"

"Very well, my good lad, a wise decision, but I have to admit, one that was much easier to make after you understood the stakes. Am I right?"

I nodded my head in defeat. Hot tears burned down my cheeks.

"Now, you listen up, boy," Soliah nearly shouted at me. "Your life is mine for the next two weeks. The first day is to give you the rest of the story, what those old men so _conveniently_ left out. The next two weeks we spend wiping out the red devils to the west. The first time you make a sour face, roll your eyes, or even utter the word _no_ , Old Whitefeather will have his guts spilled all over this fine lawn, and it will all be because of you. Do we understand each other?"

Again, all I could do was nod my head. I could not bear to look at him.

"You see, young Huckleberry, life really is like a game of cards. The first thing you need to understand is that the house never loses. And you're in _my_ house now. So, look sharp and listen up. Get dressed and meet me in my study. Don't make me wait."

I watched him as he clopped across the wooden floor and out into the hallway. He closed the door and I blindly reached for my clothes. A tear fell, followed by a hundred more.

How I did it, I'll never know, but I pulled myself together and thought hard about what Soliah had said. He had given me specific warnings that I needed to heed, if I ever hoped to see my grandfather alive. With those warnings stuck in my head, I walked down the elegant grand staircase and into the study. The house smelled of lilacs and of a fresh breeze off the lake. I opened the double doors and entered the familiar room. Soliah was seated behind his desk.

"Right on time, just as we both knew you'd be."

I sat down and was careful not to lose eye contact with the creature that had murdered both Dog Breath and Crooked Walker, without blinking an eye. This was no man. I didn't care what it called itself, it was an evil beast and I would play along until I saw my opportunity to kill it and rescue my remaining grandfather.

"I'm afraid that there's been a change of plans," Soliah said, showing me a great look of mock concern. "We're going to skip the schooling part. I believe I've taught you all you need to know. We're getting ready to ride and your horse is outside."

I stood to my feet. "Let's go," I said, never dropping my eyes from his.

"Good answer; you see how easy it is? Complete capitulation has its own reward, doesn't it? I really wouldn't know, but it sure seems as if it would. All right, follow me out to the men. Mind your manners, boy, you know the consequences."

I burned with the desire to strangle the life out of Soliah, but I followed him out of the study, across the spacious foyer and out the front door. The men were mounted and waiting for us down on the lawn. Two horses stood tied to a post and I followed Soliah to the steeds, taking the Appaloosa mount that he offered me. The Major climbed onto the back of a mighty black Bay. The horse looked at me with a black eye and I thought I could read an intense hatred there.

Soliah caught the look and he roared with laughter. "He doesn't like you, my boy. He is waiting for the chance to trample you. You best mind yourself around my horse."

I climbed into the saddle and I felt instantly different. I now wore the uniform of the 3rd Infantry, complete with boots and long leather gloves. Somehow, I felt eager for the ride, perhaps it was because I wanted to be away from that wretched place. I had lost too much there.

I reigned in and we rode out of there, Major Soliah insisting that I ride next to him. I was no stranger to a horse and the Appaloosa rode like a dream. We rode on for miles, somehow never once crossing a road or seeing a house. We rode all through the night like that.

The next afternoon we emerged into the town of Walker. I had been there on many occasions, but I didn't recognize anything but the huge lake and the familiar shoreline. Two steamships, boxy and ancient-looking, sat tied to a long pier. A crowd of people were gathered there.

"Be sure to smile, boy," Soliah said. "We don't want to disappoint the press."

We rode up to the throng on our exhausted horses, dismounted, and unloaded our packs and rifles. I followed the others, wanting to fit in as much as possible. I could feel the eyes of the People on my back as I untied the leather thongs that held my pack. They _knew._ I could just feel it. When I turned my head I saw that I had been correct in my assessment.

I felt dizzy as I followed the men onto one of the ships. Her name was the Flora and she stank of dead fish and brackish water. I took my place under the watchful eye of Major Soliah and I was very careful not to let him see how badly I was being tortured.

Soliah stood on the deck and smiled to the crowd of well-wishers. "Thank you, thank you," he said. "I know we've all waited a long time for this day and I want to thank you all for being so patient with us. Some things take time..."

"A hundred years?" asked a voice from the crowd. "Hell, longer..."

Soliah immediately leapt from the boat and dove into the crowd. "Who said that?" he demanded to know. "Stand up and let yourself be counted, you coward!"

'I said it," said the big man in the bibbed overalls. He stood nearly a head taller than the Major and was much broader in the chest. I did a double-take, could it be? And sure enough, it was a very young Odd Whitefeather.

"You!" cried Soliah, and he pulled at his scabbard and charged at Odd Whitefeather with his saber drawn.

Odd Whitefeather was quickly brought to his knees by a dozen strong arms. "I left you at the house, how the devil did you escape?" Soliah asked placing the steel against Odd Whitefeather's exposed neck.

"Stop!" I brazenly shouted. "We had a deal, it's off if you harm a single hair on his head."

Soliah met my gaze and we stared each other down. Finally, after an agonizingly long minute, he dropped his saber to his side and smiled. "So, we did!" he called back to me. Then, he pointed to the men that held my grandfather and said very slowly: "Lock this one up in your jail and keep a good eye on him. If he tries to escape, you may feel free to shoot him."

An hour later, after Walker had become a distant memory, I thought back to the look of terrible disappointment on my grandfather's face. He was dragged away like a sack of grain and I lost track of them as he was whisked into that miserable excuse for a town. I had failed him, had failed them all, and now I felt helpless to stop what was about to happen. We were going to repeat the Battle of Sugar Point.

The difference this time was that the game had changed and the stakes had been upped, considerably.

### Chapter Eight

They arrived at the head of the Brule on an early summer's day. There were so many fish in these waters that they could barely avoid the paddles from the canoes. The men were sent off to hunt while the women began constructing the wigwams. Man Killer had the frame of hers built before any of the other women. She was good with a hatchet and proud of her skills.

"Stump Nose will like his new home," Wind In Her Face said, sneaking up behind her as she so often did these days. "You should know how to fix his meals."

Man Killer gritted her teeth and turned to face the bent woman. They were alone, except for No Tongue, who liked to follow her friend. She smiled at Man Killer in a way that was not pleasant. "You are not getting rid of him that easy. I do not plan to marry him."

Wind In Her Face smiled and nodded her head. "It has already been decided. When my son comes back from the hunt, the two of you shall be joined as one. You should accept that and know that I am not your enemy. The two of us should be friends. No Tongue would also like to be your friend."

"I cannot be friends with those who tell lies. You both know the truth and you act as if it should not matter to me. I refuse to accept such a twisted friendship. Be gone now, I have much work to do."

Even though both women knew that this was the truth, they were deeply insulted by Man Killer's words. No Tongue lost her smile and Wind In Her Face actually straightened up. They looked at Man Killer with disgust before they turned and walked away.

The confrontation only caused Man Killer to work that much harder. She cut the poles from the saplings and she wove them into the frame of her wigwam. When she had finished that, she began to collect the moss that she would pack into the cracks between the poles. She would finish her wigwam in a single day, something that had never been done in her village. By the time she had finished making it her home, the sky was dark and she was very tired. She crawled onto her pallet and quickly drifted off to sleep.

Man Killer awoke from the dream with a gasp. She sat up on her pallet and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. She was sweating and her heart was pounding inside her chest. She gathered herself and quickly got to her feet. The message in her dream had been very clear and she knew she had no time to waste.

The night was without a moon and it was very dark and still. Man Killer eyed the dogs and saw that they were sleeping, which was good. With the hostile Sioux in the area, the whine of a dog might be investigated. She slipped quietly out of camp and walked down the path to the river. The canoes were there, long black shadows that were nearly identical in the darkness. She thought hard, trying to remember where she had left hers.

She moved slowly, deep in thought, when one of her feet found a dry branch and it snapped in the silence. A dog began to bark, followed by another. This would wake the camp and someone would surely come down to the river to check on their canoes. Man Killer chose the canoe that she thought to be hers, found the paddle that was always waiting in the same spot, and quickly slipped into the river. She was two hundred feet away when the first of the torches arrived at the river.

Man Killer smiled, not only because she had made a clean escape, but because she had actually chosen her own canoe in the darkness. She could tell by the way her knees felt on the patched bottom of her craft. She took this as a good sign and she continued to stroke her paddle in the inky water under the black sky.

She had no idea where she was heading. Man Killer prayed for direction.

### Huck

Clouds had gradually built in the sky and over time they grew dark and ominous. The lake became still and wisps of fog hung above the water as the paddlewheels lapped at the surface. I stood up and stared ahead to where the sky and the water seemed to meet. The fog bank looked like a massive black storm cloud that had fallen from the sky. Flashes of electric blue lightning faded into brooding shades of blood red and sunset orange. Wherever we were headed, it was like no place I had ever been.

"Magical, isn't it?" Soliah asked in his silky voice from over my shoulder. "I can well remember the first time I passed into these waters, young Huckleberry. I was thinking how lucky I was to have already been dead, because I was sure that no man could come out of there alive. Nothing I have seen over the past one hundred and ten years has changed my opinion. You're the first live man to ever try it, at least as far as I know. This should be _interesting_."

The soldiers huddled together and sat low on the deck, many covered their heads with their uniform jackets. A low moan echoed across the quiet water and the sound grew louder with each revolution of the big wheel at the back of the steamer. I was afraid, but I held my head high and never diverted my eyes from the gathering gloom. Whatever was in there, I was going to meet it head on. "Bring it on," I said.

"Bring it on? Why Huckleberry, aren't you just the bravest little soldier? Doesn't it bother you that none of my men dare to open their eyes? Look at them, the yellow-bellied cowards and they've passed through here countless times. You make me proud, grandson, very proud indeed," Soliah then let out a great roar of laughter. "Bring it on," he shouted up to the pilothouse. "Bring it on!" He then did a little jig on the wooden deck, his hoofs clomping up and down in a perverse, delighted misstep that shook the whole ship. _Clippetty-clop, clippetty clop, clop..._ "Bring it on!"

The sound from the deck made my teeth hurt. And while I hadn't minded when Crooked Walker had curiously repeated the phrase, it left a bad taste in my mouth when Soliah did the same thing.

When we were within one hundred feet of the churning wall of the storm cloud, the hair on my arms stood at attention and a tingle of fear crept up my spine. I gritted my teeth against the fear, determined to keep it buried and well-hidden. The moaning sound began to blot out the laboring of the steam engine as we drew nearer. Fifty feet; suffering colors flashed ahead in the blackness and it looked as if we were about to enter a burning rainbow.

"Magnificent!" Soliah shouted above the growing roar. "Oh boy, you and I are about to have the time of our lives, you just wait and see. Keep your eyes open, you're not going to want to miss what happens inside there!"

Again, I watched Soliah bellow with a great laughter that rocked him back on his two hoofs. Whatever we were about to experience, he couldn't wait to share with me. I remembered what Otis had said about never letting your enemy see your fear. The thought brought a smile to my face and I suddenly laughed along with Soliah. He stopped and gave me a startled look before turning his head to check on our progress. He quickly returned his attention to me and began to laugh again, uncontrollably. I matched his maniacal laughter and we must have looked like two madmen to whoever happened to see us. I now saw that every last man on the ship was flat on the deck with something over his head. That was how we entered the roiling fog.

The billowing gloom had a physical presence that brushed up against me, before sliding by like a million strands of gossamer thread. The exploding colors were vibrant and foreboding; they shimmered inside the fog where they were swallowed in great chunks. Another sound rose above the moaning and our barks of laughter, it was the sound of the men on the deck beginning to scream at the top of their lungs. Soliah looked me hard in the eye and we both continued to laugh. If he wanted me to feel like a fool, he was going to have to do a much better job of it. I laughed in his face, but it only seemed to amuse him that much more.

Suddenly I lost him in the fog, even though he stood only a mere foot away from me. The screaming blotted out all other sounds and it finally brought an end to my fit of laughter. The air grew considerably warmer. I resisted the urge to close my eyes and shrink to my knees. Whatever was coming, I was going to face it like a man. The fog thinned, but maybe this was smoke? I could smell nothing, but the air had that smoky feel to it.

Soliah's face took on a waxy sheen and it seemed to droop as things really began to heat up. Fear does strange things to the passing of time. The deeper we plunged into the steaming murk, the harder it pushed back against me. It threatened to bowl me over and I leaned into it. My eyes saw everything in shades of black and red; the air seemed ready to burst into flames. Then, everything went quiet. The silence lasted only a few seconds.

"Have you ever heard of the Great Hinckley Fire?" Soliah asked, as if he were speaking about some sort of national treasure.

I shook my head. "What does that have to do with us? Hinckley is a hundred miles away."

"Is that so?" Soliah asked me as if I were a child. "The man who lives here would tell you it's a lot further than that. We are on the outskirts of Hell, my boy. Minimum security, if you will." Soliah stated, his dark eyes twinkling in the red haze. "He's never supposed to leave, but his captors get bored and I can borrow him and his crew for special occasions, providing I make them a fair trade..."

None of this seemed to be making sense and I shook my head. "What are you talking about, what do you have to trade?"

"Huckleberry, I'm surprised you haven't figured that out. I've got you. Let me explain. Morgan Millhouse made a lot of money in our fine state, back when the only thing that stood between him and millions of acres of virgin white pine was a tribe of dirty savages. Who do you think was behind the Dawes Act and pushed those Indians out of the woods and onto the reservations? That's right, Morgan Millhouse. We took our little piece of the pie and that's the way it was done. We weren't alone, everyone was doing it."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"The rules changed after Sugar Point and it cost Millhouse millions of dollars. The poor man has never gotten over that. He has made us a fine offer to exterminate the Leech Lake Indians, clearing the way for his crew to harvest the timber. The offer was too good to pass up. I trade you for him, and you and I part ways... Pretty simple stuff, providing you don't forget about what I said about your dear old granddaddy. You'll go, and willingly, or I'll stake him out and gut him like a common fish."

I fought the urge to grab him by the throat. The heat continued to build and I felt as if my skin was starting to blister. I was reaching my limits and I knew it.

Soliah caught the defeated look on my face and it brought on a fresh torrent of laughter. A second later the ship broke through the barrier and what I saw, was surely the gateway to hell. We were on a boiling river, roughly one hundred yards across; the dark water churning and steaming from the intense heat. Both shores were completely engulfed in flames, impossibly so, because it didn't appear to have anything but the scorched earth left to burn. Further up on the riverbank stood the hulking frame of an enormous mansion. The flames that licked from the timbers reached high into the black sky. Both of the steamers paddled in that direction and we beached on the burning shoreline. Incredibly, neither of the steamers caught fire.

"Come with me, my little security deposit. I want to be away from this place," Soliah said, taking me by the shoulder and leading me to the front of the ship. The soldiers never moved from the deck and they continued to huddle under their jackets. I went along, knowing the consequences if I tried to back down. I'd already lost Dog Breath and Crooked Walker. I wasn't going to have Odd Whitefeather's blood on my hands as well.

After climbing down from the steamer we stood just out of the reach of the burning earth, at the water's edge. I was about to die, I was absolutely certain of it.

A shadow appeared at the front of the massive home, the figure looked to be that of a man, and he walked from out of the curtain of flames. He was old, and no doubt, a whole lot older than I could tell; his face, a roadmap visible from one hundred feet away. He was dressed in a fine black suit from a time long ago. Despite his great age, he had the cut of a much younger man, with unusually broad shoulders for a person with such a lined face. The expression on that wrinkled face was passive.

"Oh, he's a sharp one, isn't he, Huckleberry?" Soliah whispered to me. "I've come to take him away from all of this, and look at him; he's coming down here to strike a _deal_. Don't you just love it? What sort of man would do such a thing? I'll tell you, that is one shrewd businessman. I can't wait for you to meet him."

"That must be Millhouse," I said, wiping the sweat from my eyes in the crook of my arm.

"That's him, my boy. You could say that business got in his blood and it stayed there, long after he was dead and buried. Wait until he hears the reason for our unannounced visit..."

I didn't have time to reply as Morgan Millhouse, the infamous lumber baron, strode to the water's edge and gave us an appraising look. He smiled after our eyes met, as if he and I shared some private joke. "Major Soliah," Millhouse croaked over the crackling flames. "I don't believe I've made the acquaintance of your young friend." That was when I realized that the man from the house was the man responsible for murdering Soliah's children. How could Soliah speak to this man? I would have ripped his head off. I realized that he still didn't know the truth.

"Huckleberry Brindle, sir," Soliah said, with what I thought was a great deal of reverence.

"Brindle, I've heard that name before. Wasn't your daughter a Brindle before she passed away?"

"She was, your lordship, she was indeed. She died giving birth to _this_ little bastard."

As I tried to digest this little nugget of information, Millhouse began to chortle. He pulled on one side of his great mutton chops and he openly began to laugh. I was appalled at his nerve and thought this was a fitting place for such a terrible man. A dark chill ran up my spine when Soliah joined in. The two laughed as if that was the funniest thing they had ever heard. How could anyone find humor in the death of a friend's daughter? The insanity of a father laughing along was almost too much to comprehend. Add the fact that Millhouse had murdered Soliah's children was enough to make my stomach queasy. These were not men, they were monsters.

"I'm a busy man, Major Soliah, why don't you just get to the point."

"Forgive me, sir, but I've come to ask if your offer still stands."

"And, what offer would that be?"

The offer you made to share the timber revenue, if I can destroy the Leech Lake Pillager Indians. What if I told you that is precisely what we are about to do?"

"I would tell you that we must leave this moment, providing you brought my guards something to keep them occupied."

Soliah gave me an evil smile and returned his attention to Millhouse. "Do you think _he_ will do?"

"I certainly do, Major Soliah, I certainly do. Shall I call my men?"

"Yes, by all means."

"Braddock!" shrieked Millhouse, waving his arm in our direction. You can come out now, bring all of your men!"

I stared up in horror as men began to appear from the wall of flames. They wore dark beards and woven caps on their heads, and each wore a flannel shirt of one color or another. They carried saws and axes in their capable-looking hands. I counted at least sixty of them. The expression on their chalky faces was grim and determined. They walked down to the water, nearly brushing against us as they continued on to the steamers; they climbed over the sides and sank onto the deck. Soliah and Millhouse followed them, and when I began to slog along in the water, both men began to laugh.

"And, just where the hell, do you think you're going?" Soliah asked, pointing his long finger in my face. "Get back to the beach."

I stopped, finding that I'd had all I could stomach of either of the men. "You'll be beaten," I barked at Soliah. "Just like before, they will pick you apart."

Soliah's eyes got huge in their sockets and he let out a roar of laughter. "Do you really think that I'd use the same failed strategy? Huckleberry, I'm deeply hurt that you think so little of me. We're off to solicit some reinforcements. I have some friends who hate the red devils a lot worse than I do. No, this will be nothing like before. We're going to kill as many of them as we can. Don't forget, I'm also going to make you a wealthy man, whether you like it or not."

"Have fun with the boys," Millhouse shouted as he was hoisted over the side of the low-slung steamer.

"See you in a couple of weeks," Soliah added, like a parent dropping off a child at summer camp. He climbed over the side of the Flora and he was gone. I stood there stupidly as the paddles churned at the water and the steamers backed away from the burning shoreline. In a moment, both ships had disappeared into the blackness. I turned and faced the house, and whatever monsters waited for me in the flames. It took me a moment to realize that the monsters were the flames, themselves. The flames parted and took shape, appearing to be giant-shaped blazing men, freakishly tall and elastic. They moved together in my direction, dozens of them, and I could feel the temperature rising with their approach. I backed away, deeper into the murky water, feeling my feet sinking into the mud.

I never heard the canoe, so I nearly screamed when it rammed me in the back. I thought my life was about to end, but couldn't have been further from the truth. I turned and found myself staring into the most beautiful eyes that I have ever seen.

"Get in!" shouted the woman. She was alone, dressed in a buckskin dress, and she carried a single paddle.

I didn't have to be asked twice and I heaved myself aboard, using my explosive movement training while she expertly steadied the canoe. Her eyes said that she immediately understood that I was different than other men. The heat was threatening to melt my skin and I could smell hair beginning to burn. I had no doubt that it was my own.

"Get back here!" bellowed one of the flaming men. "Running will only make it worse for you!"

"Rain dance," snapped my new friend. "We need you to do a rain dance!"

"You've got to be kidding," I said, shaking my head. "I can't do a rain dance in a canoe."

"You'll do one if you want us to survive."

I thought about that for a split-second and began to chant as Odd Whitefeather had taught me. I moved my arms and bounced my knees on the bottom of the birch-bark canoe.

"Louder!" pleaded the young woman. "As fast as you can!"

I picked it up and the voice coming from my mouth began to frighten me. It sounded foreign and as if it was coming from a great distance away. The flaming men began to run towards us. I was nearly screaming as the first fat raindrop hit me on the cheek. It was followed by another, and then many more.

A great wail erupted from the flaming monsters as they began to sizzle like steaks on a grill. Lightning flashed and thunder clapped in the sky. The rain began to fall in great torrents and the wailing rose to a terrible intensity. I continued to chant and pump my arms, even as the canoe began to fill with water.

"Stop!" ordered the young woman, a billowing sheet of smoke exploding from the shoreline. "Do you want us to sink?"

I stopped as she spun the canoe around in the water and pushed us out into the current. A strange yellow light began to filter in through the haze. "Thank you," I said to the beautiful young Native Princess, because I was sure that's exactly what she was. "You saved my life."

"I need you," she said, paddling with the current as we shot ahead. "We've got to rescue Odd Whitefeather and warn our Pillager brothers. I saw it in my dream!"

"Who are you?" I asked, as the sunlight found us in the inky water.

"A friend," she said. "Let that be enough for now."

I didn't argue and simply nodded my head. I was tired and hungry, but very happy to be leaving this God-forsaken place in one piece and not cooked like a lobster. I stared up at the blackened shoreline as the raindrops slowly ceased to fall. The earth seemed to be littered with a thousand white skulls and more bones than I could count. I closed my eyes, for no man should ever have to see such a thing.

Gradually, the world turned green again as we left that wretched place in our wake. For a long, long, time, neither of us said a word.

### Chapter Nine

She landed the canoe on a sandy beach under a canopy of tall pines. I hauled myself out slowly, my legs and feet had fallen asleep and they didn't want to move. She waited patiently for me, steadying the canoe with her paddle as I bumbled my way over the side. I stood there feeling stupid and useless as she hauled the canoe up out of the river and began to unload her meager supplies.

I couldn't keep my eyes off of her. She was only the second woman I had seen in five years. She was tall for a woman and her long brown legs were well-defined, as were her arms. The buckskin dress fell to just above her knees and she wore a pair of fringed moccasins that rose to the middle of her strong calves. Her long black hair looked baby-soft and it was pulled into a ponytail. She wore a simple headband and a necklace made out of tiny shells. I admired the cut of her slender jaw, her high cheek bones, her perfect nose and white teeth. I was in love and I didn't even know her name.

The sun was high in the sky and large white clouds hung suspended in the air. The air was warm and dry and a slight breeze rattled the pines. The river rippled over large stones and the sound was soothing to my ears. The water here was clear and looked clean enough to drink.

"Take this," she said, handing me a roughly six foot-long stick of driftwood. I plunged the end of it into the sand and nodded. I was still shaking off the effects of the canoe trip and I was amazed at her thoughtfulness. A walking stick was just what I needed.

"Thank you," I said, leaning against the stick and testing its strength. It was solid and barely bent under the pressure.

One look into her eyes told me that something was wrong. She took the stick from me as if I had somehow defiled it and she sank to her knees. She pulled a short knife from a pocket in her dress and began to carve a point into the end of the staff, which I then realized had been intended to be a spear. "You will need this," she said. "Try to keep the sharp end out of the earth."

"Sorry, but I'm only half Ojibwe. Doesn't that count for something?"

"To me or to the Sioux? We are at war. If they find us before I can get you back to our people, our deaths will be very painful. Can you fight?"

I nodded my head, not wanting to tell her the truth and that I hadn't been in a fight since I was ten years old. "What is your name?" I asked, wanting to use it in our conversation.

"I am called Man Killer."

I thought about that and decided that I had enough information.

She stood up, examining her handiwork in the summer sunshine. "Here," she said, thrusting me the spear. "There are also many cougars and bears inside these woods. You would do well to watch out for them."

"Where are we going, I thought we were going to rescue my grandfather?"

"We are, but we need to attack the Sioux in great numbers. We were on the Great River of Time and I was not going to waste the opportunity.

"Wait a minute," I said, shaking my head. "We don't have the time to attack the Sioux. If we attack anyone it will be Soliah and Millhouse."

Again, her face clouded over with something very much like anger. "You do not understand anything. Did you just fall from a nest? These are my people and they need to be warned. The Sioux are preparing for war. We must do the same."

This unpleasant information caused me to remain silent as I thought about my situation. I knew nothing of fighting Indian braves or wild animals. I knew nothing about _when_ this was, but the fact that she had said it was before white men had arrived, made me uncomfortable. I looked down at my uniform and the black riding boots and cringed. What would they think of me? I followed her into the gloom of the pines where we walked on a thick bed of needles that crunched under the weight of my boots. She turned and stared at my feet. "You must take them off," she said, pointing at my boots.

I did as I was told, removing my socks and one at a time, testing my soles on the soft carpet of pine needles. I smiled and stuffed the socks inside my boots. "Better?" I asked.

She smiled at me for the first time and it nearly took my breath away. She quickly looked away and began to walk deeper inside the woods. Majestic pines towered over our heads. The trunks of these monsters were unlike any I had ever seen, and the mighty ones that had fallen were scattered here and there. I walked in relative silence, rolling my feet and lifting my legs, trying to copy the movements of my guide. We walked like that for well over an hour and the terrain never changed. Occasionally, boulders jutted from the earth, covered in green moss and looking as old as time. Suddenly, Man Killer stopped and held up her hand. She sniffed at the air and gave me a frightened look.

I held the spear at the ready and she quietly took it from me. I blushed with embarrassment and hoped she didn't notice. I stared out into the forest and tried to see what had caught her attention. I could see nothing but shadowy trees and pine needles.

"Cougar," whispered Man Killer, sniffing again at the air. "A hungry female with babies to feed."

I sniffed at the air, but all I could smell were the trees and the decomposing layers of pine needles. I strained my ears, but all I could hear was the sound of my own breath.

The monstrous cat was on top of Man Killer and the spear tumbled from her hand as she was violently pitched forward.

"Stop!" I ordered, shouting at the top of my lungs, which was more like a reflex reaction than anything else. I never expected it to actually work.

The cougar had frozen in its tracks. It hovered over Man Killer with its teeth bared, ready to take a large bite out of the back of her exposed neck. "What did you say to me?" the cougar asked in a silky growl.

"I said stop." I replied. "I am Buffalo Head," I prayed this would mean something to the savage beast.

"I do not know that name, but your words are spoken in my native tongue," the cougar replied, stepping away from Man Killer as if she wasn't there. "I have not heard a man speak them since I was very young. Who are you and why are you here?"

"I come from the future and I am a friend."

The cougar sat on her haunches and licked her paws. "I am listening. That does not tell me why you are here. I need to feed and I am about to eat your friend. I will ask you one more time, what brings you here?"

"I will make a blanket out of you and your children," I said, hoping to call the animal's bluff.

The cougar walked towards me and sniffed at my legs. It then raised its large head and stared into my eyes. I returned the stare, hoping it was enough. The cougar lowered its gaze and suddenly leapt away, never once looking back as it faded into the woods.

"How did you do that?" Man Killer asked, rubbing her forehead with a strong, delicate hand.

"There's a lot about me that you don't know," I said, walking back and retrieving the spear. "I can speak to the animals."

For the first time she looked impressed. She gave me the hint of a smile and nodded her head. I wasn't going to tell her that I had no idea how I was able to speak to the animals, that was my secret. The fact was that I really had no idea of my capabilities here. I had been taught a great many things in a short amount of time. I was very thankful of that, but I wasn't sure how much of it had sunk inside my thick skull.

We continued to walk and we gradually made our way to a large clearing in the woods. I could smell wood smoke and hear the sounds of playing children before I could actually see them. Man Killer gave me a worried look and quickly looked away. The look made the hair stand up on my arms. Still, I followed her to the edge of the clearing and out into the sunlight. The children suddenly became silent and I blinked hard in the blinding light.

The clearing was punctuated with many wooden lodges, woven together using pine boughs and reinforced with moss. There were too many to count; men and women gathered in the middle of the encampment. A great whoop arose from the throng of people and soon many men were charging in our direction. Man Killer screamed and held up her hands, but they didn't even look at her. They were coming for me.

At thirty feet one of the Natives stopped and tethered an arrow. I watched him pull back on his bow and I moved as quickly as I could. The arrow missed me by a scant few inches. I began to move faster, explosively, and I ran towards the man and snatched the bow from his hands. He was tall and muscular, but his eyes grew large and he let out a terrified scream. I tossed the bow aside and I was gone in the blink of an eye. The man screamed again.

I continued among the braves, moving with lightning speed and disarming them one at a time. The result was usually the same, but some of the men merely opened their mouths in silent shrieks of horror. I became more confident and felt myself growing stronger with each of my explosive movements, covering hundreds of feet in less than a second's time.

The last armed man was waiting for me and he wore a stern expression. I charged him, reaching out for the large tomahawk that he held in his hand. What happened next took place so fast that I had no idea where it had come from. The brave took me by the neck and put me flat on my back. He raised the tomahawk and let out an angry cry.

I was a dead man. I suddenly knew that like I knew my own name. I closed my eyes, not wanting to watch the end of my life.

There was an ear-splitting roar and I felt the man's body being lifted from my own. I opened my eyes to see the cougar and the man tumbling away. The brave rolled to his feet into a fighting stance, but the cougar ran back to me where she stood at my side. I put my hands on my hips and stood there, suddenly feeling very important. I had powerful friends.

With the cougar walking at my heels, we followed Man Killer into the village. The men gathered their weapons and followed at a respectful distance. We walked up to the largest of the lodges and Man Killer turned to me. "You will wait here," she said.

She disappeared into the lodge and the cougar and I turned to face the approaching men. The cougar let out a fierce roar as the men closed to within twenty feet. They stopped there and looked at the two of us with great interest. We returned their stare.

A long time passed and the men became agitated and they whispered among themselves. My mouth was dry and I could feel butterflies in my stomach. What was Man Killer doing and why was it taking her so long? The sun was hot and I was sweating under the heavy uniform. The cougar began to growl softly.

Just when I thought we would be attacked, Man Killer emerged from the lodge. She was followed by a very old man dressed in buckskin leggings and an ornately decorated vest. On his head was a great head-dress with the feathers of many eagles. The middle of his weathered face was occupied by a large, hawkish nose and deep-set eyes.

Man Killer pointed to me and held up her head. "He is called Buffalo Head and I claim him as my own. He is to become my husband."

I was shocked at the response this received. The Native men began to chuckle and then to laugh, pointing at me as if she were the village mutt. I remember feeling a great anger rise in my chest. I can also remember wondering why she had chosen me, when she could obviously have had any man she chose.

"No!" cried an old woman who leaned forward when she spoke. "She is to marry my son! I forbid her to marry this newcomer. What do we know of him and _look_ at his clothes. He is a soldier in the white army. Do we want to make camp with one of these people?"

"She does not want to marry Stump Nose and she has found another husband. He should have married her sooner," replied the old man.

"He is out hunting and we can have the ceremony when he gets back," cried the woman.

"We will have the ceremony, now," answered the old man, holding up his hand. "The white man will leave us alone if we have one of their members to speak to them. Go away old woman; I want you to leave us alone."

The old woman shrieked and charged off into the woods, her head and shoulders bent at that strange angle of hers. The camp suddenly returned its attention to me. I stood there, trying my best to look cool. I didn't feel cool and my heart was thundering inside my chest. There were so many of them and we had become completely surrounded.

"He will not last the night," shouted one of the men. "Take a good look at him while he lives!"

"The Man Killer must be hungry," said another of the men, drawing more laughter out of the group. "I hope she does not choke on his uniform."

The cougar let out a vicious growl and bared her teeth at the men. The laughter stopped.

The old man began to chant in a language that I could not understand and no one spoke. He joined our hands and prodded me to face Man Killer, without interrupting himself. The experience was surreal and my stomach flopped inside of me as I realized that this was our wedding ceremony. I felt like the luckiest man on earth when I looked at her, but I couldn't help wondering about what the Native had said. I was marrying Man Killer, but whom else would I have married in the middle of all of this insanity?

The ceremony lasted perhaps fifteen minutes, but when it was over there was no kiss and the men walked away without giving me another look. The old man disappeared back into his lodge and even the cougar trotted away. I looked to Man Killer for a sign because I had no idea what to do next.

She led me to a lodge and she beckoned me inside. The inside was spacious and clean, two large buffalo hides lay on opposite ends of the dirt floor. "You sleep there," she said. "And you stay on your side of the room if you want to see another sunrise."

I hadn't counted on this, but I quickly crawled onto the soft buffalo hide and lay down on my back, staring up at the thatched roof.

Man Killer did the same. "There are some things you should know," she said, staring up at the roof with me. "We were only married to keep them from killing you. The cougar needs to look after her young and she was going to have to leave you soon. I am called Man Killer with good reason. I have been married three times and my husbands have never lasted the night. They die in their sleep after trying to be with me. Do not be the next one."

As tempting as it was to crawl across the floor to join her, I was able to stay on my side of the lodge and I quickly fell fast asleep. I don't remember the sun setting, night falling, or the forest coming to life with the approach of the new day. I woke on my side of the lodge and found that I was alone, hungry, and desperately needing something to drink. I stood up and brushed the buffalo hair from my rumpled uniform.

### Chapter Ten

As I sat in front of Man Killer's lodge, I observed my surroundings. I estimated there to be close to five hundred members in the band. They were a warm, industrious people, who went about their business while they watched me with amusement. The fact that I had lasted the night with Man Killer had no doubt impressed them; maybe as much, if not more, than the cougar. I quickly decided that she was the most beautiful of the women in camp. I was also quite relieved to have survived in one piece. I counted a great many dogs in the village and they moved about freely, where they sometimes fought over the scraps of food and bone the People had left for them.

"Get a good look at him while you can," shouted the voice of a young brave.

There were three of them and they stood less than ten yards away. The oldest of the three looked to be close to thirty and he glared at me for reasons I could only guess. He was solid and muscular; his brown face was painted with bright red smears. He had a bent, tuba-like nose, perhaps the largest that I had ever seen; his black hair was long and wild-looking. He didn't like me. That much was plain to see.

Man Killer was suddenly at my side.

"I don't see why you waste your time on him," shouted the mean looking one. "He will be dead in a few minutes. He is not one of us."

Man Killer grabbed me by the arm. "But, we're already married. You were away and could not stop it. Isn't it a little late for us to be fighting? What would it solve?"

"It would solve plenty, because he would be dead."

I returned my attention to the three men. They were now laughing openly and pointing at me. The one called Stump Nose was snarling his teeth at me like an angry dog. This made the men roar with laughter. My manhood was being questioned and I had heard enough. I stood up and slowly walked towards him, mentally preparing myself for the battle.

We squared off. Stump Nose slipped his tomahawk from the leather thong at his side and he held it in his right hand. I had no weapons, but I did have my training and I had been publicly insulted. I had given in to Soliah and it had nearly cost me my life. I was done giving in. I took off the uniform jacket and tossed it to the ground.

"Look," said Stump Nose. "He is already giving up. This one is smarter than he looks."

"Oh, I'm not giving up," I replied. "I just want us to be clear about something. After I defeat you I want you to stay away from Man Killer. She is my wife."

"After I defeat you I will eat your heart and feed the rest of you to the dogs. I am looking forward to that and the dogs are always hungry."

I rushed at him with all of my speed and he responded _almost_ as quickly. I took the tomahawk from him and threw it as far into the woods as I could. He caught me with a chop of his empty hand, but it was a glancing blow that I barely felt. I circled him twice in the blink of an eye and stopped five feet in front of him. Stump Nose let out a mighty roar and he charged at me. I stood my ground and dipped my shoulder to meet his rush. I bent forward and when he was upon me I suddenly lifted up with all of my strength. Stump Nose flew in the air, his arms and legs flailing. He rolled in the dirt and the camp exploded with laughter.

I had learned the technique from Otis, using an attacker's weight and momentum against them. It had worked to perfection and Stump Nose screamed with rage. He charged me again with the same results. I have never seen such anger and I thought he may have lost his mind. This delighted the many villagers who had gathered to watch us fight. I stayed focused on Stump Nose, just as I had been taught. He came at me slowly with fire in his eyes.

"Have you had enough?" I asked, knowing that this had only just begun.

"I am going to gouge out your eyes and you will eat them before I kill you. I promise you that."

He moved close and tried to go for my knees. Again, I remembered my training and I kicked him square in the face with my bare foot. I could feel something break and blood gushed from the huge nose and he howled in pain. He had started this and I had been instructed to never let my opponent gather himself after he was down. I moved in and kicked him again in the side of the head and he fell to the ground. I felt like I had stepped outside of my body and was watching myself rain blows down on the fallen man. Now it was my turn to scream, because Stump Nose was either dead or he was out cold. I didn't want to kill him, but he had given me no choice. If he was dead, he had brought it on himself.

I walked back to Man Killer's lodge and sat back down where I had been. The crowd dispersed just as quickly as they had appeared and they left Stump Nose where he had fallen. Nobody moved to check on the fallen man. I felt that this was strange and I found myself suddenly hoping that someone would move to help him. I sat there for a few minutes and the guilt began to eat at me.

I remembered my time with Crooked Walker and what he had taught me about the rats. I stood once again and began to dance slowly and to sing the words that he had taught me. The first of the rats appeared in less than a minute and he was followed by many more. They swarmed Stump Nose and this brought the villagers out of their lodges. They circled us and watched the spectacle with amazement. I continued to dance, praying to the Great Spirit that I was not too late. Stump Nose moaned in agony and the sound of the rat's clicking teeth filled the camp.

One at a time they scurried back into the woods. I stopped singing and fetched my jacket, which I quickly slung over Stump Nose's naked body. I then waited to see if he would live.

He opened his eyes and held his hands up before his face. He gave me a puzzled look as he found the jacket and discovered his nakedness. He suddenly leapt to his feet and taking the jacket, he rushed off into the woods.

"You should not have done that," said Man Killer. "You should have let him die."

"Well, excuse me for saving his life," I said in disbelief. "I thought maybe he has a mother who cares about him."

"You were wrong. His mother hates him more than anyone in our camp. He will try to kill you again."

I looked at Man Killer and could find no humor in her face. She turned and walked away from me and the village quickly returned to normal. I walked back to the lodge and sat down, thinking that I had better just stay put. I had somehow created a tar baby and I was stuck up to my elbows. I needed time to think.

I would have plenty of time for that. Man Killer did not return for three days.

I was thinking about backtracking to the canoe and felt I knew the way. I had grown tired of the slow life in the village and I needed to find my way back to Walker to rescue my grandfather. Above all, I was deeply hurt and very worried about Man Killer's sudden departure. When I asked around the village, the only response was a shrug of the shoulders. "Man Killer does as she pleases," I would hear if they said anything at all. I was left to my own devices and I had just about eaten all of the jerked meat in our lodge.

I saw her from one hundred yards away and our eyes locked. Neither of us looked away as she walked across the village and headed straight for me. This caused my heart to pound inside my chest and sweat to bead up on my forehead. I wanted to jump up and wrap my arms around her, just before I laid into her and told her how angry I was. The look in her hungry eyes made me tremble where I sat. She strode past me and went directly into the lodge.

I sat there, stunned by the recent turn of events and I wondered what I was supposed to do. The three nights without her in the lodge had been lonely, but there was also the element that I wasn't sleeping with the Man Killer. There was some comfort there.

"I am waiting for you," Man Killer cooed from inside the lodge. I had never heard her speak that way and it nearly doubled my pulse. I stood on my shaking legs and slowly walked into the lodge. Man Killer was wrapped, more or less, in her buffalo robe. Her buckskin dress lay on the floor.

I took a deep breath and felt a tingle of fear creep up the back of my neck. She was looking at me seductively and beckoning me with her bare arm. She patted the buffalo robe next to her.

Why couldn't she be named Bright Flower or Nancy, or something? No, she was called Man Killer and she had warned me to stay away from her side of the lodge. Still, I had never had such a tempting offer and after all, we had been married and sleeping together was the natural thing to do. The voices inside my head began to have a heated argument. I felt the fear drain from my body with each passing second. She gave me a coy smile and caressed her bare shoulder.

"Don't be afraid of me."

"This is not right. I am not ready," I said the words, but I had absolutely no idea of where they had come from. I then spun on my bare feet and walked outside into the sunshine. I had remembered what Odd Whitefeather had taught me about the two voices and how to fight off sudden urges.

I cursed his name under my breath.

She emerged from the lodge, fully-dressed and as mad as a hornet. "He does not find me attractive!" Man Killer shrieked at the top of her lungs. She then sprinted off into the village, repeating those words at a piercing decibel.

I stood there at the front of our lodge and felt the terrible pain of total humiliation. An old woman shuffled towards me, moving like a tortoise under her long robes. She beckoned me close with her wrinkled hand as if she wanted to tell me something. I leaned into her and she slapped me with enough strength to knock me over. " _Moosh_ ," she spat. She then turned and began her slow departure. I would later find out that she had called me a dog, a terrible insult in their culture.

I ran to Man Killer using all of my speed and I pleaded with her to stop. She didn't even give me a second look. Now she was screaming how I was a poor excuse for a husband and that she should have married Stump Nose. That was when I snapped. I moved in and took her over my shoulder. I then carried her off in the direction of our lodge. Man Killer pounded at my back and the blows stung with pain. She was a strong woman and she wasn't pulling her punches.

I took her inside the lodge and nearly tossed her onto her buffalo robes. We would not be seen again until late the next morning.

### Chapter Eleven

The next day was cool and cloudy and a stiff breeze blew from out of the north. I insisted that we leave the village and get to Walker as quickly as possible. Man Killer responded by saying that the Sioux were about to attack and that we couldn't possibly leave. I was torn between my responsibility here and my obligation to my grandfather.

The Sioux would make that a moot point.

They attacked in the early afternoon, but our men were waiting for them and the battle was on. The Sioux were painted and carried long lances. Arrows began to fly and I ushered Man Killer inside the lodge. "Don't you come out until I come back," I ordered. I then handed her a long knife and I walked outside to join in the fray.

The battle was everywhere and it was bloody and fierce. I chose a large brave and I charged him like a mad buck. I caught him in the chest and he flew backwards. I saw an old man fighting a young Sioux warrior, twice his size. I quickly leapt on the Sioux and caught him square in the jaw with a right hook. He went limp and I quickly moved on.

I screamed when I saw some of the Sioux setting fire to our lodges. Children poured from the flaming structures and the anguish was clear on their little faces. I began to attack the Sioux with a reckless abandon, landing some blows which I know now were fatal. I did not want to kill. I felt that I had no choice in the matter. I saw the old Chief fall to a tomahawk and one of Stump Nose's friends take a lance through the chest. He died before he hit the ground. I doubled my efforts, moving with more speed than was humanly possible. I picked up a tomahawk and began to swing it with all of my strength. The Sioux soon began to retreat, their terrified eyes betraying their fear of me, the unseen killer.

When they had gone I ran back to our lodge and screamed again when I saw that it was engulfed in flames. Black smoke billowed in the wind and I nearly choked on it. I charged inside the burning lodge and dropped to my knees, which is how I found Man Killer. She lay flat on her back and there was a great bruise on her forehead. Hot embers showered around us and I knew I didn't have much time. I grabbed her under her arms and hauled her outside to safety. Her eyes fluttered open and she somehow managed a smile. I held her on my lap as the enormity of what had just taken place began to hit me. The village lay in smoldering ruins and many of our number had died in the terrible fighting.

"Go," whispered Man Killer. "I will be all right. You need to help the wounded."

"Are you sure, how does your head feel?"

"I will live, but I might not be so pretty to look at."

"You'll always be pretty to me," I said, kissing her softly on the lips. I then set her gently in the grass and ran off to attend to the wounded.

There were so many that I didn't know where to begin. I saw our men moving among the Sioux, cutting the throats of any who still drew breath. I looked away. I suddenly felt the breath being sucked from my lungs and everything blurred. That was the last thing I remembered for a long time.

### Chapter Twelve

I found myself in bed and I laid there for a few long minutes. The large room was comfortably cool and lavishly decorated. I quickly got up and ran out into a long hallway and down three flights of stairs. I found a door that led outside and I dashed through it. I stood on the lawn, dumbfounded. I recognized this place; I was back at Spirit Lake.

The white house was gone and it had been replaced by a massive five story castle that jutted from the earth like a leviathan. The castle was new-looking and had been built out of dark slabs of granite, how much it had cost to build was beyond my comprehension. The castle loomed above me, complete with matching turrets and carved gargoyles of all shapes and sizes. I found myself dressed in a smoking jacket and silk pajamas. Before me was a huge pool surrounded by at least a dozen scantily dressed women enjoying the hot sunshine. A gleaming Bell helicopter sat on a concrete apron and a stretch limousine, shiny and black, sat next to it.

"Master Brindle," beckoned a small man with a white glove, wearing a tuxedo with tails. "Would you like another glass of champagne?"

I shook my head and tried to gather my thoughts. I turned around and walked back up the marble steps and over to the monstrous double doors. I pulled one open and stepped back inside. I stood there in complete awe at the sight of the cavernous interior. Life-sized statues adorned the room and priceless art of all kinds hung from the walls.

"Why Huckleberry," exclaimed a familiar voice. "I am so glad to see that you made it home."

I spotted Major Soliah standing at a window that overlooked the pool. He was young and fit with a wisp of moustache under his narrow nose. He was dressed in a silk running suit; in his hand was a champagne glass. "What have you done?" I asked. "I want to go back to where I was."

"I'm afraid that is impossible," he said with a smile. "Come over here, I want you to help me decide on what we should have for dinner. Would you like a nice steak? Anything you like, the kitchen here is wonderful."

I walked over to the window and stared outside with contempt. "I never asked for any of this. I was happier back there, I demand to go back."

"Go back?" asked another voice and I quickly turned. I stared with astonishment at Man Killer, who was dressed in a silk robe and it looked like little else. She walked to join Soliah and she wrapped her arms around him. "What is he talking about, honey?" she whispered in his ear.

My head snapped back as Soliah pawed at her and she allowed him to do so. She smiled at me as she studied the look on my face. It was obvious she had no recollection of our storied past. I could feel the blood boiling in my veins. Soliah was enjoying every minute of this.

"Why Huckleberry, I do believe you've taken a fancy to my best girl. She is called Melody, isn't that a fitting name for such a beautiful woman?" He then turned to her. "I am afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave us men alone, my sweet. I think I need to remind the lad about what he can touch, and the consequences for touching something that isn't his."

"Anything you say, my love," said _Melody_ , who I knew to be Man Killer.

I grudgingly had to admit that Melody had a much better ring to it. Still, I wanted to throw up. I stood there hyperventilating as I watched her gracefully exit the room. I returned my attention to the almost cherubic face of Soliah. He seemed to be beaming with pride and his eyes shone with triumph. _"Anything you say, my love,"_ I mimicked, curling my lip to him. "You son-of-a-bitch."

"Ah, my boy, do you have any idea how many years I have been waiting for this moment? Look at everything I have given you. All of this is yours. Do you understand me, Huckleberry? Have you ever imagined such wealth? Let me enjoy it for another second, oh, yeah! I feel so damn _good_! I never knew that giving would feel this way. Life is great, isn't it?"

"You're a monster."

"Maybe so, but that makes you my little monster and together we're the luckiest monsters on the planet. I am truly sorry about Melody, but I had to have her as my own. Have no fear; each and every one of those beautiful young ladies down at the pool would be thrilled to be your wife. You have to let go of the past and you can start with Melody. I wasn't sure that you would recognize her, now that she dresses like a woman and not like a dirty savage. Could you smell her? That perfume cost me ten thousand dollars an ounce. She is magnificent, isn't she?"

I gritted my teeth and tried to charge him using my explosive movement. I failed miserably and he kicked me in the face and shoved me to the floor. I could taste hot blood flowing down my flattened lips. I got to my feet and charged him again, not caring what he hit me with. This proved to be a great mistake.

When I came to I found myself staring up at the thirty foot ceiling. My body was ravaged with a pain that is beyond description. I sucked air through my nostrils as it was physically impossible for me to open my mouth to breathe. My arms were broken and hung uselessly at strange angles on the tile floor. I could not lift my head to see my feet.

"You brought this on, yourself," Soliah said harshly, looking like he was beginning to regret what he had done to me. "How could you have been such a fool? The world was at your feet, you and I were going to become great friends and we were to have countless debates. You've ruined everything!"

"Help me," I grunted, but the words were lost in my swollen mouth.

"My grandson, what have I done?"

That was the last thing he said before he bolted out the front door. I lay there in my agony and waited for death to arrive. The room began to spin and I fought the urge to close my eyes. I wanted to face death like a man; it was the way of my people. What I saw next nearly caused me to pass out. Crooked Walker stood over me and gave me a reproachful look. He shook his head and began to chant. The first rat was on me in just seconds.

They were everywhere at once, hundreds of little jaws chewing at my flesh as my muscles cried out in pain. My injuries must have been very serious, because the operation by rat took much longer than usual. Mercifully, they skittered away in a great churning pack, where they found the open door that led outside and they quickly disappeared.

"We have to leave this place," Crooked Walker whispered, urging me to my feet. "Come on, there isn't much time."

I stood up and leaned against him, utterly exhausted and wondering if he were a ghost. Crooked Walker and Dog Breath had been killed, hadn't they? I followed him down a long corridor that seemed to stretch for miles. The walls were decorated with lavishly painted family portraits, which looked very old and were no doubt, museum quality. I tried not to look, even though I knew deep down that the paintings were of my own ancestors. We found what must have been the back door and I followed him outside.

What I saw then was too much to process at one time. The lawn was strewn with weeds and my equipment shed sat rusting where it had always been. I spun on my heels and the castle was gone and my crummy little trailer had replaced it. But, things weren't exactly as I had left them. A round swimming pool sat in the middle of my yard, dark blue and above ground, the kind that comes in a single box. The pool was full of frolicking women, except not the same ones that had been by the pool at the castle. These were old women, very old women, and they were dressed in the same skimpy bikinis that the young women had worn. Dog Breath sat in the dirt with his back to the pool, his arms were crossed and he looked very angry.

Odd Whitefeather stood next to the pool, he was smiling and it looked like he was having a serious conversation with one of the ladies.

"Do not look at the women in the man-pond," Crooked Walker whispered. "They have powerful magic and you will end up like him," he continued, pointing to Odd Whitefeather.

Dog Breath got to his feet and nearly ran to where we were. "You _were_ able to save him. I did not think that was possible."

"I was only able to do it because Soliah wanted me to save him. Now that I'm back in this world, I am as powerless as a wood tick. We have to keep looking for a way out of this place."

Dog Breath nodded toward the pool. "How are we to get him away from the _sirens_?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "I know a siren when I see one and those old ladies are definitely not sirens."

"Soliah has a very strange sense of humor. He wants to make you beg him to take you back. We have no magic here, he has taken it away. He wants you to fall in love with one of those women and have to go back to work, whatever that means. He did tell me that we would never leave this place."

"Welcome home," said Dog Breath.

"Oh no," I said. "We're going back out to Spirit Lake. I'm already in love and we are not going to let him win. I'll find a way to get our magic back, you have to trust me."

Dog Breath was feeling the fabric of my velvet smoking jacket and he looked very impressed. "I would like some breeches made out of this," he said. "We must find the animal with this skin."

I was embarrassed, because I was still dressed in the same pajamas I had been wearing at the castle. I pointed to Odd Whitefeather's ATV. "We are going to have to take that out to Spirit Lake. I don't know how all four of us are going to be able to ride on that."

"I agree," said Crooked Walker, looking over his shoulder at his grandson, who was rubbing lotion on the back of the woman he had been talking to. Crooked Walker shuddered. "It is better to die like men than to end up like him."

"What type of horse is that?" Dog Breath asked. "We cannot ride that thing. And don't count on him for any help," he said, pointing to Odd Whitefeather. "We will never be able to get him to leave. He is in love."

I couldn't think about that right now. I needed to get a closer look at the muddy ATV. I walked over to it and spotted the trailer hitch mounted at the back of the machine. I then continued walking, directly up to the equipment shed. I found the little trailer where I had left it five years ago. I could immediately see that the tires were flat, but I thought I had an old bicycle pump around there, somewhere. I walked up to the filthy workbench, which had begun to rot, and I began scanning the junk that surrounded it. The tire pump was sitting in a milk crate that was filled with the scavenged parts from my previous life. I picked up a rusted cable hook, capable of holding a five ton wrecking ball. My adopted father had given me the hook, and it caused me pain to see it in its present condition. I tossed it back into the crate, hefted the tire pump and walked back to the trailer. I filled the tires, which thankfully hadn't broken their beads and still held air. Then, I lifted the tongue and maneuvered the little trailer out into the sunshine.

Dog Breath and Crooked Walker were standing a respectful distance from the stout Polaris ATV. They looked at it in wonder. I wheeled the trailer to the ATV and connected it to the hitch. Satisfied, I told them to climb aboard. Not surprisingly, both shook their heads and backed away. I sat on the seat and thumbed the ignition. The engine roared to life and I quickly shifted it into gear. I then pressed on the gas and instantly found more horsepower than I had been counting on. The ATV leapt up on its back wheels and threw me back on the seat. I shot across the yard in one long wheelie before I was able to regain control. The trailer was the only thing that kept me from flipping over backwards.

I looked at the old Medicine Men and they stared at me with amazement. They spoke with each other as I pulled next to them. Crooked Walker looked a little angry. "I wish to ride the iron horse," said Dog Breath. "He does too, but I am older and it is my right to go first. How do I keep it from trying to buck me off?"

I was surprised at how quickly they took to riding that thing. They took turns riding it around the yard and up and down the road, just like two teenagers being introduced to a new toy. They quickly talked me into disconnecting the trailer. I left them like that, determined to take my grandfather away from the old woman who held him in a spell. I walked over to where he stood and he didn't even seem to notice me. The other women did, and soon I was completely surrounded by them. I stared up into the blue sky and did my best to ignore them. I wasn't going to take any chances. "Grandfather," I called. "It is time for us to leave this place. Come on, we need to go back to Spirit Lake."

If he heard me, he never said a word. He continued to stroke the old woman's withered back and she seemed to be enjoying it. He looked at her as if she were a Hollywood starlet. The other women began to grope at me and I quickly moved away, careful not to knock any of them over. I quickly got an idea and ran up to my shed and began to search.

The nitrous oxide had been left behind by a dentist friend at a birthday party, a long story that I won't get into. I checked the gauge and saw that it was still nearly full. I hoped that it hadn't lost its potency over the passing of time. I grabbed the tank and the hose and went in search of my respirator. I used the respirator when I painted and I found it next to my paint gun. I picked it up and walked outside.

I doubted that I was going to be able to put the little dental mask on Odd Whitefeather, which was why I brought the respirator. I would wear the respirator, remove the mask from the hose, then open up the valve and spray my grandfather until he was sedated. In theory, it sounded like a very good plan. And, it may have been if I had only done it as planned.

I was able to put on the respirator and then I removed the mask from the hose to the tank of nitrous oxide. That much was simple. I then tried to move closer to my grandfather and everything got a little crazy.

The old women, seeing that I was up to no good, formed a protective barrier between Odd Whitefeather and me. Again, he didn't seem to notice me. I squinted my eyes and was careful not to look at any of them. I then opened the valve and began to spray them as if I held a fire extinguisher and they were burning. The effect of the gas was immediate and a little bit unnerving. The old women began to howl with a crazy laughter and some even dropped to their knees, where they held their bare bellies. I moved into the fray and worked my way up to my grandfather. I held the hose up to his face and moved it back and forth between him and his new lady-friend.

A woman clutched at my respirator and it was ripped from my face. She laughed at me like an escaped lunatic. I let go of the hose and tried to get it back from her, but she was a lot stronger than she looked. Her grip was like steel and she had no intention of giving it back to me. I never noticed one of the other women turn the hissing hose on me. I did notice that everything suddenly became very funny. I still held enough of my wits about me to hustle Odd Whitefeather away from the women and over to the trailer.

Dog Breath stood there and stared at us. "What is so funny?" he asked.

Odd Whitefeather and I looked at each other and we nearly fell over with laughter. I looked up toward the pool and the old women were huddled around the tank of nitrous oxide, like junkies huddled around a bagful of illegal drugs. Crooked Walker putted over on the ATV and looked at us as if we'd lost our minds. "Drunk," he said to Dog Breath, pointing at us.

Odd Whitefeather and I roared with laughter, totally incapable of controlling it, but aware that we needed to get away from this place. I hooked up the trailer and climbed aboard with Dog Breath and Crooked Walker. It was a tight fit and we were just able to find room to sit down. Why we decided to let Odd Whitefeather drive was a mystery, I remember thinking that it was very funny. He pulled the trailer out onto the road and we headed towards town. Both sides of the highway had been clear cut and that was also very amusing.

Why I continued to laugh when the ATV roared to top speed is anyone's guess. Dog Breath and Crooked Walker certainly weren't laughing. My grandfather was and his maniacal laughter rose above the sound of the screaming engine of the ATV.

The squad car pulled next to us just before we reached town. I didn't recognize the man, but I did recognize the gun. Suddenly, nothing seemed very funny. I don't know how long he had been behind us, but the cop looked very angry and he was aiming the gun directly at Odd Whitefeather. Wisely, he pulled to the shoulder of the road and shut off the ignition.

The cop left the lights flashing on the car; they were red and blue blazes, mixed with hot white strobes. The lights fascinated my companions in the trailer but I kept my eyes on the policeman. The man was every stereotype of a speed cop; he wore dark glasses and his teeth were bared in disgust. He looked at us like we had lost our minds.

I felt another spasm of laughter and I couldn't hold it in. I wondered what he was thinking, seeing me there in my pajamas and smoking jacket, accompanied by two old Indian men who were dressed as if they had stepped from the pages of a history book. Odd Whitefeather must have been thinking the same thing and he began to chuckle in amusement. We both quickly composed ourselves, we were in serious trouble. He walked directly to my grandfather.

"License and registration, please."

I could see that Odd Whitefeather was trying his best to look serious. I could also see that he was losing the battle. The laughter came in great waves and the cop stood back and pulled out his gun.

"Down on the ground!" he ordered. "I want you to dismount that machine and get down on the ground. Do it now!"

Odd Whitefeather only continued to laugh.

I watched as the cop leveled the gun at my grandfather. He drew back on the hammer and got into a firing stance. "I am going to give you to the count of three..."

I wanted to scream, but I could only laugh in the face of this clear and present danger. He was going to be shot, and all I could do was laugh about it. Dog Breath and Crooked Walker quickly turned away as if they had just spotted a hungry bear. I turned to see the old ladies running down the road with incredible speed. They too were laughing. They ran past the trailer and stood between the gun and my grandfather. A long moment passed before the young cop dropped his gun.

The cop looked as if he had fallen deep into a trance and he smiled drunkenly. His head lolled back and forth as the old women beckoned him away from the road and into the woods. He followed them as if his life depended upon it. Odd Whitefeather started the ATV again and we were soon moving. The first of the tires had gone flat while we sat on the shoulder, the second one followed, soon after. We rolled through town at a walking speed and now all four of us were laughing. We had shaken the old ladies and had shed ourselves of the angry policeman. Life was suddenly good again, except the town was quite different than I remembered it.

The people from town stared at us as if we were on parade. Some even waved, and the three of us stood on the back of the trundling trailer and waved back at them. That was funny, but not in a nitrous oxide way, but in the way that you should've been there. We were quite a sight.

With the little city of Carlton at our backs, we continued toward Spirit Lake and whatever waited for us when we got there. The first thing I began to notice was the lack of trees. The stretch of highway between Carlton and the reservation had also been clear cut. I remember feeling incredibly sad, as if I had lost an old friend. I would soon find out that I had lost a great many old friends while I had been away.

### Chapter Thirteen

Man Killer began to lose hope after the second day. Buffalo Head should have returned by now. Where had he gone and why had he left? He had left a great hole in her heart and she wept alone in the new wigwam. There were many tears following the attack by the Sioux.

When a month had passed, time had done much of its healing and the band had finished the last of their pilgrimages to the burial ground. The unburied bodies were now badly decomposed and some of them had been torn apart by hungry animals. Their grieving nearly complete, the band worked together to start gathering what they had come here for. They netted fish and collected berries from the trees. The men left for a week at a time, they returned with fresh game that needed to be salted and smoked. The rice would not wait for them. They must be ready for the harvest, for it was the main course of so many of their meals. This was how they survived the long winters. The rice would have to be carefully wrapped and transported. The bundles could not be exposed to wetness. This made their journey back a slow one, even though the paddling was with the current. There would be many portages along the way.

Man Killer still dreamed of her man. These dreams helped her during the long summer days that were usually filled with song. The attack had destroyed the excitement of reaching their destination. They went about their work in relative silence. Man Killer tended to the many fires as the other women smoked the meats over muted coals.

They were barely half their number from the previous summer. Stump Nose had returned to the camp a week after Man Killer's husband had disappeared into the night. Wind In Her Face had become ill and as much as she loathed the woman, Man Killer had no choice but to look after her. She was suffering from a very unpleasant stomach problem and Man Killer did what she could for her. For a week it was uncertain if Wind In Her Face would last the night. Stump Nose spent his days doing whatever he could to help around the camp. He seemed like a changed man. He openly wept for his mother and he sat by her side as much as he could. Man Killer was just happy that he left her alone to do her work.

Wind In Her Face made a full recovery and Stump Nose finally began to act the part of the good son. There was a lot of talk about how much the young brave had changed his ways. Stump Nose had changed a great deal, but not in the ways that they thought he had. He needed a place to live and his mother's sickness provided him with a way in. He wanted nothing more than to kill Man Killer, but he would have to be careful. Killing a Mide Woman was a serious crime.

He told no one of his plans as he passed his days helping his mother and earning high praise from her friends. He let his tears fall, the ones he had for Man Killer's betrayal, where they were misunderstood as grieving for his ailing mother.

They would harvest the rice in a few days. Gathering the rice would take many days and when the work was finished, it would be time to leave the summer camp and return to the big water. That was when he would find his chance. He knew of places where he could drop a rock on top of her head, and then through the bottom of her canoe. It would look like an accident and he would be rid of her.

In the meantime, Stump Nose enjoyed his new status in the camp and he treated Man Killer no different than if she were any other woman.

### Huck

It dawned on me that I had yet to see a single tree since I had arrived back in present time. I also saw very few men. The passing cars all contained women and they _always_ slowed down to get a good look at us. The trailer was now riding on the rims and the sound of grating steel on pavement was loud in my ears.

The surrounding hills and valleys looked brown and barren of life. Telephone poles stood out against the naked landscape for as far as my eye could see. I looked at Dog Breath and Crooked Walker and they stared with open mouths. I could see the pain in their eyes. Far up ahead loomed the casino, which seemed to have grown to twenty times its previous size, I stared at it in wonder. The exterior walls were dark gray in the sunlight and it took a while for me to realize that they were made of stone. I estimated that the three hotel towers were thirty stories, maybe more. Neon lights flashed in a rainbow of colors, vivid and bright, even at this hour of the day. The sharp contrast against the empty brown fields was blinding.

We continued down the shoulder of the highway and I began to see just how big the parking lot of the casino had become. Cars numbered in the tens of thousands and their windshields sparkled in the sunlight. Gradually, I began to make out the shapes of people heading in and out of the casino, looking like worker ants ready to unload their burden. Cars roared overhead on the interstate as we rolled under the concrete bridge.

Odd Whitefeather did something that puzzled me; instead of heading past the supersized casino he pulled into the driveway and drove straight to valet parking. There was no mistaking it now, the women outnumbered the men by twenty to one, but the ratio may have been much higher than that. I looked at my grandfathers and I could see that they had noticed this too. They both had struck noble poses and stood with their hands on their hips. The passing women ogled us as if we were rock stars. I thought that I could get used to this.

I then began to notice that some of the people leaving the casino were holding packages of toilet tissue. I was thinking how strange this was. One woman pushed a shopping cart filled with it and she was followed by a woman dressed in a guard's uniform. She was carrying a gun in her hand. The woman pushing the cart had a large smile plastered to her face.

Odd Whitefeather parked the ATV under the massive canopy and three uniformed valets ran out to greet us. They were soon followed by a swarm of well-dressed women in business suits. They seemed to be delighted to see us, as if we had just come back from winning a war.

"This is a great honor," said a tall redhead with the whitest teeth I had ever seen. "Please, come with me."

We stepped down from the trailer and Odd Whitefeather joined us. A large crowd began to form and we were quickly whisked inside. I stayed close to Dog Breath while Crooked Walker walked next to his grandson. Dog Breath tried not to stare at this strange new place, but there were times where he could not help himself. I tried to imagine what he was thinking. Slot machines sang their computerized songs and every now and then someone would let out a whoop. The men I saw there were closely followed by their women; it was as if they were protecting their men from being stolen away. I saw young and beautiful women in the company of haggard old men. I saw a five hundred pound man with two cheerleader types dressed in short skirts, one in each arm. The perky young women looked very happy, even as he ran his pudgy hands over their exposed flesh. I grimaced.

We were taken down a long hallway and directed into a large office where we were invited to sit. Dog Breath and Crooked Walker politely declined the invitation. I sat on the small sofa with my grandfather and found myself staring into the eyes of Man Killer. She was dressed in a tight skirt and a buttoned, low-cut blouse. If she recognized me she never showed it. The office was large and lavishly decorated with more art than I had ever seen in one room. The effect was distracting, which may have been the purpose of the décor. I studied a small statue behind the desk. The carving was of a short man with horns growing out of the side of his head. His feet were hoofs and a long tail fell to the ground. He seemed to be smiling at me.

"My name is Melody Soliah," she said with a big smile. "You could say that I'm in charge around here, at least while my husband is away. First, let me say that it is indeed an honor to have some real Indians in this place. It has been a long time."

"Native Americans," I said, correcting her.

"Excuse me?" she asked, looking confused. "Native Americans? You know, that has a nice ring to it. I like that, Native Americans it is! As I was saying, it has been a long time. We are down to our last surviving _Native_ _American_ here on the reservation. We haven't seen him in five years, but we still send him the checks! I guess you could say we are very curious if you men claim to belong to the tribe. That would be very big news in these parts."

Odd Whitefeather rubbed his chin and I could see the wheels spinning. I turned to look at Dog Breath and Crooked Walker who stood behind us. They stood impassively, like two statues on a lawn. "We are all from the Fond Du Lac Band of Ojibwe," I said.

"The what?" Man Killer asked, as if I had been speaking a foreign language. "I'm sorry, what is an _Obidgway?_ That is a term I am not familiar with. I do know about _fondue._ We enjoyed it just a few weeks ago. No, I was hoping that you were Chippewa. We could sure use a few more of them around here. By the way, I just love your outfits. They are so authentic looking; they must have cost you a small fortune!"

I looked down at my pajama bottoms and hoped that she wasn't talking about me. "We are _Chippewa,"_ I said, using the white name for the Band. "This is our home."

She looked at me curiously. "You?" she asked. "I thought you were their manager or something. You're not a redskin, I can tell these things."

"Excuse me?" I asked. "Since when do you think its okay to use that filthy word in front of your elders? How can you speak of your own heritage in such a way?"

"I am sure that I have no idea what you are talking about. As far as my heritage goes, I am certainly not an Indian, neither are you. Your friends obviously are. If we can prove that they belong to the Tribe, they will be very, very, rich men. All we require is a blood test. Of course, we can check yours at the same time."

"Damn right, you will."

"Where have all of the trees gone?" Crooked Walker asked, rubbing his chin.

"You're kidding, right? There hasn't been a tree in this county in over thirty years. Everyone knows that they won't grow here anymore. Not since the sickness..."

I waited for her to expound on that, but she did no such thing. She waved over two women that had been standing by the door, they were beautiful and they wore tiny nurse's uniforms. They first tried taking the blood of Dog Breath and Crooked Walker, who both backed away, shaking their heads. Odd Whitefeather and I rolled up our sleeves at the same time. A smile was forming on his lips. The nurses fawned over us as they took our blood, one at a time. They stared dreamily into my eyes as they went about their work. Yes, I really could get used to this.

"And, what's your name?" cooed one of the nurses.

"Odd Whitefeather," my grandfather cooed back. "I am very pleased to meet you."

"Oh my God," exclaimed the nurse. "You have no idea how pleased I am to meet you. Oh my God, oh my God. Mrs. Soliah, look at his vial!"

I looked at the vial in question and found that it had turned a brilliant shade of blue. Voices buzzed from all around us and Man Killer gave Odd Whitefeather an astonished stare. "I had no idea... she stammered. "Get my husband on the phone. Tell him that we have an emergency!"

I looked at my own vial, but it was still dark red. I gritted my teeth, wondering what I was supposed to think of that. I wanted some time alone with someone, anyone, who could give me a clear picture as to the world I had come home to. I wanted to know where all of the men were. I wanted to know what had happened to the trees. I wanted to know _who_ I was.

I watched Odd Whitefeather stand and all of the women in the room, including Man Killer, bowed down before him. He smiled broadly and walked behind the sofa to stand next to Crooked Walker. "Grandfather," I heard him whisper. "Tell me what is like to have fifty wives..."

"Trust me," his grandfather replied. "You do not want to know."

I turned on the soft sofa and saw that he _did_ want to know. He smiled at me and strode out of the room. Dog Breath and Crooked Walker followed him out. I quickly checked my vial again, which hadn't changed at all, and got to my feet. The nurses followed my grandfathers, leaving me alone with Man Killer, who I had already begun to think of as Melody.

"This is a really big thing," Melody said. "I hope he understands that. Those other two savages should have their blood checked---"

I cut her off. "Did you just call them _savages_? I asked, feeling the blood rush to my face. What is wrong with you, don't you have any respect for _anyone_?"

Soliah's silky voice suddenly cut through the air "She respects me," he said, answering my question as he walked into the office. "Don't you, sweetheart?"

"Of course I do baby-cakes."

I thought I was going to be sick.

"Melody, would you mind leaving me alone with your friend? I think he and I need to have a little talk."

"Did you hear? He brought in a member of the tribe! It's a miracle. June took the blood sample over to the hospital to be authenticated, but his vial turned as blue as the sky."

"I'm sure it did," said Soliah with a wide smile. "I'm sure it did."

Melody rose from her desk. She was definitely Melody now, part of a distant past that she was powerless to remember. She joined Soliah at the corner of the desk and paused to give him a lingering kiss. I turned my head away. I was beginning to notice that not a single item in the office was made out of wood. Everything was steel, stone, or plastic.

"I'm going to find the old guy. He said his name was _Odd Whitefeather_. Don't you just love it? I'll schedule a press conference the minute I hear back from the lab. This one wanted to be tested, but his vial never changed color. Just to be safe, I am having that sample retested."

Soliah nodded, as if she had followed some sort of protocol. He gave her bottom a quick slap as she gathered her things. She turned and gave him a seductive smile. I wanted to scream. Melody turned and walked out of the office, taking my broken heart along with her.

Soliah followed her to the door, flashed her a quick smile and he closed the door behind her. He was impeccably dressed in a black suit, silk, by the look of it. His blonde hair was still long and parted in the middle and he appeared to be somewhere in his early thirties, in the prime of his life. He still wore the moustache and it was neatly trimmed. I looked down at his feet, which were real as far as I could tell. He wore a pair of black boots that looked shiny and new. He walked over to the desk and sat on the edge. He was smiling and I knew I was in trouble.

"Huckleberry," he said, checking his nails. "Whatever am I to do with you? I wasn't counting on this, oh no, not at all. You really made me angry; you know that, don't you?"

I hung my head and studied the blood-red carpet. After everything he had done to me over the years, my head was crammed full of nightmarish thoughts.

"Then, I got to thinking and you might say that _cooler_ heads prevailed. I'm going to make a deal with you. I'll give you another chance. That's very _white_ of me, wouldn't you say so?"

"Go to hell."

"I've already been there, my boy, I've already been there," he said with a sneer. "I don't plan on going back there any time soon. No, I think you'll take my offer. I'll see that your blood passes inspection and you will be an instant billionaire, just like that wagon-burner grandfather of yours. You'll have a great life, the best money can buy."

"What happened to the rest of the Native Americans? What have you done with them? There should be thousands of tribal members in the area."

They're all dead, most of them were never even born, so don't let it bother you. That was before our time and we had nothing to do with it. Does that sound familiar? People have been saying that about redskins for generations."

"You lie!"

"Honest Injun," Soliah said, holding his hand up in front of him with a wry smile. "Things turned out quite definitely than you remember them. I'll have to get you a history book to fill in the gaps. I'm sure we can find something for you to read, but we'll save that for a later date. For now, you can agree to be a very wealthy man. Does it get any better than that?"

"I won't take a penny of your blood money. I don't care what happens to me."

"Don't be so hasty, Huckleberry. Let me explain things to you. You have nothing in this world but that shithole of a trailer and some rusted machines. You don't have a bank account and you have no source of income. How do you expect to survive? Look, I am really trying to do the right thing. You're my damn grandson, for crying out loud. Let me help you."

I stared at him for a long moment and actually considered his offer. I could be a very wealthy man living in a world where the women outnumbered the men by a wide ratio. The offer was tempting. I could also escape Soliah's wrath by accepting the offer. My body was screaming at my mind, telling me to accept the terms. My mind won the battle. "Like I said, Soliah, you can go to hell."

I have never seen a man's face turn such a shade of red. He shook with a rage so pure that I thought he was about to kill me. A long moment passed. "Very well," he said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Have it your way."

I began to speak when I noticed the smell. The same terrible smell that had haunted me for five long years. I narrowed my eyes at Soliah and bared my teeth.

"You are a damn fool. Do you know that, Huckleberry? What a complete waste of blood and a disgrace to the Soliah name. Get out of here! You have five minutes until I turn your pores to full rot. Go back to your little trailer and live in your own stink. You sicken me, you surely do. Go!"

I rose from the sofa and fought the urge to throw up. The smell was growing by the second and I didn't want to be anywhere near people when it was ratcheted up to full blast. Without another word, I walked to the door and let myself out of the office, leaving Soliah where he stood. I then began to run.

I felt like I was dragging an invisible cloud of toxic gas behind me, and that it was doubling in size with each of my frantic steps. I passed two smiling women and they quickly began to gag. I could hear them. I then felt hot tears of embarrassment flood my eyes and ran as fast as my legs would carry me.

The painted portraits seemed to be laughing at me and the corridor seemed to stretch on forever. Finally, nearly winded, I rushed into the lobby where all hell broke loose. Women screamed and I was repulsed by the sound of vomiting, it seemed to be coming from everywhere. I continued to run, spotting the door and dashing through it like the building was on fire. I paused, looking for the ATV. The cute valet girls were suddenly on their knees, throwing up whatever they had eaten for lunch. I wanted to apologize, but I realized the best thing I could do was to get out of there as fast as possible.

I dumped the trailer and jumped on Odd Whitefeather's machine. I fired it up and sped back to my trailer as fast as it would carry me.

### Chapter Fourteen

Man Killer enjoyed harvesting the rice and it helped to keep her mind off of her missing husband. The first few days were windy which made gathering the rice complicated. Today was also windy and very hot. She used a long pole to position her canoe in the rice field, the same field she had been tending since she was a girl. She then expertly used the two sticks to pull the stalks over her canoe and to strip off the ripened kernels. Man Killer was as good as any man when it came to gathering rice, but unlike most of the men, her first canoe-loads of rice were given to those who were too old or frail to harvest their own. This made her feel good, even though she never let on about it. Her parents and grandparents had taught her well, and she knew what had to be done.

Stump Nose hadn't bothered her since returning from his self-imposed exile. Still, she did not trust him, nor did she trust his mother. Wind In Her Face had been thankful towards Man Killer for all that she had done, but there was something hiding behind her eyes. Man Killer could feel it and it bothered her. She tried to ignore the feeling, but it simply would not go away. The old woman knew something, or at least thought she did.

A terrible thing happened that afternoon. One of the young women in the camp who had lost her husband in the attack by the Sioux, decided to pack up her baby and return to the big water. Her grandmother was there and she could not bear to spend another day in the place where she had lost her husband. The elders all warned her against doing something so foolish, they outright forbid it. Still, the young woman's world had fallen apart this past year. Her name was Sweet Grass and she was very stubborn. She had lost her parents and her only sister in the Dead Winter. Now she had lost her man and some said her mind. She waited for her chance and she slipped away with her baby.

When the others noticed that she was gone, two of the braves were dispatched to retrieve the foolish woman, who really wasn't much more than a girl. The braves came back an hour later, one carried the crying baby. There was no sign of Sweet Grass, or of her canoe. The braves shook their heads and explained that they had found the baby hanging in its cradle board, all alone on the limb of a great pine tree.

The Old Ones talked about this for hours, trying to reason out a meaning. The baby joined the others and she cried for her mother. Man Killer watched all of this and wished that she could look after the little one. She would give her love and try to be the mother that the little girl needed. Of course, Man Killer knew this would never come to pass.

That evening the sky was angry and it lashed out at the earth with a frightening fury. Man Killer lay alone on her pallet, watching the bright flashes and hearing the great rumbles and crashes. Hailstones fell and they were followed by a driving rain that lasted for nearly an hour. The wigwam shook as the wind howled outside, but it held up to the test. Man Killer prayed that the other wigwams were also faring well. Suddenly, there was a loud crack which was followed by the telltale snapping of live wood. One of the big trees was coming down and Man Killer pulled her knees up to her chest and screamed. It sounded like it was falling right on top of her.

The following morning was spent cleaning up the village and repairing things broken during the storm. All agreed that the Great Spirit was looking after Man Killer, who had narrowly missed getting flattened by the old pine. No one agreed with them more than her, especially when she examined the trunk of the tree and could see the bit marks of a hatchet.

And Man Killer was suddenly afraid.

### Huck

I sat outside and languished over my current situation. The trailer was without power and it was as hot as an oven in there. Meanwhile, the stench continued to grow until I smelled like a Great Lake that had been drained and refilled with sour milk. The smell was ten times worse than it had ever been on my worst days. I gagged and pinched my nose, thinking that I couldn't live for long in my present condition. The power and my telephone had both been disconnected, and it took electricity to run my well. Luckily, I had stored some supplies away in the unlikely case of an economic cataclysm. I had always been an avid reader and one of the books I had read depicted such an event in the near future. The book had frightened me enough to stock up on canned foods, bottled water... and _toilet_ _paper_.

There had ever been a lot of traffic down my little street, but a few dozen cars usually passed my trailer each day. I went out to the shed and found a can of spray paint, which _actually_ sprayed paint after five years. I made a crude sign, but I thought it would be effective.

Have Toilet Paper. Will Barter.

The first car, a sky blue four-door Saturn, drove by about an hour later. It slowed down and suddenly screeched to a halt. A brave young woman got out of her car, she had one hand over her mouth and her other was holding her nose. I could hear her clearly as she shouted up to my porch, even though she was at least one hundred feet away. "I want to see Will Barter!" she shouted up to the house.

"Who are you looking for?"

" _Will_ _Barter..._ I've got three teenaged girls!"

Well, you know how it is. I completely forgot about the sign and what I had written on it. I blame it on the smell. I was foul on a scale of Biblical proportions. "There's no Will Barter here!" I shouted back at her, waving her on.

I hated when people smelled me and I could see it in their faces. That's another thing a man should never have to experience, even from one hundred feet away. You have _never_ been humbled until someone projectile vomits on your behalf. I watched the woman with the black hair get back into her sky blue Saturn. I could hear a heated exchange between the woman in the car and her passengers. I presumed they were her daughters, since I could see three of them. I could also hear them, seeing how they had all of the windows rolled down.

They were arguing about Will Barter. Do you think I put two and two together? I screamed at them: "There is no Will Barter here! Get out of here before I jump in there with you! You wouldn't like that!"

That got her moving. The Saturn pitched forward and gravel spit from her front tires. I had a bad feeling about this. She promptly drove straight into the irrigation ditch and her hood was completely submerged in the brackish water before the Saturn's engine died and white smoke plumed over the windshield.

I could hear all of them screaming something that sounded like: " _Arrgh_!" That is the precise instant that I realized that they had been looking for _me_. I jumped up from my chair and ran into the trailer. I grabbed a twelve pack of some fine two-ply and ran back outside. I had many more back in the spare bedroom and I was suddenly delighted that I had such keen foresight. Maybe it was because I knew it was one of the few things that I really couldn't do without. Not that it mattered at the moment. "I...will barter!" I shouted, sounding like Tarzan speaking to a telemarketer. I rephrased the statement. "I have toilet paper, lots of nice, soft toilet paper!"

The car doors opened and three lovely young ladies slowly got out of the car. I suspected a couple of them were older than teenagers, but there was no mistaking the resemblance. They seemed to be hypnotized by the toilet paper. I held it up above my head.

The mother got out of the car. She was shorter than her girls and looked embarrassed by what she had done. Her eyes suddenly fixed on the toilet paper and her expression changed instantly. She pointed at me. "Will Barter," she said angrily to her girls. Then, she continued to me. "What the hell kind of toilet paper is that? You're trying to put me on, there is no such thing as _white_ toilet paper! And does that read _two-ply_? Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I could see that a lot had changed while I was away. I wasn't quite sure what that meant to me, but I would find out in due time. I tore open the plastic and removed one of the double rolls of my best stock. I reared back and tossed the soft roll like a football. A long ribbon of white sheets trailed my pass.

I have watched enough television to see what can happen on air drops in disaster areas. This was no different. There was a mad scramble for the soft, spiraling roll, which fell woefully short of its intended receiver. They dove on it as if it were made out of thousand dollar bills.

The mother emerged from the fray holding the roll of toilet paper as if it were the Stanley Cup. She smiled and I could see that she was very pleased with herself. "We are going to share this," she announced to her daughters. She tore off a square for each of them and they held it up to their cheeks as if it were the finest silk. "Where did you get this?" the woman demanded to know. "How did you make it so _soft_?"

"I have more than this!" I shouted, holding up the package. "I need some things and I would like to make a trade!"

The woman eyed me suspiciously as she tucked the roll under her arm. I was sure of one thing, I definitely had their attention.

The Saturn came out of the ditch on the third attempt. The temperature was somewhere near ninety and the air was thick with humidity. I gagged at my own stink. The Polaris spun in the gravel, but it finally bit into the earth and the car popped up and out of the water. She was able to start the engine and she let it idle with the air conditioning on. The girls were nearly green because of the smell and they got into the car, still holding their little squares. The woman introduced herself as Theresa and she bravely stood her ground as I questioned her. She seemed to become more or less immune to the stench and she explained it was because she had come from a large family with only one bathroom. Still, she held her nose while we spoke.

"When did toilet paper become so valuable?" I asked, sitting on Odd Whitefeather's ATV across the road from her, as she leaned against her car, clutching her roll of toilet paper as if it were a family heirloom.

She laughed. "What? Have you been living under a rock? The trees have been gone since I was a little girl, but I have heard that there are still quite a few of them in South America. I've also seen pictures."

"Gone? Where did they go?"

"Quit pulling my leg, you know damn well that they were destroyed by the Washington Wood Weevils. Well, all except for the trees on the reservation. For some reason the weevils couldn't survive out there. Maybe the wood tasted bad, nobody knows. That's why we went to war."

"You went to war over toilet paper?"

She looked at me as if she wanted to slap my face. "No, we went to war over _natural_ _resources_. Hello? Did you ever go to school? That was pretty big news, like, you are probably the only person on the planet who doesn't know that. Are you an _alien_ , or are you just stupid?"

"I guess I'm just stupid," I said, squinting my eyes against the sun. I held the rest of the twelve-pack on the seat. I still had eleven rolls and I knew that was what she was after. I'd give them to her, but first I needed a little information. "So, they went to war over the trees. _Who_ went to war? Remember, I'm stupid so explain it to me very carefully."

"Listen, I'd love to sit here and chat with you, I really would. And I've been trying to think up a polite excuse to get out of here, I really have. The truth is you stink. It's vile and I just can't stand it any longer."

I opened the package and tossed her another roll. "Does that help?"

She looked panic stricken as she tried to catch the new roll while still holding the first one. To her credit, she snatched it cleanly out of the air, gritting her teeth in concentration. You would have thought I was throwing her Brad Pitt's underwear.

"We went to war against the tribes, everybody knows it. Get a history book."

That was the second time I had heard that and it got me thinking. "What happened in the war? Who won?"

"Who won? Oh my God, _we_ won. The savages didn't have a chance, but they put up one helluva fight. We had no choice but to put them down, it was the humanitarian thing to do."

"Put them _down_?"

"We engineered a chemical to take care of the problem. The chemicals caused a lot of cancers of the male variety. And now we girls can't seem to make any baby boys. A boy hasn't been born since the war ended."

I was too stunned to speak. Chemicals explained a lot of things. Still, I wanted more. I opened up the package and tossed her another roll. This time she left her prizes on the hood of the Saturn as she fielded my toss. "You dropped chemicals on the reservations?" I asked. "What kind of monsters would do such a thing? Did anyone speak out against it?"

"No," she said, shaking her finger at me. "And don't you start speaking out against anything or anyone, do you hear me? They don't like that and everybody watches everybody here. Open your mouth and you'll find yourself strapped to the wall of a prison cell. You haven't heard this? I can't believe you, everyone knows that.

"I'm not messing with you. I'd tell you my story, but you wouldn't believe it. What happened to the Natives?"

"What? They're all _dead_ , except for a few here and there. It wasn't my idea."

I was sickened by her flippant attitude, even though I knew she was simply citing the facts. She wasn't to blame for giving me the terrible history lesson. I had asked for it. I threw her another roll and fired up the ATV. "You'd better get out of here. You'll catch my smell, it does that."

She was in her car and one hundred yards from me in less than five seconds; the Saturn's engine revving like a chainsaw. Four rolls of toilet paper to the good.

### Chapter Fifteen

Word spread quickly and people soon drove out to trade for my booty of toilet paper. I traded it a roll at a time, after learning it was worth five hundred dollars a roll; maybe more, just because of its exceptional quality. I handled them like they were baby ducks.

I got a generator for two rolls of two-ply, which was my big expenditure. I then bought fifty-five gallons of high octane for one roll. The guy looked at me like I was a lunatic. I bought guns and ammunition, batteries and first aid kits. I even bought a water purifier. I was getting ready to go to ground. The end was near, it had to be. I didn't want to live in such a world, at least not among these people. My last trade was with a curious little man who offered to shake my hand after we had conducted business. He was short and thin, and he was very old. He had a pair of massive ears that sprouted thick white hair. He smiled at me.

"I have heard about you," he said, touching his nose with a wrinkled finger. "I can't smell a thing, haven't been able to smell nothin' since I turned ninety. I thought you might like some company."

I was touched that he would do such a thing. I forced the laptop computer back on the old man, tossing it on the backseat of his Buick. I told him to keep the toilet paper, not that I needed to. The way he was holding it, I may have had to kill him for it.

"Abe Steinman," the old man said. Thanks for the butt-wipe. It isn't easy getting old. Listen, my granddaughter was out here with her three girls. Her name is Theresa, do you remember her?"

"Sure," I said. "She drove into the ditch."

"She didn't tell me that," he commented in a dry rasp. He opened his door and stepped from the car. He was dressed in a nylon button-up and a pair of wide-belled plaid pants, the type I hadn't seen in generations. "She did say that you had been locked in a closet? Is this true, have you been locked up inside a prison all of your life? Maybe you're one of those people who forget things all the time? Is that it?"

I shook my head. "I have never been in prison and there's nothing wrong with my mind. You just have to trust me. You don't want to know about me."

"That's where you're wrong. I am not buying any bullshit today, thank you very much. I want to know everything about you, or I'll turn you in as being _unusual_."

This caught me totally off guard and I stopped to re-estimate the little old man. I knew that he wasn't joking by the tone of his voice and that I had better win him over, as fast as possible. I pointed to a soda can lying on the shoulder of the road. "Do you see that can?" I asked. "Keep your eyes on it."

"I can see the damn can. What, do you think that I'm blind?"

"Watch!"

"What, is it going to do tricks?"

Channeling all of my energies into telekinetic thought, I was able to lift the can two feet into the air. I held it there for a few seconds before letting it go. It dropped to the ground with a clink. It wasn't much, but it did prove to me that all wasn't lost.

Abe Steinman looked at me with amazement. I really thought I had impressed him. He shook his head, narrowed his eyes and pointed at my mailbox. "Do you see that?" he asked.

"The mailbox?"

"No, I was talking about the empty field of dirt; of course, the damn mailbox. Keep your eye on it."

The rusted old mailbox was dented and large enough to house small animals. I watched as it began to droop like melting wax. I watched it glob up into a single molten blob and I gasped. The glowing lump slid down the steel pole and onto the ground, as if it had a mind of its own. I stepped back. I stared in disbelief as the whole split into three parts, and nimbly spelled out: _Abe_.

"How do you like those apples?" he asked me. "Abe... I spelled Abe. Can you do that?"

"I don't think so."

"Good. Now, tell me your story."

I nodded my head in defeat and told him the whole sorry mess. He stopped me many times, demanding more information, just as I had done with his granddaughter. He looked at me with cold eyes and scratched his peeling scalp. "That's a real bugger," he said. "Do you mean that in your world, the _Natives_ are still alive? There are still trees?"

"Scout's honor."

"And you say that Soliah is somehow behind all of this?"

"I do. I really don't care who you tell. That's the truth."

"You damn well better care who knows. That son-of-a-bitch Soliah is a powerful man. He has real magic, not the cheap kind that spells its own name in steel. You'll be a dead man if he hears about the way you talk about him. Don't kid yourself, kid."

"He stole my woman."

"Women... do you want one of mine? No, forget about the women. Is that you, Brindle and Sons Demolition?"

I looked over at the tired Ford Econoline where the company name had faded into not much more than a memory. "There was only one son, which was me. Dad had big dreams. Yeah, I'm Brindle. I haven't done any demolition in..."

"Five years?"

"Right, just like I told you."

"You never finished the job, did you?"

"You know I didn't. I lost everything. All I have left is an old crane in the shed and a dozer that couldn't crawl out of a paper bag. I don't know what you're getting at..."

Abe Steinman walked over to me and he put his hand on my shoulder. "Don't you see?" he asked; his voice crackling like a dry fire. "You have to go back and finish what you started. You can prevent all of this from happening. This, Brindle, is your destiny. You are the chosen one." Then he got into his car and drove away.

I thought about that for a long time before I finally went to sleep that night.

Odd Whitefeather finally showed up after a week. By chance or design, he drove up on a day when the wind blew hard against the front of my trailer. The sky was overcast and the temperature had dropped. I was dressed in a flannel shirt and blue jeans.

He pulled up in a Cadillac convertible which looked as if he had just driven it off of the showroom floor. He got out of the car and stood with his back to the fender. He was dressed in a suit the color of a fire engine. A white rose was stuck in his lapel and his hair was short and neatly trimmed. He smiled at me.

"I have many wives," he said, giving me a thumbs up. "You should have taken the deal; it would not have hurt you."

"What do you mean? I can't accept any deals from Soliah. That would make me as bad as he is."

"No, it would have given you a place on the inside," Odd Whitefeather said, wagging his finger at me. "Like I have done, I have the full run of his home. Did you know that?"

"How could I have known?"

Odd Whitefeather rolled his eyes and shook his head. He was starting to look angry and I wanted to ask him to trade places with me, just to get him back to reality. He didn't stink, I did. He continued on, telling me about his new boat and his new motor-home. He spent ten minutes telling me about all of the women in his life. He had been allowed to marry one hundred, and he had done just that.

Now it was my turn to shake my head. "It sounds like you're adjusting to your new life pretty fast. What happened to Dog Breath and Crooked Walker?"

"They are living in town. They do all right. They let people snap photographs of them for five bucks apiece. It is not love, but it is an honest living."

"How could you allow them to do such a thing?"

"Allow? What do you mean?"

I shook my head. "Okay, but are you still on our side? We have a job to do."

"I know we have to knock over that big house on Spirit Lake. It would have been a lot easier if we had done that when it was built of wood."

I smiled for the first time. "I don't know how we're going to get it done, but I'm ready to die trying."

"That is good. You should be ready to die."

"Thanks a lot."

The longer I listened to him, the more developed the plan became in my mind. I could see now what he had meant about being on the inside, but he was there and he promised to help. I had my equipment to worry about and everything was going to need to be reconditioned. I had oil to change, tires to fix, fittings to grease. I had a solid month of work in front of me, providing everything went according to plan. How I could have ever planned on that is still a mystery.

### Chapter Sixteen

She hated the fear. The feeling had started low in her stomach and it had now filled her belly. And while she was fairly certain that Stump Nose had tried to kill her, she couldn't be sure. Wind In Her Face was old, surely close to fifty seasons, but she was still capable of swinging a hatchet. There were other possibilities. Perhaps it had been a friend of the family who sought revenge for Man Killer's marriage to the strange healer. She thought about pointing out the bit marks in the tree, but they had enough problems right now. Half of their rice harvest had been destroyed during the storm and their stay was to be extended.

The following days were spent out in her canoe, wary of anyone or anything that looked out of place. The days were cooler and the wind died to nearly nothing, all this made harvesting the rice that much easier. Man Killer slept hard during these nights and she dreamed of her man. The dreams rekindled her love and made her days that much longer. Dreams were sacred to her people and Man Killer held these close to her heart. She prayed it was a sign from the Great Spirit that her husband would return to her.

Stump Nose sat in his corner of the wigwam and carved a chunk of wood with his knife. Wind In Her Face watched him in the fading light.

"Why is it that you have become so quiet, my son?" she asked the sullen-looking brave.

"I am angry that I will never have a wife," spat Stump Nose, hacking off a big piece of pine in anger. "What life will I have if I have to spend it alone, like you? I do not wish to haggle with the Old Ones for conversation when I grow to your age. I want a wife and children to talk to."

His mother thought about this for a long time before she spoke. "You are still in love with Man Killer. She will never love you, but that does not matter. I know that. If the one that they call Buffalo Head does not come back in one season, she will be ready to take another man. Why don't you try being nice to her and see what happens? People have changes in their hearts, I have seen it."

"She hates me! I have seen the way she looks at me and I want to stick my knife in her for doing so. I do not want her as my wife. I want her dead so I can forget about her. I need your help."

Wind In Her Face slumped forward and began to weep. "I will not help you kill the Mide Woman," she said between sobs. "And I know that I cannot stop you from trying to do such a foolish thing. You need to remember that she is protected."

"I can be careful. I am the greatest hunter in the camp. Everyone knows that."

"You do not understand. She is protected by the spirits of the Mide. Who do you think protected her from the tree that fell? The Mide were watching over her. Who will protect you from them? You must not attempt to do this."

Stump Nose held his knife up in the air and his expression was dark. "I do not believe that," he hissed. "I do not believe that anyone is watching over her. She is alone and she is just a woman, no better than any other woman. I _will_ kill her and you will speak of this to no one. I should not have even told you, but you tricked it out of me. You should stop doing such things."

Wind In Her Face lay down on her pallet and turned her back on her son. The sorrow was gone, as were the tears. _Just a woman?_ She thought to herself as she tried to fall asleep. _You will deserve whatever happens to you. Just a woman, what kind of son says such a thing to his mother?_

Stump Nose fell asleep thinking of all the ways that he could end Man Killer's life. The more that he thought about it, the more that he decided that the two of them would need to be far away from the camp. He wasn't going to let her off easy, not anymore.

### Huck

Working alone, I was able to wire the generator into the shed and into the trailer, giving me much needed power. I began working on the elderly crane. I tried to imagine driving it up to the Soliah Home, raising the tower and swinging the five ton wrecking ball. I had wrecked a lot of shit with that old crane, and if it sounds like fun, that's because it is. Smashing things gets in your blood, especially when you are born into a demolition company.

The more I worked on the crane, the more I understood that it wouldn't be enough for the job. The Swinger Special had been the best crane in its class, but that had been fifty years ago. A lot had changed over time, but a crane with a wrecking ball was still basically just a crane. The Swinger would have leveled the wooden house in half an hour. The granite walls were going to be a problem. I was going to need dynamite, and a lot of it.

I changed the oil and I cleaned the filters. I then examined every inch of the cable for frays, which looked pretty good. I checked the boom and the rigging for loose nuts and bolts, finding pretty much what I expected. The boom is the long arm of the crane and a bad weld or loose bolts usually spell disaster. The old Swinger fired up in a cloud of blue smoke. I nervously slipped it into gear and the steel tracks churned the bare earth on the floor of my equipment shed. I commandeered the beast out the door and around the yard. It sputtered about the yard and I stopped it on a level patch of dirt and raised the heavy boom. The controls were sluggish, but they loosened up as the machine warmed up. I toyed with the crane for nearly an hour, feeling my skills quickly return after my extended layoff.

Reclaiming the sleeping dozer was a different story. The Whitehead Buster had sat outside in the elements for five years. The Buster described the dozer perfectly. It was a beefy machine with a wide bucket in the front and a massive backhoe in the back that could fill a dump-truck in four scoops. The problem was getting it to start. I worked on it for two days before getting the engine to crank over.

The weather stayed cool and the traffic by my place slowed to a trickle, and then it stopped, altogether. I wondered about this, thinking that it was because of the smell. I had no idea as to what was to come.

They arrived in a pair of black Ford Explorers and a large cargo van. I was never able to get a good count, but they came loaded for bear and I didn't give them any trouble. They wore uniforms and carried guns, but they were unlike any cops that I had ever seen. They came for my toilet paper and left with just about anything of value that they could carry. A gravel-voiced, block of a man told me that I was supporting my government. He said this while holding a large handgun trained on my chest. Who was I to argue?

The entire operation was over in less than an hour. They loaded my stuff into their van and drove away, but not before warning me how foolish it would be to retaliate. I was numb. They had left me completely destitute. I swore into the darkening sky as I fought to retain my sanity. The generator was gone, along with the fuel. There wasn't a scrap of food to be found. I went to bed that night feeling as if I had just lost my best friend.

Like magic, which was _exactly_ what they were, my two Medicine Men arrived the next morning.

### Chapter Seventeen

They walked in together; Crooked Walker and Dog Breath. They exchanged a horrified look and Dog Breath let out a long, agonized cry. He then danced on my living room floor, lifting his legs and chanting as he did so. The smell seemed to evaporate in a single breath. I was so relieved that I fell to my knees and cried. At times, life suddenly does that to you.

"Get up or I will bring the bad smell back," ordered Dog Breath. "We don't have time for tears."

Crooked Walker nodded solemnly. "It is taking time to relearn the old ways."

Dog Breath scowled. "This Soliah is mine. Do you understand me? You are the children of my children, and no man walks on them without paying the price. He will pay with his life."

I nodded my head. "He needs to go away; the sooner the better."

We all looked each other in the eye and Soliah's fate was sealed, at least in our opinion. I was shocked to learn that they had made nearly five thousand dollars in town. They despised what they were doing, for it went against everything they believed in. Still, they knew it was the only way out of this mess, and I was glad that my grandfathers were such incredibly wise and selfless men. We were getting ready to go to war, even though we had yet to draw up a battle plan. The main thing was that we all agreed with Abe Steinman, the Soliah Home needed to be demolished. That was the only way to change the past. We also agreed that I needed to be the one to do that.

They couldn't help much with the machines, but they were great company. The next two days we ate fresh venison and pilfered sweet-corn from a farmer's field. Rain fell in short bursts and we were treated to occasional outbursts of lightning and thunder. Crooked Walker and Dog Breath argued about the meaning of each clap of thunder and every bolt of lightning. I continued to resurrect the Whitehead Buster from the weeds that had claimed it. Another day passed before I finally got the engine to run, another, before I was actually able to move it. I was going to need the dozer if we had any hope of finishing the job as I'd been paid to do.

I had put Odd Whitefeather out of my mind. To be honest with you, I was very disappointed in him, but I didn't want to show it in front of my elders. Besides, Crooked Walker expressed enough displeasure for ten men. I was actually a little afraid for my grandfather. Dog Breath seemed to remain neutral, but as the days passed, I could see that he was losing faith in him as well. Crooked Walker pressed his advantage, telling Dog Breath for the first time that he was ashamed of his grandson.

While I worked on my equipment, the two old men were trying to find their mojo. Like me, they had little success, but some days seemed a little better than others. I told them that I was going to need dynamite or C-4, anything to break that house from its foundation. They looked at me like I was crazy.

"We must leave this place," said Crooked Walker.

"One should never spend too long in an alternate destiny," agreed Dog Breath. "We must find Odd Whitefeather and find our way back to present time."

Crooked Walker scoffed at this. "He is already lost to us. He will never leave this place."

"You're wrong," I said. "He is only there because we need a man on the inside. He told me so, himself. He is keeping an eye on things over there."

"Is that what he told you?" Crooked Walker asked. "And you believed him? Why did he not break the stink charm when you last saw him? Why does he not send you new machines? He has plenty of the white man's money. He could buy you anything you needed."

"Not that you don't have fine machines," added Dog Breath, who was giving Crooked Walker a stern look.

Crooked Walker nodded his head. "And they are _good_ machines. I did not mean that they were not."

I knew that Dog Breath dragged those last words out of his grandson's mouth. It had been as obvious as the hawk nose on his face. I won't deny that I was hurt. My head was reeling because of the accusation that Odd Whitefeather could have cured my smelly condition. I looked at the ancient crane and it looked small and feeble. The Whitehead Buster barely ran and it couldn't move fifty feet without dying. The idea that I could somehow get these out to Spirit Lake and demolish a castle built of granite, was complete foolishness. Who was I trying to kid?

Dark clouds hung in a great sheet that covered the sky and it was beginning to drizzle. The light rain seemed to add insult to injury and I walked away from the old men. I could see them watching me as I walked up to my crane. I opened the access panel to the engine and shook my head. The little powerhouse was going to be no match for the thick slabs of granite. I stared up at the Buster, the yellow paint had faded to rust and it looked sad and neglected. The rain began to fall in a steady patter. There was no wind and the falling raindrops grew in size and dimension.

I felt as low as I had ever felt during the past five years. I watched Dog Breath and Crooked Walker walk up to the covered front porch of my little trailer. They each sat down, but they continued to stare up at me. Their uniform shirts were soaked and the material clung tightly to the thin men. If it bothered them they never showed it.

I felt as if the old men had woken me from a dream. There was no way my plan was going to work. I sat there for a long time before joining the old men on the porch. My work here was finished, and I suspect that both of them knew it. We had a light dinner and went to bed early that night. I fell asleep feeling like a beaten man.

The next three days were as dry and hot as any I could ever remember. A howling wind blew up from the south with the strength of a blast furnace. My skin felt raw and my eyes burned from all the blowing dust in the air. There had been no sign of Odd Whitefeather, just as there had been little improvement in any of us reclaiming our medicine. Crooked Walker was able to speak with a thirsty sparrow, but it flew away when Dog Breath tried to catch it. "Ten of those make a pretty good meal," he had said.

I could hear the motorcycle a long way before I could see it. There was no mistaking the sound of the Harley Davidson, just as there was no mistaking the face of its rider. Soliah rode up to the front of my trailer as we sat eating our lunch. He looked like he was the happiest man on earth, and he smiled at each of us before he dismounted the black and chrome Hog. He was dressed in leathers and he immediately took off his jacket and draped it over the seat. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt and his muscles rippled in his young arms. His long blond hair flew in the breeze as he stood and faced us. He looked like the fox who had just returned from the henhouse, which I thought was pretty close to the truth.

"Top of the day to you, Huckleberry," he said with mock enthusiasm. "I've been expecting you up at the house. I can see that you've come to your senses. I'm impressed, I actually thought you were going to try and attack my fortress with your pitiful arsenal. You would have died before getting within a mile of my place. Just thought you should know that. So, what's your plan? We all have to have a _plan,_ Huckleberry. Do you know what I mean? You can't expect to stay here and not have any bills to pay. It just isn't done, no sir, it certainly isn't."

"What are you getting at?" I asked, hating him more with each passing second. "I think we've paid our dues. Why don't you just leave us alone?"

"Why Huckleberry, what an incredibly rude thing to say to your grandpa; I thought I would drop by for coffee and we could catch up. I can see that I have made a mistake."

"You sure did."

Soliah smiled at this as he stared straight into the gusting wind. Dog Breath and Crooked Walker watched him with hooded eyes, wary as to what he might have up his sleeve. I knew that he hadn't ridden out here for coffee and conversation. There was another reason. I just didn't know what it could possibly be.

"I can smell that someone broke the stinking curse. No matter, I won't punish you for that," Soliah said with a sneer. "Not yet, anyhow. You know, it's a hot son-of-a-bitch out here, isn't it? I think it might be a good day to go to the lake. Good bye, Huckleberry."

I stood from my chair and walked to the railing. Soliah slipped on his jacket and thumbed the ignition. The Harley roared to life and Soliah began to grab gears as he tore down the gravel road. He was gone and we listened to the rumbling sound fade as it was carried away on the wind.

"What the hell was that about?" I asked, shaking my head.

"This is not good," said Dog Breath.

"I agree," replied Crooked Walker. "That man is up to no good. We should have hit him with a lance. Why don't we have any lances around here? I can still throw."

I shook my head and returned to my cold oatmeal.

We didn't smell the smoke for nearly three hours. We couldn't see the smoke for ten minutes after that. It arrived as a billowing gray wall that stretched all the way across the brush-strewn prairie. The first flames weren't visible for another five minutes, but they leapt up out of the smoke as hot embers began to pelt our skin. The entire southern part of the county seemed to be burning.

"We must find a lake," Dog Breath said, taking me by the arm.

"Quickly," added Crooked Walker. "There is not much time."

"Skunk Lake is five miles from here," I said. "We'd never make it. The men stole Odd Whitefeather's machine that pulled us into town. All I have is the Buster, and I don't think it would get us very far."

The old men looked at the approaching fire and back to me. "We will take the Buster," Dog Breath said. "It has a good name."

Another ember hit me in the back of the head and I could feel my hair burning. I slapped at it and turned to face the fire. I nodded my head. We had no choice but to try the Buster. I sprinted over to it and climbed into the driver's seat. The key was in the ignition and I quickly turned it. The diesel engine sputtered and coughed, but it finally caught and I was able to keep it running by feathering the throttle. There was no way this thing would make it five miles. More embers hit me in the arms and chest and the air was getting hotter by the minute.

We were doomed, I was sure of it.

### Chapter Eighteen

The clear-cutting had wiped out the forests, but it had been replaced by a thick growth of tangled brush that was nearly impossible to penetrate. The scrub-brush was brown and dry and it caught fire as quick as spilled gasoline. The sky to the south, towards Hinckley, was as black as night and galloping at full speed towards Carlton. There was no time for escape. I estimated that the flames would arrive in five minutes, or _less_.

For some reason I didn't give up hope. Crooked Walker and Dog Breath jumped inside the eight foot bucket at the front of the Buster and I lifted it four feet in the air. The engine coughed and wheezed, but much to my surprise, it didn't die. I slammed it into gear and the blue smoke poured from the rusted muffler. We began to roll as the steel tracks bit into the earth. The Buster lurched out of the driveway and I turned it in the direction of Skunk Lake.

I could feel the Buster growing more powerful with each passing second. _Something_ was happening. The engine smoothed out until it was running like a fresh rebuild. We continued to build speed. The controls seemed to have a mind of their own and I quit fighting them. The transmission found long-lost gears, and suddenly it found impossible gears that had never been there in the first place. The speedometer had been broken for decades, but I estimated our speed at seventy MPH. Tears streaked my cheeks as the hot wind blasted my eyes. More embers rained down from the sky and they looked like fireflies with no sense of time.

The Buster seemed as if it were floating on air. I thought I heard Crooked Walker let out a loud whoop from the front of the dozer. I smiled, it was going to be close, but I thought that we might actually have a chance. We took the corner onto Skunk Lake Road without slowing down and the mighty dozer slid sideways in the gravel. Somehow, magically, it continued on in an upright position.

The blackness was threatening to swallow us whole and I hunkered down in the seat to avoid the hundreds of stinging embers. Suddenly, up ahead I saw the strangest thing; a long line of hay wagons stretched down the road and the wagons were filled with people. Much to my dismay, I could see that the wagons weren't moving. The Buster sailed by the long line of wagons until we reached the front of the train. I didn't count, but there must have been thirty of them. I hit the brakes, but I found that I it was unnecessary; the big dozer was somehow running on autopilot. We skid to a halt next to a big John Deere tractor. Men and women were running around the green and yellow tractor, as if that might help restart the engine. Sweat streamed down my forehead, where it mingled with the soot and ran into my eyes.

"Brindle!" shouted one of the old men. "We're done for! Can you hook onto us and give us a tow to the lake? Hurry man!"

I didn't recognize the old guy, but the Buster was already backing into place to hook up to the John Deere. I kept my hands on the controls, trying to make it appear that I was in control of the situation. How long the operation took could be measured in seconds. Two men hooked up a chain between us and they quickly hopped aboard the John Deere. The Buster never even grunted, and we were soon flying down the gravel road in a long train of terrified refugees. Fire had spread to both sides of the road, but only in small patches. I knew we only had seconds.

The lake suddenly came into view and we splashed into the open water with an explosion of steam. I hung on to the controls for all I was worth, the handles were burning my hands and they screamed with pain. The Buster coughed, sputtered, and then died in the blackened water. Every man woman and child began to run to the water; charging by me in the Buster as they fought to stay alive, as the air around them burned their skin and scorched their lungs.

I leapt from the seat and jumped into the water. I think my hair was on fire. I could hear people screaming as everything around the lake seemed to burst into flames at the same time. I slogged up to bucket and helped Crooked Walker and Dog Breath down into the water. We followed the others out into the deeper water and waited out the firestorm. I watched the long line of hay wagons as they succumbed to the flames, before it claimed the John Deere and my faithful old Buster. I turned my head and looked away.

With the world burning around me, amid the moans of the injured and the screams of those who had lost loved ones, I could feel a new fire burning inside me. My hatred for Soliah had grown into a physical being that threatened to consume me from within. I had endured enough for ten lifetimes and it was time to stop running and to face my attacker. The realization seemed to slow everything down. I looked into the flames and let out a scream that threatened to pop my own eardrums.

Thunder crashed, drowning out my voice in a deafening explosion of sound. The rain followed an instant later and it fell in great waves from the sky above. I let out another scream, and again the thunder boomed; the percussion sent ripples across the water. Raindrops the size of apples fell and it became impossible to keep my eyes open.

This went on until I felt something nudge me hard on my shoulder. "Hold on, brother," shouted the familiar voice. "Unless you got an ark stashed someplace around here."

I turned and stared into Otis' large black eyes. I was so happy to see him that I threw my arms around his neck. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. I realized that I had summoned the storm.

"Hey now, cut that out. What are people going to think?"

I pulled away. "I'm going to kill him," I said, gritting my teeth. "I am done running."

"That's good," Otis said as the sky turned a strange shade of orange. "Let's go kick some ass."

The four of us walked out of the water up to the blackened gravel road and we headed in the direction of Spirit Lake. We didn't pass my home, but I knew that I had lost everything in the fire. I had nothing but the clothes on my back. I never doubted that I would defeat Soliah, even if I had no idea how I would accomplish that.

Gradually, we walked out of the burn area. The green grass shimmered with the raindrops that had saved them from destruction. It was late afternoon and the sun glowed up ahead in the western sky, making me wish I had my sunglasses. I kept my head down as I walked, concentrating on my predicament and the upcoming battle. This is why I failed to notice my companions take their leave of me. I turned my head and the road was empty and deserted.

I stood there for a moment, knowing they were gone, but wondering what this meant to me. The truth hit me like a sharp whisper. The fight was mine. I felt a cold finger run down my back, but I shook it off and resumed my hike. I estimated that Spirit Lake was at least another eight miles away. I would have plenty of time to come up with a game plan. I picked up my pace, my boots biting into the greasy gravel road.

The hunger began as a small pang in my belly, but it soon began to grow into a presence that couldn't be denied. I could feel my strength ebbing away and my feet becoming heavier with each step. I was sputtering just like my old dozer, the Buster, had once done. I hadn't passed anyone on the road and it became more rutted the further I walked. Grass sprouted in the middle of the tracks, before completely taking over and turning my road into a path. With the last of my energy, I crested a rise in the earth and was rewarded with the sight of a brilliant sunset over the top of a glorious forest of tall pines. I walked a few feet off the path and sat down in the tall grass and wildflowers. A Monarch butterfly floated by, looking both regal and carefree in the last light of the day. And then there was nothing but sleep.

The birds woke me the following day, hundreds of them, as they greeted me with their morning songs. The morning sky was the color of a dark bruise and the sun was still hidden under the eastern horizon. My stomach growled and my mouth was as dry as sand. I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

"How are you feeling, Huckleberry?" asked a weathered voice from somewhere just beyond my vision. I recognized the voice as belonging to Abe Steinman.

"I could eat," I said, feeling weaker by merely saying the words. I put my hand down to keep from falling over.

"I knew you'd say that. I need you to stand up, my house is just over the hill and I have breakfast cooking on the stove. How do bacon and eggs, and hot-buttered toast sound? I've got chocolate milk."

Abe was dressed in a formal black suit with a red rose in his lapel. He smiled and beckoned me to my feet. Where I found the strength to walk is still a mystery. Abe had been right, his house was just over the hill, but the hill was nearly a mile away and it seemed as steep as any mountain. The little house looked out of place in the middle of the clearing. There were no roads and it didn't look like there had ever been any. The aluminum siding clashed with the surrounding wilderness, in a way that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

"Lost it in the fire," Abe said, pausing to shake his bald head. "What you see in front of you is only a memory. I think it is easier this way."

The door to the house opened and Theresa and her three girls emerged from the house. They were smiling and they waved to me from one hundred yards away.

"I lost them, too," Abe continued. "The fire arrived so fast that our only escape was into the basement. The house collapsed on top of us."

"But I can see your house and it looks fine. How can that be?"

"You're not in Carlton, anymore, kid. Don't ask too many questions. You have a long way to go and we don't have very long. Now, let's get you up to the house and get some food into your stomach. You're going to need your strength."

"Okay."

"One more thing," Abe said, taking me by the shoulder with a firm grip. "Don't mention anything to Theresa and the girls. They don't know yet. They think the fire was just a dream and that all of this is still part of that dream. Don't ruin it for them, they will find out the truth, soon enough."

I nodded my head, feeling incredibly sad as we continued to walk. Theresa and the girls were wearing what must've been their finest dresses and their hair was meticulously styled. They greeted me on Abe's little front porch as the smell of frying bacon hung in the air.

"I hope everybody is hungry," Theresa said. "I made enough to feed an army."

"I'm starved," I said, which was the truth.

We entered the small house and I followed the smell into the dining room where a large spread had been laid out on the table. The places were set in fine china and the serving dishes all matched the place settings. Theresa hadn't been joking, there was five times more food than the six of us could ever eat. Fried eggs, dozens of them, sat steaming on a white serving plate with tiny blue flowers painted around the edges. A stack of thick, crisp bacon sat on an identical plate at the other end of the table. A large serving bowl held a great mass of hash brown potatoes, rich with peppers and onions, just the way I liked them. I was ushered to a chair and I took my place at the table.

Abe Steinman said Grace. I caught the sadness in his inflection, even if it was lost on Theresa and the girls. The bowls and plates were passed around the table and we began to eat. I can't remember a meal ever tasting as good as that one.

"Mr. Brindle?" asked the youngest of the three girls, who wore glasses over a pair of bright eyes. "Are you dreaming, too? Isn't this _weird_? We're having such a good time that none of us wants to wake up."

I caught the corner of Abe's eye and it was as sharp as a tack. "Yes," I said. "I know what you mean. This is one of the best dreams ever, isn't it?"

"It sure is," answered the middle girl. She had shoulder-length brown hair and a radiant smile that was infectious. "I don't even miss my cell phone."

The oldest girl had the brightest smile of the three, as if it had taken her the extra years to accumulate such a smile. Her eyes were warm and compassionate. She was dressed in a dark green dress that appeared to be made of velvet. A matching ribbon was tied in her thick auburn hair. "Cell phones, video games, television, we don't miss any of it, do we girls?"

"Nope," the younger girls chimed together, shaking their heads as they continued to eat.

"That's enough, girls," Theresa said. "Let Mr. Brindle enjoy his breakfast, there will be plenty of time for talking later."

I nearly choked on my bacon as she spoke that last sentence. She had no idea of how correct she had been in her assessment.

Abe cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes at me. I didn't say a word, but I continued to eat until I felt as if my stomach might burst if I ate another bite. I pushed my plate away and rubbed my belly. "Thank you so much" I said. "That was delicious."

The girls cleaned up the table and I could hear the sound of running water in the kitchen as they did the dishes. Abe smiled, but it was a sad smile that betrayed his situation. I didn't envy him in the least. I had been in some strange places, but this one took the cake. Theresa and the girls joined us a few minutes later and we visited like old family friends.

"Would you like to stay for lunch?" the youngest of the girls asked me. "We're going to make _lasagna_."

I smiled and shook my head. "I'd love to," I said. "But I have a very important meeting today and I can't be late."

"That's right," Abe said, checking his watch. "And we had better get Mr. Brindle on his way. Theresa, would you and the girls mind leaving us men alone for a few minutes? There are some things that we need to discuss."

"As a matter of fact, the girls and I were just getting ready to go pick some blueberries. Weren't we, girls?"

You would have thought by their reaction that she was taking them skiing in Aspen. There were some hurried farewells and they quickly slipped out the front door, looking as if they were on their way to greet royalty. _Which is exactly what they are about to do,_ I thought to myself.

"Kid," Abe said, hooking his thumb in the direction of the door. "There's a lot riding on you today. I hate to put the pressure on, but if you fail to kill Soliah...well, none of us will ever be able to come back to present time. We'll be dead in both worlds. We're in limbo here and our time is running out. I'm counting on you, we all are."

I looked the old man square in the eyes and nodded my head. "Don't you worry about a thing," I said, feeling the anger boiling to the surface. "He's a dead man."

Abe studied my face for a moment, something that looked like pity settled in his gaze and he got up from the table. "You sound pretty sure of yourself. That, kid, is exactly how he wants you to feel. Haven't you ever wondered why he hasn't killed you a thousand times over?"

I watched him rummage in some drawers and scratch his bare scalp. His fingers came away looking painted and his scalp had whitish lines from where he had scratched. He looked at his fingers and walked over to a small mirror that hung on the wall. He frowned and returned his attention to me. He pointed to his head. "This is not good," he said.

I didn't want him to change the subject. "He hasn't killed me because I am his grandchild."

Abe had gone back to his search and he was back digging in the drawers of the china cabinet. Now he was tossing things out on the floor. "That's only part of it, and not a very big part of it, at that. He has to wait until you attack him first. He has a prophecy to fulfill. Actually, that's not quite right, either. You, Huckleberry Brindle, _you_ \--- have a prophecy to fulfill." Abe looked like he was losing his patience and he stepped away from the open drawers. He stepped back, nodded his head, and both drawers slid out from the cabinet and dumped their contents on the hardwood floor. "There you are," he said, stooping over and picking up a small box.

"What were you looking for?"

"I have a gift for you," he said, holding the little box in the palm of his hand and offering it to me. There was something in the way that he said it that made me uneasy, maybe it was the smeared makeup on the top of his wrinkled dome. I hesitated, and then took the box from him. "Open it," he said, excitedly. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this moment."

The look of anticipation on his face was so pure and innocent that I nearly cried. I opened the little box and found a smaller box. I removed it and held it up. There was no mistaking what it was, I was holding a jewelry box. The box was much bigger than an ordinary ring-box and I frowned, wondering what could be inside.

"Yes, yes, open that one, too."

The excitement was contagious and I quickly opened the small box and my heart stopped. I looked at Abe as I fished out one of the objects inside the jewelry box.

"What a pair," Abe said in a whisper. "Don't you lose them, they have powerful magic."

I sat there, puzzled, wondering what I was supposed to do with them. He must have read it on my face. "Put them on!" he ordered. "Over there, in the mirror," he said, pointing to the wall.

I was holding a long earring fashioned out of a large white tooth. It was a clip-on model and it looked like it could have been pilfered from a young girl's jewelry box. I got up from my chair and slowly walked to the mirror. I would appease the old guy, what harm could come of it. I had never worn an earring in my life, but I clipped the one I held to my right ear, followed by the other to my left. I looked at myself in the mirror and laughed at my reflection. To my surprise, Abe also began to laugh. I returned to the table where we had a good laugh together.

When we were through laughing, I reached up with my right hand to remove one of the earrings. Abe looked at me and nodded. Much to my horror, the earring wouldn't come off. I pulled at it a couple of times before running to the mirror. I nearly screamed when I saw that my ear lobes and the clip-on earrings had melded together. I turned. "What the hell is going on?" I asked, pulling at one of the earrings. "I can't go out there with _these_ on!"

"That's where you're wrong," countered the old man. "You can and you will. You don't really have a choice in the matter, not unless you plan to take a scissors to your ears. Now, get back over here and sit down. You need to learn how to use them."

Half an hour later I was bidding Abe farewell from the front steps. He wished me luck and I walked away feeling the strange, swinging weights, dangling from my ears. I found the path and began my journey, feeling fresh and foolish, but infinitely more powerful. If the earrings were half of what Abe had cracked them up to be, I'd never try to take them off again.

The morning was cool and bright, with just a hint of the approaching change of seasons. A soft breeze rattled the limbs of the tall pines as red squirrels ran from tree to tree. They seemed to be following me and they gave me a strange sense of companionship. We walked along for fifteen minutes before Theresa emerged from the woods carrying a plastic bucket. She looked angry and her face was smeared and blotchy.

"What do you see?" she asked, pointing to her face. "The girls were laughing at me."

I smiled and reached up and touched one of the earrings. There was a sudden blur over Theresa's face and her makeup was somehow, completely restored. I knew that the quick-fix somehow had everything to do with my new jewelry and I smiled. She looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

"Nice earrings," she said, brushing by me as if the stink had returned.

I walked another fifty feet before the girls stumbled out of the woods. They were laughing as if they had just been told the world's funniest joke. They took one look at me and I thought they would die from their fit of laughter. We stood like that for a long time.

"Emily," said the oldest of the girls. "Show Mr. Brindle what you can do!"

Emily, still laughing, picked up a sharp stick and jammed it into her eye socket. I shrieked in horror as she pulled it out with a sickening plop, but her eye didn't look damaged in the least. She looked at me and blinked hard, before the three of them began to scream with laughter.

They continued down the path, heading back towards Abe Steinman's house, where I expect he had a lot of explaining to do. I watched them walk away and could hear their laughter long after they disappeared over a knoll.

"Those girls were _crazy_ ," said a squeaky voice from inside the woods.

I froze in my tracks and turned to face the sound of the voice. I could see no one. Suddenly, from out of the woods, a red squirrel the size of a small dog ran up to me and began to sniff my ankles.

"Allow me introduce myself," the red squirrel said, standing on his hind legs and looking up at me with eyes the color of midnight. "I am Red Squirrel, but you can call me Red."

"Of course you are," I said. "Huckleberry Brindle, but you can call me Huck."

Red seemed to consider this for a moment. "Have we met before?"

"Not that I remember."

"Those human girls were crazy, did you see that shit?"

I nodded my head and looked over my shoulder. "They don't know that they're dead."

"Yeah, well there is a lot of that going around, so keep your voice down. You wear the bear's teeth in your ear. Does that mean you are the _chosen_ one?"

"I suppose that it does," I said, resuming my walk as Red followed at my heels.

"It is a great honor to meet you," chirped Red. "I've been waiting a long time. I am here to pledge our support."

I continued to walk as I thought about what this meant to me. Red scampered ahead of me and stopped. "Thank you," I said, thinking that this is what he wanted to hear. He turned and let out a great squeal. Then he looked at me and I swear that he winked.

A thousand red squirrels, maybe a whole lot more than that, joined us on the path.

### Chapter Nineteen

There had been a chill in the air that morning and the sky was filled with flying geese and ducks. The season was about to change and their time at the summer camp had nearly run out. They could not risk an early winter, they had made no provisions for that.

Stories of the bad times when winter had arrived before its time were told around the fires of the summer camp; they reminded everyone of the seriousness of their situation. There was a great deal of discussion about the weather and the coming change of season. It was decided that they would stay. The risk of starvation back at the big water outweighed their current plight. They still needed to gather more food.

A sickness had come into their number and while it wasn't serious, it did last for a few days before running its course. Man Killer provided the sick ones with a mixture of leaves and berries that helped most tolerate the pain. Her ventures out into the woods for more of the berries would provide Stump Nose with the opportunity that he was looking for.

The tiny red berries were becoming harder to find. They once seemed to be everywhere, but time, the forest animals, and even Man Killer herself, had severely depleted their supply. Late one afternoon after a long day of harvesting rice, Man Killer set out in search of these small berries. She was nearly out of them and they were a staple of her Mide bag. She moved slowly down the old trail that followed the Brule. She walked for nearly an hour before she stumbled into a thicket that was bursting with the berries. Man Killer smiled, this would be enough to supply the entire camp with medicine for the long winter ahead.

Stump Nose was as quiet as fox as he followed Man Killer into the forest and away from the camp. He carried his knife and a new lance that he had made, lavishly carved, especially for this purpose. He wondered at his own stealth as he crept along, which filled his mind with great importance. He wasn't taking a life, he was sharpening his skills. What could be wrong with that? She was only one woman and she was a loner, she would not be missed. Someone else could learn her ways and Man Killer's name would blow away on the wind.

Man Killer was still smiling as she removed the largest of the three skins, a raccoon, and she began to fill it with the berries. She hadn't dared hope to need the raccoon skin, but she decided to bring it along, just in case something wonderful like this happened.

She would never see Stump Nose that day.

### Huck

Morning passed into afternoon and Red and I visited about a great many things. He was very wise and seemed to know what I was thinking. I enjoyed his company immensely, and his companions followed us at a respectful distance. The one thing that stuck inside my head was one of the conversations the two of us had about time travel.

"Some of us have _always_ been," Red said in a voice just above a whisper.

That caught my attention. "What do you mean?" I asked, walking side by side with the squirrel on the soft carpet of pine needles.

"Most of us live and die only once. There are some of us who exist in other times and some of us who exist in alternate destinies. A few of us manage to do both. You and I belong to the last group. We transcend the past and present, what is, and what might have been. Do you see? We have the power to go back and correct our mistakes."

I thought about that as we continued to walk. How could a squirrel know such a thing? We were now following a trickling stream that meandered through the bottom of the forest, littered with large rocks that were green with moss. Sunlight fell in patches where the massive trunks of fallen pines allowed it to do so. Where one of the mighty trees had fallen, there were a dozen more waiting in the wings to replace it. I hoped that Red knew where we were heading, for I was totally lost.

"Your Major Soliah is like us, and he is trying to correct _his_ mistakes. We can't allow that to happen. No, that's not quite right... _You_ can't allow that to happen. He must be stopped."

"That's just what I plan to do," I said with a lot more confidence than I felt. "So, how do you suppose that I do it?"

"I only wish it were that easy. This is going to be a battle and we are going to need help. I'm afraid that even with the help of my army, that we don't stand a rat's fart of a chance. He is too powerful and he has many friends."

He was quiet for a long while as he waited for me to digest the information. The army of red squirrels chirped merrily as they scampered along behind us. And suddenly all was silent.

Red lifted his nose in the air. "Oh shit," he said. "Wolves."

I turned my head and caught the sudden movement of dozens of dark shapes as they descended upon us. We were surrounded in the blink of an eye, the pack of wolves never so much as snapping a twig in the process. What I assumed was the leader of the pack stood fifty feet up the path. He was by far the largest of the wolves, and nearly the size of a fully grown bear. I felt as if the wind had just been dumped from my sails. The wolf approached us with such confidence that like my squirrel friends, I was too afraid to move. We stood there like garden gnomes on the floor of the forest and waited out our fate.

"Scared?" asked the wolf in a sinister voice. "You should be; I enjoy a little human with my squirrel."

"Don't make me hurt you, we don't want any trouble," I said, feeling very small and vulnerable.

The great wolf flopped back on his haunches and began to howl. The others in his pack did the same thing and soon the forest was ringing with the ear-splitting howls of wolf laughter. I could feel my ears turn red as the anger crept back inside of me, replacing the fear, which proved to be a fleeting gut reaction.

" _Don't_ _make_ _me_ _hurt_ _you,"_ mocked the wolf as he moved to within a few feet of us. He was close enough that we could smell his hot breath. His voice was as slick as oil. "And how do you plan on hurting me? Are you going to kick me, or claw me with your little fingernails? Ouch. Oh look, my paws are shaking."

This brought on another great wave of howling and this is what drove me over the edge. I waited it out as the howling trailed off to a lone wolf on the outside of the circle. He stopped abruptly when he realized that all eyes were on him. "Wolf, we have no quarrel with you. Step aside and you won't be harmed." I said, pressing forward until our noses nearly touched.

I could see a terrible rage in the eyes of the wolf, but I held my ground. I was ready to die if I had to. There was no backing down at this point. Suddenly, the peaked ears of the wolf fell flat on his head and he scampered away with his tail between his legs. I thought that perhaps he had noticed my earrings, and that they had frightened him away. I was wrong.

"That was me," Red said, making a chomping face and showing his long teeth. They were bright red with fresh blood. "That'll teach him to laugh at us."

The wolf began to drag its butt along the pine needles as it howled with pain. I looked at Red with amazement. He was as lightning fast as he was brave. He had also created a dozen enemies among the wolves. They moved in fast and surrounded the two of us, completely ignoring the mass of Red's companions. The leader quickly composed himself, shaking his great head in a frenzy of rage and he charged at us with full speed.

From out of nowhere, Otis burst upon the path and he met the charge head on. I saw the wolf fly high into the air as Otis used his antlers and his incredible strength to fling the wolf into a cartwheel spin. The wolf hit a large rock with a sickening crunch and I knew in an instant that he had broken his back. He came to rest at an impossible angle, nearly twisted in half. The other wolves cried in horror and they ran up to their stricken leader and began to howl. There was no mistaking the sound of anguish. Otis turned and bounded over to join us.

"Damn," he said. "I didn't mean to do _that._ You know, you are trespassing in their woods. I was just hoping to buy us a ticket out of here. Oh man, I think I'm gonna to be sick. Oh man... Go tell them that I'm really sorry, will ya? This is _bad_."

The howling grew louder and more sorrowful with each passing second. The wolves were crowded around their fallen leader. I knew what I had to do, I only hoped that there was still time. I broke away from Otis and Red and jogged up to where the wolves stood. "Stand back!" I ordered. I was answered by a fierce growl. "I am a Medicine Man. Let me take away his pain!"

A sudden hush fell among the wolves when I heard the weak voice of the stricken leader ask the others to give me room. They instantly responded and I grimaced at the sight of him. Blood trickled from his mouth and ears and his front and rear paws were limp, and pointed at opposite angles. He looked sad and broken.

"We wouldn't have eaten you," he said in a whisper. "We only wanted you to leave and to never return. Look what you've done to me. Did I hurt you?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. I felt terrible and wanted to try and save him. "If I save your life, you owe me a favor. Do you understand that?"

"What a bargain," scoffed the wolf, even as he lay there fighting for his life. "Fine, it's not like I have much of a choice."

"Don't you want to know what it is?"

"Does it matter?"

I thought about that. He was right, it didn't matter. I was his only hope and he obviously understood that. I began the chant softly, feeling it come back to me in huge pieces. I was soon chugging around the fallen wolf and chanting at the top of my lungs.

The floor of the forest was soon alive with hungry rats and they began to feed.

That was how we enlisted the wolf pack. The leader introduced himself as Goober and I thought that was a funny name for a wolf. He didn't find the humor when I mentioned it. He said that an old man had given him the name and that it was very powerful among his people. Otis and I exchanged a knowing glance. The wolf's eyes lit up when I mentioned the name Odd Whitefeather. "That's him," he said with a wolfish grin. "I owe him my life," with that, Goober promised to help me and he pledged the loyalty of the pack. They quickly joined our group and we wasted no time before continuing on our trek. Goober padded along at the front with us, next to Otis, while the rest of his group covered our flanks. Otis and Goober were soon talking like old friends. Red eyed the pair with suspicion, never getting too far away from me.

With my stomach rumbling and the light beginning to fade, I was having serious doubts as to where we were headed. I estimated that we had covered at least fifteen miles and my feet were beginning to cramp up. With Otis telling Goober yet another of his one-line zingers, I leaned down to Red. "Where are we going?" I asked. "We should have been there by now."

Red gave me a puzzled look and shook his head. "Just where do you think we're going?"

"Spirit Lake," I whispered, scratching at a mosquito bite.

" _Spirit_ _Lake_?" asked Red, as if I had said the moon.

I caught both Goober's and Otis' reaction and they were visibly shaken. Apparently, I had struck a nerve and there was more to Spirit Lake than I knew. I would later find out that Soliah hated animals of any kind, far worse than he hated any man. His magic was powerful enough to seek out and kill a cougar, or anything else on four legs, at ten miles away. There was a way to counter that magic. We needed to rescue my grandfather from where he was being held captive in Walker. I didn't remember mentioning his name, much less telling any of them that we had been to Walker; or better said, a distant memory of Walker. "How do you know all of this?" I asked, feeling numb and a little stupid.

"He's talking to us right now. Can't you hear him? _Listen..."_

"Odd Whitefeather?" I asked, a lot louder than I had intended to.

A thousand red squirrels stopped in their tracks and bowed their heads. What I heard next was very strange. In a clear and precise voice the squirrels said: " _The_ _Oddfather..."_ And they said it with such sweet reverence that I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. My grandfather, the Oddfather, why not? The animals would answer to the names that he gave them, and he was free to choose his own name to be used among them. I had thought that Otis was jumping to conclusions about his name, but after meeting Goober I could see that wasn't the case. I doubt my grandfather ever thought that his little secret would come out. One thing was certain. The Oddfather had a strange sense of humor.

Red cupped his little paw behind his ear and looked at me. I strained my ears and shook my head. I heard nothing but the crickets and the night birds inside the forest.

We stopped at a small clearing to rest and I fell asleep before my head hit the ground. I drifted off into a thousand dreams, none of which were pleasant.

### Chapter Twenty

Stump Nose had never moved slower, or quieter, in his entire life. He savored the moment, positioning himself for a throw a child could have made. He watched her working with her backside toward him and he felt the lust return. He began to wonder if he should give her a chance to change her mind about him. Once she was dead she would never have that chance. He thought that it was strange that he should have such a sudden change of heart. He decided that lust was a good thing and that it should be acted upon.

Man Killer was hot and she could feel the sweat running down her back. She reached up with her empty hand and unhooked the back of her dress. The breeze on her bare back felt wonderful and she continued picking berries.

Stump Nose felt his heart jump and he took many deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. This was a sign, he was sure of it. She must know that he was standing behind her; why else would she unfasten her dress? Maybe she thought he was her husband? Wouldn't she be surprised? Stump Nose quietly set down his lance and slipped the long blade from his belt. He then began to creep forward, just a few inches at a time.

Two sandhill cranes then fell from the sky and landed in between him and his prey. Stump Nose blinked hard and wondered what these birds were doing so deep inside the woods. Hadn't he heard something about these cranes? He wished he had been a better listener. He shook his head and resumed his approach. He could easily kill two stupid birds if they got in his way.

Another of the birds landed, followed by two more. They seemed to be falling from the sky. Stump Nose froze in his tracks, finally remembering what his mother had told him as a young boy about the spirits of the Mide. They came back to the earth as _cranes_. When the next of the birds dropped down not five feet from him, Stump Nose turned and began to run. He ran as fast as his two legs would carry him, his moccasins kicking up pine needles behind him.

He ran until he thought his lungs would burst; then Stump Nose ran on some more, turning his head every minute, the nightmarish birds were running right behind him, following him in a long line. How many there were now, Stump Nose didn't want to know. Each look back caused a burst in his speed. He entered a clearing and stole another glance back. Stump Nose found himself face to beak with one of the sandhill cranes. Stump Nose screeched when his foot crashed through a small burrow and he realized that he was falling.

He found himself flat on his face, feeling strange, as if a long period of time had passed. Stump Nose didn't move a muscle. He listened as he checked his limbs for pain. There seemed to be nothing broken, which felt like a miracle. _Was that a good sign?_ Stump Nose couldn't be sure, but he was no longer winded and he felt strong. If the cranes attacked him, he knew he could kill them as fast as they attacked. Had he actually been afraid of some stupid birds? What if someone had seen him running away from those birds? That would be embarrassing. _What if they were watching now?_

Stump Nose suddenly twisted as he leapt to his feet. He came up crouched, prepared to pounce on anything that moved. What he saw before him made him wish that he had never moved. The meadow was teaming with hundreds of the sandhill cranes. They were all staring at him. One stood only a few feet away.

"Did you really believe that you could run from justice?" asked the freakish bird, studying him from one of its dead-black eyes.

Foolish to the end, Stump Nose lunged at the crane. The crane dodged the attack. Suddenly all of his strength left his body and Stump Nose rolled onto his back. He wanted to scream, but he found that his vocal chords didn't seem to be working. He wanted to get to his feet, but his muscles would not respond. Finally, he wanted to close his eyes, but they too had failed him. The brown crane stuck its beak close to face, mere inches away.

"How does it feel?" asked the crane, turning its head as it spoke. "Do you not think that an animal knows terror? What about a bug, have you ever wondered what they were thinking while you tortured them? You would have done well to think of such things, because you are about to find out." The crane then ran the sharp tip of its large beak down the side of Stump Nose's cheek.

The pain was intense, but Stump Nose couldn't even purse his lips to cry out. Again, Stump Nose willed his muscles to move. Nothing worked--- nothing at all. He had never imagined the terror of feeling so vulnerable. His eyes darted back and forth as more of the cranes stalked toward him. The air felt thick and the sun seemed especially bright. A slight breeze ruffled the brown feathers of the tall birds. A larger crane appeared next to the one that had spoken and this one pecked at his tunic. He felt a shot of pain as the bird dug its beak into his stomach. When that crane lifted its beak, a chunk of his buckskin tunic came away with it. Blood dripped from the brown skin. Stump Nose found himself helpless, with no choice but to watch his own demise. Another bird juked its way toward the other two. He studied Stump Nose for nearly a minute, walking around him on its long legs. The bird leaned close and then it calmly opened his beak and clamped on his nose. The pain exploded in his face and his eyes streamed tears as the bird shook its head with incredible strength, never letting go of his screaming nose.

The next bird repeated the performance, choosing a different spot to taste his blood, as did the next. Stump Nose would live until the next sun was setting in the western sky.

### Huck

We woke up to a gray sky and a swirling wind. The temperature was warm for first light and thunder rumbled to the south. I sat up and scratched my head, wishing I had a hot cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. The squirrels had accumulated a large pile of acorns and a small mound of them lay next to me. They were eating and Red nodded to me to do the same. I shook my head. "No thanks," I said. "I'll grab something a little later."

Otis looked up from a clump of prairie grass. "You can't be skippin' breakfast," he said between chews. "It's the most important meal of the day."

I shook my head and caught sight of Goober, his snout was covered in blood and he lay licking his paws. It looked like everyone was getting breakfast, but me. I sighed, stood up, and stumbled off into the pines to take care of some urgent business.

We were walking a few minutes later. The storm fizzled out after a brief attempt at rain and the sky began to clear. My stomach began to grumble and then to shriek. I felt weak and lightheaded, and knew that I was running on empty. I found myself praying for food.

My prayers were answered two minutes later.

The small picnic basket was sitting in the middle of the path. Goober had found it along with a note and he trotted back to urge us forward. I fell to my knees and flipped up the top to the wicker basket, wondering why it had taken me so long to pray about my problem. I promised myself not to do that again. The basket was full of food, tucked away in the corner was a roll of toilet paper. I smiled. I was two peanut-butter sandwiches into my brunch before I opened the note. It was from Abe, telling me to enjoy the contents of the basket, but that there was no time to waste. They didn't have much longer.

The lunch was complete with a jar of ice cold milk and a small slab of apple pie.

"What do you got there?" asked Otis, ambling up next to me and sniffing the basket.

"Nothing much, just my lunch; nothing you'd be interested in."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that? I smell apples..."

Otis and I shared the piece of pie and he chewed his food as if it were the finest thing he'd ever tasted.

The afternoon was warm as we continued our walk. The terrain fell flat and the earth grew soft under our feet; the air here was stale and stagnant. Moss covered the exposed rocks and boulders in three shades of green. Standing water forced our troop into a narrow line that followed the driest route across the wooded swamp. We threaded our way along a hint of a trail as clouds of hungry mosquitoes swarmed us. The ravenous insects attacked me without pity and I did my best to defend myself, it did little good. I spent that afternoon hiking in wet sneakers, swatting bugs and itching mosquito bites until my skin was raw. They seemed particularly interested in my ears and the heavy earrings only made that worse.

We painstakingly emerged from the vast swamp a few hours later. The woods here were thick where only the narrowest rays of sunlight penetrated to the earth. We began to spread out across the floor of the forest, as the going here was much easier compared to what we had just crossed. I walked with Red and we chatted about this and that; I found that the two of us really weren't all that different. We both wanted basically the same things out of life. I may have craved steak and he loved his acorns, but beyond that we were basically the same. Otis joined us after Goober barked at one of his witticisms.

We walked along in silence for a while when Otis suddenly froze in his tracks. He sniffed at the air and he was immediately joined by Goober.

"Do you smell it?" Goober asked, holding his snout in the air. "I think we are close."

"I do," said Otis. "Should we go take a look?"

Goober nodded his shaggy head. And without another word the two of them raced across the pine needles. Otis sprang high in the air as he bounded along, while Goober stayed low, powered by his muscular hind legs. The race looked to be a dead heat, before the two of them disappeared from my field of vision.

"Show offs," muttered Red. "I'd rather be quick and sneaky, you'll see..."

I wondered what he meant by that, but I didn't ask. Red looked disgusted and he continued to follow the two scouts. I followed him, deep in thought. What were we supposed to do when we got to Walker? Was I going to lead my army of forest creatures into the old settlement? We'd be slaughtered. I knew then that our only hope was to maintain our stealth and to free my grandfather using our wits. I just hoped that I had enough left to make that happen.

Barely five minutes had passed before Otis and Goober trotted back to join us. Their silence gave the news away. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good.

"We couldn't get close," said Goober. "There are no trees out there and there were men everywhere. What should we do?"

Red looked hard at Goober and shook his head. _"What should we do?"_ he said sarcastically. "Why don't you open your ears and listen? He is trying to tell us what to do."

"Who are you talking about?" I asked, leaning up against a moss-covered boulder.

"The Oddfather, who else would I be talking about?"

I nearly chuckled at hearing my grandfather being referred to by that name. Once again the squirrels bowed down in reverence. _"The Oddfather..."_ they whispered together in their tiny squirrel voices.

"What does the _Oddfather_ want us to do?" I asked, the name nearly sticking inside my throat.

"He wants you to come and rescue him from the white man's jail. He says that they are getting ready to hang him... What does that mean?"

"Why doesn't he use his magic to escape?" I asked, scratching my tortured arms. "That ought to be easy for him, a piece of cake."

"I don't know much about cake, but I think his magic has been taken from him."

"I'll go with you," said Otis. "We'll go in there and kick some ass."

"Not without us," growled Goober. "You need us and you know it."

"I know I broke the neck of their _leader,"_ replied Otis.

There was a long silence before Goober snarled his great fangs and hissed: "Anytime you feel up to a _fair_ fight, you let me know, _Prancer."_

Now there was another silence. I looked down to Red for some help to stop this nonsense, but he looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

" _Prancer_? Just who the hell do you think you are? Oh, let me tell you something, Goober. Do you want to know why that crazy old man named you Goober, hmm? I'll tell you why, it's because Goober is the name of the village idiot in a story the old man follows. If I were you, I'd be asking myself why he would have done such a thing."

There it was, and I could see the hurt in Goober's bright blue eyes.

"Oh shit," said Otis. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I just think that I should go with Huck. I could be his pet deer. I'll bet lots of people have pet deer. What are they going to say if he shows up with a pack of wolves?"

"Here comes Goober, the _village idiot,_ " Goober answered the question.

" _Goob_ , come on, don't read too much into that, okay? The old man is as crazy as a bat. He named me after a drunk from the same story."

"Don't call me that ever again! I swear I'll rip your head off. I don't know what a _drunk_ is, but I am sure it is very nice. Do you know what? I think we have followed you far enough."

"Goober, don't do this," I said, knowing I was far too late.

Goober spun around in a tight circle and squatted. "There," he growled. "Tell the old man that I left a present for him. Thanks a lot, Otis, you're an asshole."

Otis stood there with his mouth hanging open as the wolves vanished into the woods. I looked at Red and I thought I saw the flicker of a smile on his pudgy cheeks. He never said a word.

"Don't look at me like that, Huck. All I told him was the truth. Maybe it wasn't the best time to give it to him, but he was gonna find out sometime."

I was angry; thanks to Otis our strength had been greatly reduced in a single swoop, before the fighting had even begun. "Thanks a lot," I said. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me? Come on, I can take it."

"Don't," muttered Red.

"I'm with Red. Don't push me, Huck. I'll do this by myself if I have to."

"You really are an asshole," I replied.

"Is that what you think of me? Why do you think I'm here? Why do you think any of us are out here? Do you think it's because of your magnetic personality?"

"I never asked anyone to follow me. You came of your own free will. As far as that goes, I don't need your help. I can figure this out all by myself. Do you know what? You talk too much."

"Oh boy," said Red. "Here we go..."

There was a terrible flash in Otis' eyes. He circled me with his head down and for a moment, I thought he was going to try and gore me with his mossy rack of antlers. "So, you and the squirrels are gonna bust the old man outta there, huh? _Right_ , they'll tear you apart. What's your plan, are your little friends going to nibble those men to death? I told Odd Whitefeather that you couldn't be trusted, you're just another empty-headed white man."

"You son-of-a-bitch," squealed Red. "Don't you ever stop?"

"I'm stopping right now," Otis said. "I'll see you when I get back with Odd Whitefeather. Don't bother trying to follow me."

Now it was our turn to watch him bound away with our mouths open.

Red finally looked up to me and he shook his head. "I warned you."

I was reeling with both anger and shock, and I felt as if the odds of rescuing my grandfather had just slipped from slim to none. The shooting started a minute later. I wanted to scream, but never found my breath as I sprinted across the pine needles.

I continued to run and I could see the edge of the woods glowing in the hazy sunshine. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air as the shooting continued. I burst through the last of the tall pines and I could feel dozens of eyes fall upon me. The little town was crawling with cavalry soldiers. I doubted that blue work uniforms and white tennis shoes had been invented, as of yet, and with the earrings, I knew that I must have looked very strange to them. Before I could register all of this, my eyes were rewarded with the sight of my grandfather. He was mounted on a horse and galloping straight at me. I heard a shot and felt something whiz past my head. I turned around and cursed my luck. Another shot spun off the dirt at my feet. I began to run as the thundering hoofs of my grandfather's horse bore down upon me.

Another shot caught the loose fabric of my shirt sleeve. I screamed, knowing that I had just come very close to losing an arm. I suddenly felt a strong hand grab me under that same arm and I was lifted high in the air. The grip was tight enough to leave a purple bruise. I was flung up behind him on the barebacked horse and I grabbed hold of my grandfather's waist.

I looked back, waiting to see Otis follow us back into the woods. All I could see was a mounted chase by no less than twenty armed riders. "Otis?" I screamed into my grandfather's ear.

He turned his head to the side. "I'm sorry," he said. "Otis is gone."

The tears streamed straight back into my ears, even as the shots continued to ring out from behind us. I couldn't believe that Otis was gone. I knew that I was very much to blame for that. We entered the woods at full speed where we were met by Red and his brave band of squirrels. The first of our pursuers was less than one hundred feet behind us.

"It is time to fight!" shouted my grandfather as he reared back on the horse. The horse skidded to a halt and we dismounted.

We were a few hundred feet inside the woods, surely, no more than that, and I turned and faced our attackers. They seemed to be streaming from the town. Most were soldiers and they carried lever-action rifles, but some were townspeople and they were armed with whatever was at hand. I could see Red's team poised just inside the woods; while some were hidden here and there in clusters, most were hanging on the branches of the pines. When the riders crashed into the woods, they were met by a solid wall of red fur.

The squirrels attacked without mercy, falling like hailstones from the trees. The others attacked from beneath and the forest echoed with the sound of terrified horses. Many of the riders were quickly pitched from their mounts, where they were swarmed by dozens of angry squirrels. Still, half a dozen of the soldiers managed to get through the line and they were galloping straight for us. There was no time to watch Red's fight; we had one of our own to worry about.

My grandfather was once again very old and he was crouched in a fighter's stance. I could see cuts on his hands and dark blue blotches on his cheeks. His eyes glowed with an anger that I had never seen before. The first of the riders reared up and aimed a pistol in between those eyes. I screamed as he pulled the trigger. There was only a dull thud, followed by another. The rider cursed his weapon as he leapt from his horse. He drew a sword from his scabbard and raised it high in the air. He then ran at my grandfather and screamed.

I watched this in horror as I was quickly surrounded by three riders. Their horses boxed me in like a caged animal. I grabbed the ends of my earrings and prayed, what else could I do? The horses suddenly began to get restless, as if the earth was covered in rattlesnakes. The riders were quickly pitched from their mounts and I fell upon each of them with lightning speed. After throttling the last of the three men, I got to my feet and turned to find myself facing a dozen rifle barrels.

A volley of gunshots sounded and I stood with my right hand raised, as if I could deflect the bullets. Amazingly, that is exactly what was happening. I could feel them veer off course, which only further frustrated my attackers. They jumped from their horses and emptied their rifles from barely ten feet away. None of those shots found its mark. I could hear the roaring of shotguns from the edge of the forest. The sound lit a fire inside me and I took the attack to the soldiers. Like Otis had taught me, I went for the biggest, meanest looking one of the bunch. His bearded face was red with anger and he was screaming something in the deafening explosions of gunfire. There is no doubt that I moved a hundred times faster than any man he had ever met, and I hit him in the throat with a viscous chop that sent him sprawling on his back. Blood gurgled from his mouth and he held his throat in a silent scream.

The others charged me and I did a quick barrel-roll followed by a juke-step. I was there, then, I wasn't. I caught the nearest of the Blue Coats with a kick to the outside of his knee. There was a sharp crack as bones snapped and the soldier fell to the ground. I then surprised myself as I kicked the other soldier, who was well over six feet tall, and I caught him flush on the jaw. I watched spittle fly from his mouth as his eyes rolled back in his head. I turned and ran toward my grandfather. Dozens of shotgun blasts echoed inside the forest.

We were now facing nearly thirty soldiers who had arrived on foot. They held long swords and they had us surrounded, but stood nearly fifty feet away from us. There was fear in their eyes. "Charge!" shouted one of the men and we were attacked from all angles. As fast as I was, I knew we were about to die. There were just too many of them. I met the charge head on. I wasn't going down without a fight. My grandfather did the same.

The first of the wolves arrived in a blur of teeth and claws. I nearly shrieked in terror at the sight of it, the soldier who bore the brunt of the attack never had the chance. The wolves were suddenly everywhere at once. The entire pack leapt into the fray and the battle was on. Goober stood next to my grandfather with his teeth bared at the soldiers. I concentrated on the men with guns and continued to deflect their shots the best I could. Still, the sound of painful howling told me that I wasn't catching them all. I gave up the tactic and began to lunge, kick, punch, claw, and scream at our attackers. Gunpowder smoke hung thick in the air and the forest was full of screaming men and howling wolves. The bloody battle seemed to last an eternity, but it was over a few minutes later.

I cried when I realized that only three of us had survived the fight. My grandfather, who limped pitifully around the battlefield in a state of shock; Red, who had so much blood on his fur that I thought he would die at any second, and myself. I had survived the fight, seemingly unscathed.

"Oddfather!" squealed Red, gesturing towards me. "Hurry, you need to help him!"

I wiped the tears from my eyes and shook my head, but when I tried to speak, nothing would come out of my mouth. I became suddenly short of breath and I sat down on the bloody pine needles. That is when I noticed the hilt of the sword, and it was buried deep into my chest. Instinctively, I reached up and jerked hard on it, ignoring the pain and the shout of protest from my grandfather. I pulled the sword out and it was followed by an explosion of blood. I tried to scream, but the pain and the shock were too much. My head swooned and I fell to my side as the world went black.

### Chapter Twenty-One

I remember very little of the next day, or the day after that. My grandfather seemed to be out of medicine and my healing was slow and painful. He had managed to construct a crude traverse and he pulled it behind one of the horses with me inside, lying flat on my back. Red rode silently by my feet, facing away from me. I could see his small body quiver as he was rocked by wave after wave of pure grief. I couldn't bear to watch and I slept as much as possible. We had won, but we had paid a terrible price for the victory. As much as I tried to keep them out of my thoughts, Otis and Goober would force their way back inside them. They would be followed by a thousand grieving squirrels and a dozen ghostly wolves.

The third day I felt a little better and I was able to sit up. I had no idea where we were going, but I had no doubt that we were headed somewhere. We followed the sunsets and there were no words between any of us. This was how we arrived at the Indian village.

The first one to greet me was my wife, Man Killer.

She wrapped her slender arms around me and wept into my neck. I cried right along with her, for more reasons than she could possibly guess. I was carried into our wigwam and placed on my buffalo robes. Two days passed and I could slowly feel the strength returning to my body, as Man Killer lovingly tended to my wounds. I had been run straight through by the soldier's sword and I was pretty sure that I had a collapsed lung because of it. Still, I was alive and on the mend, unlike so many of my fallen friends.

The days became humid and unbearably hot. The air was still and impossibly thick, which only made it more difficult for me to breathe. I had recovered enough to sit outside our wigwam and watch the village swarm with activity. While it was true that I knew little of their ways, it didn't take an expert to figure out that our village was preparing for a great battle. I could see old women with knives, whittling long arrows out of thin branches. I watched as older men instructed young boys in the art of shooting a bow. Some of these boys wore paint on their solemn faces. The tension hung in the air along with the humidity.

Man Killer asked me a lot of questions after the sun had set and we had taken to our separate beds. She asked about the battle, about my earrings, and about Soliah and his men. While I was away, there was another fight with the Sioux and it had cost them dearly. The Sioux had been driven from their homes and had nowhere to go. They had been told by the white Major that if they could defeat the Chippewa, the territory around Leech Lake would belong to them. Something called the Dawes Act had been passed and huge tracts of land had been claimed by the government. There had been a meeting between the elders and the Indian Agents, when the elders returned from town their faces were dark with anger. Man Killer explained that they had little food and that winter was approaching. There was an agreement that if something wasn't done soon, that many of their number would certainly starve.

On my last night spent inside the wigwam, Man Killer informed me that the soldiers were heading our way. "How could you possibly know that?" I asked, feeling that I wasn't up to fighting a small child, much less a fully grown soldier.

"Odd Whitefeather saw it in a dream," she said from the darkness on her side of the wigwam. "He says that they will arrive in the morning, just after the sun hits the top of the trees."

If anyone else had made such a bold prediction, I would have been skeptical, but my grandfather had proven to me that he had some serious precognitive powers. I was sure that the soldiers would arrive on schedule. Man Killer quickly ended the conversation, saying that we both needed our rest. I laid awake for hours, listening to the crickets and the sounds of the night birds, wondering how many of us would be around tomorrow night to hear them again.

I woke to the touch of Man Killer's hand on my cheek. "Odd Whitefeather wishes to see you. I am going to help the others fix our meal. I will be back soon."

There was very little light, but enough for me to know that morning had arrived. I nodded to Man Killer and we exchanged a kiss, before she gave me a quick wave and walked out of our wigwam. My grandfather entered a moment later. He looked very old at that moment.

"The medicine is gone, I don't know what happened to it," he said, starting in the middle of the conversation, as he so often did. There were no exchanged pleasantries, as he got straight to the point. "Red has left us and I have not seen him for many days. I tried to talk to an eagle, but he would not give me the time of day. This is very bad. You will fight next to me. I have chosen you a fine rifle."

"I don't think I am strong enough to lift a rifle, much less fight soldiers. I'm sorry, grandfather," I said.

"You _will_ fight next to me. I was not asking how you felt. Did Otis and Goober die for nothing? What about the brave squirrels? Do you plan to sleep while the rest of us fight?"

I looked away from his cold eyes and nodded. "I'll fight," I said.

And when I turned my head he was gone. I didn't know if he had heard me, but I had no doubt that he wouldn't have left until he was sure that I'd join him. For the first time I had heard fear in his voice. The sound echoed inside my head for the rest of the morning.

We ate a cold breakfast of boiled corn and jerked venison. I felt a little stronger after eating and found myself tracking the sun as it rose behind the trees. There were perhaps one hundred men among us, and many more children who were also hideously painted and armed with weapons. My grandfather took me aside and silently painted my face. He smeared the paint around my eyes and mouth and after a few dabs, he pronounced me ready to fight the soldiers.

Everything was happening too fast and I wanted to somehow slow the sun in the sky. The men began to melt into the woods, taking many of the boys with them. Man Killer carried three guns, a large rifle and two revolvers she wore on her hips, over her buckskin dress. Her face was dark and her eyes stayed cold, even when I was able to meet them.

With the sun nearing the top of the trees, my grandfather led me to the spot that he had chosen for us. The large boulders would provide excellent cover and from there we had a commanding view of the lake. I concentrated on the far side of the lake and I could just make out two stacks belching steam on the horizon. "Don't worry, I know how this turns out," I said. "None of us are killed, or even wounded."

"This is an alternate destiny, Huckleberry. Do not be fooled into thinking that the soldiers will arrive so ill-prepared."

That didn't make me feel any better about our situation. I stared back out to the blue waters of the lake and my heart froze. Where there had been two stacks a moment before, there were now more than twenty. "Oh shit," I said.

"Oh shit is right," agreed my grandfather. "They aren't taking any chances. See if you can raise a wave on the water. I have tried many times and can not. We need a great wave to hit their ships. Give it a try, maybe you have some medicine left."

I hadn't felt the least bit of medicine since we had arrived in the village. Still, I concentrated and gave it my best shot. If I had even raised a ripple across the water, I certainly didn't see it.

"Thank you for trying, I thought it was worth a shot."

I felt my strength draining and I took one last look at the rapidly approaching armada. I counted twenty-four ships in all, with many of them towing flat-bottom barges. The barges appeared to be full of men and the tools of war. We would be swarmed.

The song was sung just loud enough for me to hear, and each sad note hung in my ears like a teardrop. I think the voice belonged to a young woman, but I wasn't able to identify it. The song continued until it was droned out by the terrible racket of the steam engines. My grandfather handed me a rifle, a Winchester, and a small pouch of ammunition. I counted eighteen lonely cartridges and I wondered if everyone was similarly armed.

The steamships headed straight for shore, and they landed at the beach in a solid wave of painted wood and clouds of white. I watched my grandfather sight his rifle on a group of men and I did the same. The soldiers had brought teams of lumberjacks, strong-looking men dressed in flannel, holding axes and carrying clubs. I watched in horror as over a thousand men poured from out of the barges and the steamships. They unloaded enough artillery to defeat fifty times our number. I was happy that Man Killer was back with the old women and small children. I hoped that she would be able to guide them to safety. I knew that my minutes had become numbered.

"We will wait for them to start the shooting. Do not forget that," I heard my grandfather hiss from the other end of our boulder. We were lying on our bellies where the sand met the rocky soil, perhaps fifty yards from where the steamers had landed. I could hear weapons being checked and orders being given. The sounds suddenly stopped and I turned my head to see what had caught their attention. Three of the village elders, men I recognized, but whose names escaped me, were slowly walking down from the village to confront the attackers. They carried no weapons that I could see and their great age was evident upon their wrinkled faces.

"Ready!" shouted a man's voice from down by the water. I gasped. "Aim..."

The explosion that followed was unlike anything that I had ever heard. I screamed when I saw the terrible devastation that the volley of shots had ravaged upon the old men. There was no doubt that they had all died instantly. I heard other shots ring out and realized that they were coming from my grandfather's rifle.

The anger made me forget all about my wound. I stuck my head around the corner and began to fire wildly down toward the beach. The soldiers and lumberjacks were scattering, but they were splitting into three groups. One group stayed down at the beach, staying low in the sand. The others split off to the left and to the right, hundreds of men intent upon surrounding us. I was quickly down to my last cartridge and I swore under my breath. I had yet to hit anything I had been aiming at.

That was when I saw Major Soliah. He stood proudly on the deck of one of the ships, a sword held high in the air. I could tell that he was ready to send his men off to charge us. I settled the sights on his forehead and slowly squeezed the trigger of the Winchester.

And I nearly squealed with joy when I saw that I had hit him. His arm jerked down as he dropped the sword, before he reached up to cover the bloody hole in his shoulder. The dropping of the sword was all the men had been waiting for. They seemed to come at us from everywhere and the Gatling guns chattered away from the beach. I was out of ammunition and so weak that I could barely keep my eyes open. I screamed when I saw my grandfather knocked over by a large caliber bullet and I rushed to his side. The bullet had caught him high on the chest and I tore off my shirt to staunch the flow of blood. Just as I did this I heard a loud thud and everything went black. By the time I had regained consciousness, the battle had ended and I was being hauled to my feet.

"Huckleberry Brindle," exclaimed the silky voice of Major Soliah. "What a pleasant surprise."

I could see Man Killer and my grandfather as they were lashed to a bullet-riddled pine. Piles of dry branches were being stacked at their feet. She was crying inconsolably and pleading to be killed. The soldiers and lumberjacks merely laughed.

"My, what a pretty pair of earrings you have there. I tell you what, how about I trade you their lives for those earrings," he said, motioning to my wife and grandfather. "Does that sound like a fair trade?"

"No!" screamed Man Killer. "Don't you dare give them to him!"

"Women," scoffed Soliah. "You can't live with them and you can't shoot them, legally."

The idiots around him had a great laugh over that.

For the first time I was able to survey the complete destruction of our village. I found that I had to look away after a few seconds. What wasn't covered in blood had been set on fire. Tears flooded my eyes.

"The earrings," demanded Soliah, holding his hand out to me. "Give them to me or you'll watch them both die. Have you ever watched someone as they were burned alive? I can assure you that it won't be pleasant."

I reached up and gently touched one of the earrings, and quickly said a silent prayer. My head felt as if a river was raging between my ears. Soliah was staring at me with amusement, as if he were trying to get inside of my head to see what I was thinking.

"Huckleberry, you're forcing my hand here. There has been enough death for one day, don't you agree?"

"Light the fire!" ordered a voice from behind me, one that I recognized immediately. The voice belonged to Morgan Millhouse, the lumber baron who had boarded the steamer with Soliah. "We've got timber to cut!"

I turned my head and gave him a look of such fury that I made him step back. "Don't you dare," I said, taking an earring in both hands. "I'll give you what you want."

"Don't do it!" cried Man Killer.

"That's a good boy," said Soliah. "Mr. Millhouse, please instruct your men to back away from the savages. Huckleberry has seen the light. Haven't you, boy?"

"Red skinned bastards!" shouted Millhouse. "Do you think I planned on letting any of them live? Do you have any idea how much money they cost me in Washington? No, Major Soliah, I don't believe you do. Having legislation passed is an expensive business, and most of it is written in blood. I'm not taking any chances, this time we kill them all. Men, don't you dare disobey me. Light them up!"

I screamed as I saw two torches tossed into the pile of brush. Man Killer closed her eyes and lifted her head to the sky. My grandfather looked at me calmly, as if he were waiting for me to do something. I pulled at the earrings until my lobes burned, but they wouldn't slip from my ears.

"Give them to me and I'll stop this," Soliah whispered into my ear. "Trust me, Huckleberry."

The face of Abe Steinman appeared inside my head and he asked me what I was waiting for. I could see Theresa and the girls, Goober and his friends, Otis, the brave whitetail, and all of the fallen squirrels who had fought for our cause. I gripped the earrings and begged to unleash their power, whatever it was.

"Huckleberry..."

The earrings grew hot to the touch and I gripped them tighter.

"Don't do it."

"Millhouse is the one who ordered your family to be killed!" I blurted out. "If it's anyone that you should hate, it's Millhouse."

My words seemed to instantly freeze Soliah as the news hit him with a sudden punch. Millhouse looked confused for a moment, like he was trying to put on an act. He soon gave this up as Soliah brought his gaze down upon him.

"What can I say?" Millhouse said with half a chortle. "You were preventing my men from cutting the Indian timber. It was the only way."

There it was, the terrible truth was out in the open and I watched Soliah process this information. He stepped away from me and he walked slowly toward his old friend. "You were responsible for that?" he asked in a voice that seemed to catch in his chest. "You murdered my children?"

"Barnabus that was a long time ago. They would have been dead for many years now."

Soliah continued, his voice building into a scream. "You robbed me of my children and my grandchildren for timber? You ate at my table and all the while you were plotting against me? Did you ever think of the terrible price that you will now pay for your treachery? You bastard, of course you never have. I am going to send you to the very depths of hell. You will spend all eternity paying for your deeds."

"Wait a minute; I have more money than you can dream of. We can strike a deal; we can always strike a deal... Barnabus?"

Those were the last words that Morgan Millhouse would ever speak in this world. Soliah slipped his sword from its scabbard and he swung it directly at Millhouse's exposed neck. There was a sickening sound and Millhouse's head fell to the ground. There was a gasp from his men as they watched Millhouse's eyes blink and his mouth gasping for air. This seemed to last for a full minute and everyone was riveted by the spectacle.

What happened next happened so fast that it's hard to put it all into context. A great, ear-splitting roar bellowed from just inside the woods. Soliah leapt back and ran to one of the steamers. Tall trees began to fall inside the woods and the ground began to shake. The men began to scatter as Soliah ordered them to shoulder their weapons. The brush caught flame and I saw a blur of movement as something scurried across the beach and leapt into the pile. I could see that it was Red, and he immediately began to gnaw on the ropes that bound Man Killer and my grandfather.

What I saw then nearly stopped my heart. A massive bear the size of a small house knocked over one of the old pines. The bear charged from the woods and took a mighty swipe at a cluster of lumberjacks; sweeping them off their feet and tearing them to ribbons. Men began to scream in terror. The beast had glowing red eyes and it reared its head with another blood-curdling roar. It bounded on its great legs to the beach where it began to destroy the steamers as if they were made out of kindling.

But one of the steamships was already backing away in the deep water of Leech Lake. The bear tried to swat at it, but it was just out of reach of the huge paw and the sharp claws. I could see Soliah cowering at the front of the ship, holding his hands over his face. He had cheated death by a few scant seconds. The bear returned his attention to the soldiers and the lumbermen on the shore. A few of the soldiers were firing their weapons and one was unleashing the chattering fire of one of the Gatling guns. The bear roared again as blood flowed down its snout.

I ran to join the others who had been freed just before being burned at the stake. Red stood there on his hind legs, practically daring any of the scattering soldiers to challenge him. My grandfather was sitting on the sand, a big smile etched upon his weathered face. Man Killer rushed into my arms and she wept into my shoulder.

The bear pounced upon the soldier who manned the Gatling gun and he devoured the man in a single bite. All that remained were a pair of black boots. The sound of men screaming filled my ears. He then turned his attention to a group of men that were huddled under a fallen pine. The bear bounded up to them and leapt on top of the pine, squishing many of them before tearing the survivors to pieces with bloody claws.

"It is good to see you, Barney," said my grandfather.

"Looks like I'm a little late," said the beast named Barney. "I am so sorry, Oddfather. I did not know."

We buried our dead with Barney's help, leaving the lumberjacks and soldiers where they had fallen. Barney promised to attend to them later. We had a small, but emotional ceremony, where I began to get very worried about Man Killer. I knew she was probably still in shock and I didn't know much about it. Would she snap out of it? And if so, how long would it take? Would there be permanent scarring? I did feel that the sooner we left the ruined village, the better off she'd be. My grandfather and Red both agreed.

Man Killer had not uttered a word since Barney's appearance and she shied away from him. It didn't seem to matter to her that he had saved us. She wore a blank expression and walked stiffly. The tears still flowed from her eyes during the little service, we all cried. We cried for every soul that we had lost; for Otis, for Goober and the lost pack, for Red's dead comrades, for every man, woman, and child in the village. There had been too much death and Soliah still lived. All of this was on him and I was more determined than ever to end his miserable life. I knew he was heading to Walker and I wanted to see if I could find him before he left town. Red thought this was a great plan, while my grandfather soured at the idea. He explained that he was still as powerless as any ninety-eight year old man. He needed his Medicine. "What about you, Huckleberry?" he asked. "Do you have any magic up your sleeve?"

"I've got these," I said, touching one of the earrings. "I was able to call Barney, wasn't I?"

"No, that would have been me," said Red in his shrill voice. "Maybe we should listen to the Oddfather, you know, wait until you guys are strong enough to bring the fight to him. I'm ready to go after Soliah when you are."

"Well, we can't stay here," I said.

Red looked around, then his eyes fell upon Man Killer as she sat on her knees at the side of the graves. He quickly nodded his head. "Right, that would be a bad plan."

"Death," said my grandfather. "I have seen too much of it. Here is what we will do, we will head back to Walker and if nothing has changed before we reach town, we wait until we find our Medicine. This happens sometimes, no one seems to know why, like when the cable goes out."

"What about him," Red said in a whisper, motioning to Barney.

"Very hard to sneak around with him," my grandfather whispered back to Red. He then looked at Barney who sat by the beach, two hundred feet away. "I have tried it before and it never seems to work. He can't help it."

"I can hear every word you're saying!" roared the bear.

"I am sorry," replied my grandfather. "You cannot deny the truth."

"Who said that I was? Do you have to tell the whole world about it?"

"Quit acting like such a baby. I said I was sorry. Now, I would like to thank you for saving our lives. We need to go to Walker, I am sure you understand."

"Right, I heard the whole conversation. What, do you think I'm deaf?"

"I did not say that."

"So, go already. I'll be fine out here all alone, just like I always am. Nobody ever worries about Barney, do they? I don't have many friends. Do you know what that is like, Oddfather?"

"Oh boy," mumbled my grandfather. "Here we go again."

But Barney said no more about it and after we thanked him again, the four of us were on our way. "You know," said Red, after we were well out of earshot of the smoldering village. "I freed you from the fire, Barney didn't. I think I deserve a thank you."

"Thank you," my grandfather and I replied in unison.

"You're welcome."

### Chapter Twenty-Two

Man Killer said nothing for the rest of the day as we traveled back down the path. We found a small clearing as twilight began to fade and we stretched out under the stars. I tried to lay next to my wife, but the look in her eyes told me that would be a huge mistake. I tried to make sense of things as I waited for sleep to come. My grandfather was right. We didn't stand a chance against Soliah without our Medicine. We would have to wait it out and hope for the best. We still had another day's walk to pray for it to return. I fell asleep with that on my mind and I didn't stir until the sun was halfway up the trees. No one did.

While we walked I began to question my grandfather about things. I asked where Dog Breath and Crooked Walker were, and he replied that they were at the Happy Hunting Ground. When I asked him to be more specific, he simply shook his head. He didn't look good, his blue jeans were coated with mud and matted grass, while his light blue denim shirt was dark with blood stains. His long white hair was tangled and it hung over his eyes.

I continued to question him with Red listening, but keeping to himself. Man Killer walked alone and her eyes became more haunted by the hour. I asked my grandfather why everything was up to _me._ Why should I be entirely responsible for killing Soliah? My grandfather explained that I was the only one powerful enough to do it. I laughed at this. I was the least powerful in our group. I was more of a liability than an asset. My grandfather pointed to his ears and that was when I asked him about Abe Steinman.

"Abe Steinman?" my grandfather asked, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "So, that is what he is calling himself these days."

"What is that supposed to mean? Who is he?"

"That is difficult to answer. Think of him as a referee, but he is also your friend. He will help you when he is able, but he can only go so far. There is no _Abe Steinman._ That is how he chose to reveal himself to you and that is all I can say about it."

I asked him some more, completely ignoring his wishes. This seemed to irritate him and he said no more. I moved on to Red, hoping he'd provide some answers. I found that I may have been better off not asking too many questions, and we walked in silence for a long time. If anyone got hungry along the way, nobody mentioned it. The day was warm and the sky above us was a brilliant blue. The pines chattered with birds and a few squirrels. Red completely ignored them. We walked along in something that resembled a drunken stagger, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

The path was different than the one we had arrived on. We passed by tall waterfalls and across rocky ledges that were strange to me. The forest grew dense in spots, nearly blocking out any light and we walked in a hazy gloom. There wasn't even a hint of a breeze. Massive spider webs hung limp from the limbs of the pines. I did my best to avoid them.

With the sun already making the turn towards the western horizon, my grandfather announced that we had come close enough. He said that our destination was less than a mile away and that it was time to sit and pray for our Medicine to return. We sat on some rocks that jutted up out of the mossy soil. The pines here were scattered, but still soared some two hundred feet in the air. I sat in the sun while my grandfather chose the shade. I watched as he carefully sat down and closed his eyes, putting his tired hands on his lap. He looked like the old man that he was, fragile and out of place in this wilderness.

"I miss my satellite television," he said after a few quiet minutes. "I have nearly three hundred channels, not that there is ever anything very good on to watch. Still, there is a lot to be said for going back into the past, without having to get up from the sofa."

"I won't argue with you there," I said. Man Killer was kneeling down in front of some wildflowers, which I took to be a good sign. Red was off in the forest, keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble. This was the first chance my grandfather and I had for private conversation, and I certainly didn't want to waste it talking about what was on television. "How long does this usually take?" I asked, feeling weak and very impatient. I wanted to get into town before Soliah had the chance to leave, if he hadn't left already.

"Sometimes it can take a long time. I once spent an entire winter without my Medicine, but that was a long time ago."

"Why do we lose it at all? What purpose does it serve? Soliah could be getting away right now. I can't believe this is happening."

"You need to lose something every now and then. It helps you to remember what is important. Like the remote control for my television, I lose that darn thing at least once a week."

"Would you quit talking about your television? I'm trying to be serious here."

My grandfather looked at me with a pained expression. "Maybe that doesn't seem very serious to you, but I am an old man and my television is very important to me. Sometimes a month can go by and that is all I have for company. You will be old someday, and then you will understand. My television is also my friend. I wish I had it now, it helps to pass the time."

"Why, so you could watch Andy Griffith?" I asked. I was being sarcastic and I found that I didn't care. We had bigger fish to fry and I had never cared much for television.

"You could learn a lot from Andy Taylor," my grandfather replied. "He was a good man, a role model. I like to think he was Ojibwe."

I shook my head and returned my attention to Man Killer. She was sitting now, staring straight ahead into the woods. She looked so sad that I wanted to rush over to her and throw my arms around her. I didn't know what to do. She seemed to be slipping further away from me. My grandfather was still talking, but I was only catching bits and pieces of what he said.

"Like Sitting Bull," he said, raising his weary eyes to look at me.

"I nodded. "Right, like Sitting Bull," I repeated, having no idea of what he was talking about.

"Sitting Bull Day, it has a nice sound to it. We should have a day to commemorate one of the Original People. There are plenty of other holidays, yet there is not a single one for Native Americans to celebrate. That is wrong."

I could see that this was something that he had been thinking about for a long time. There was pain in his eyes and I could feel the gravity in his words. "Maybe when this is all over, you and I could go to Washington? What could it hurt?"

He stared at me for a long time as if he were trying to see if I was pacifying him. He nodded once and took off his straw hat and examined the brim. "I would go to Washington if I thought it would do any good. There is a book written many years ago by a man named Dee Brown. Have you ever read it?"

I lowered my eyes and shook my head. "I've heard of it," I said.

"When this is all over you have to promise me that you will read it. It is a very powerful book that chronicles the history of our people from the time Columbus arrived until the massacre at Wounded Knee. Children should be reading it in schools. If that were to happen, maybe we would have a holiday to call our own."

"I promise to read it."

He nodded and placed his hat back on his head. "People talk as if one hundred years is a long time. I am nearly that old and I can tell you that it is not so. What happened at Wounded Knee a hundred years ago was a terrible thing, and it should be remembered. Five hundred soldiers surrounded a camp of starving people and hunted them down like animals. Women and children, it did not matter to them. They were shot as they tried to flee. Do you know what people said after this tragedy? The man who wrote _The_ _Wizard_ _of_ _Oz_ wrote in his newspaper that all of the Original People should be exterminated. He called us _untamable_ _creatures_ that should be wiped from the face of the earth. He wrote this less than a week after the massacre."

"I didn't know that."

"You are not alone. I tell you this because hatred such as this does not merely go away with the passing of years. The government has done nothing to educate people as to the way things really were. If people only understood the true history of the Original People, this world would be a better place."

At that moment a robin landed on my grandfather's shoulder and it nuzzled up to the wrinkled skin of his neck. My grandfather smiled.

"Do you know that bird?" I asked, watching as it rubbed its little head under my grandfather's chin.

"I do, let me introduce you to _Aunt_ _Bea_. Aunt Bea, this is my grandson, Huckleberry."

"I am pleased to meet you," I said, wondering if the plump robin could speak.

"And I am pleased to meet you," Aunt Bea answered in a shrill voice. "Oddfather," she said, hopping up and down on his shoulder. "Why do you look so sad? It's a beautiful day."

We both smiled at that. She was right, no matter what had happened, where we had been and how far we still had to go, there was no denying the fact. It was a beautiful day. My grandfather chuckled softly and lowered his chin for Aunt Bea to nuzzle.

"I heard that you were preparing for a fight," Aunt Bea said, pulling her head back and ruffling her feathers. "We will help you."

"Thank you," said my grandfather. "We can use all the help we can get."

Aunt Bea suddenly flew away and landed on the limb of a tall pine. She began to chirp in a great voice that was impossibly loud. The sound echoed inside the glen and rang in my ears. I watched as Man Killer got to her feet and walked over to investigate the cause of the sound. I stood up and walked over to join her, but my grandfather stopped me from doing so. He held my arm in a tight grip and shook his head.

I watched as a sparrow landed on Man Killer's shoulder, followed by another. She stared at them in amazement and I saw her smile for the first time in days. A tear fell from my eye. A bright red cardinal landed on her outstretched arm and she began to laugh. The sky was suddenly full of flapping wings and the chatter of a thousand beaks. I had never seen so many birds in one place, they flew in circles around us, but they all seemed to be focused on Man Killer. They hopped around by her feet like small puppies, begging to be picked up. Her expression was one of wonder and true happiness. She looked at me and beamed. I tried to wipe the tears from my eyes, but they continued to fall. I knew that everything was going to be okay, at least for now. Sometimes, that is good enough.

Aunt Bea flew from her perch and landed on my shoulder. "I'll bet you weren't aware of the healing powers of birds, were you?"

I shook my head and smiled.

"Men, what do _you_ know?"

I nearly took offense to that last statement, but then it dawned on me that I suddenly felt different. I looked at my grandfather and he smiled at me. He then raised his hand in front of him and it was blazing with a blue flame. "I think our Medicine has been returned," he said.

I concentrated on a moss-spotted rock the size of large tombstone. The rock shook and suddenly crumbled into so much dust. I wanted to cheer. Not only had my Medicine returned, but it seemed infinitely more powerful. The birds continued to arrive. The sky was full of circling hawks and eagles. Flocks of geese and ducks began to land in the glen. Sparrows and finches filled the trees. Man Killer walked over to me and rested her head on my shoulder and we exchanged a tender kiss.

I knew we were ready. It was time to find Soliah.

### Chapter Twenty-Three

My grandfather looked twenty years younger and he walked the forest trail with a spring in his step. Man Killer and I walked behind him and we held hands. Red stayed a foot behind his Oddfather. The birds followed us as we walked, leaping from tree to tree and filling the forest with their music. I felt good for the first time in days. I was filled with optimism and confident that we could meet any challenge. I guessed the time at around six, give or take an hour. A slight breeze rustled the pines.

We entered Walker from the north side of town. The buildings were built of rough hewn lumber and the roads were nothing more than rutted earth. We immediately encountered three soldiers who ordered us to stop. When we didn't, they leveled their rifles at us. I watched those rifles turn bright red and suddenly melt in their hands. They screamed in agony and quickly ran away. The molten steel pooled on the road, oozing into three distinct shapes. They spelled: _Odd._ I looked at my grandfather and he winked at me.

People began to rush from the buildings to see what all the commotion was about. Before they had a chance to react, the birds fell upon them in an angry mass from the sky above. There may have been millions of them, I couldn't be sure. They descended upon the town with gnashing beaks and slicing talons. Thousands of geese and ducks filled the streets. The smaller birds attacked without mercy.

I was waiting to hear gunfire, but either my grandfather had taken care of their guns, or the swarming birds made it impossible for them to get a shot off. The streets were empty in less than a minute and there was the sound of many doors slamming shut. We continued to walk. The town wasn't much more than five or six blocks of tired-looking buildings, their whitewashed exteriors fading in the summer sun.

"I can smell him," said Red. "Keep your eyes open."

I didn't have to ask who he meant. I scanned the buildings and watched as the front door to the Walker Hotel opened. Soliah casually stepped out onto the long covered porch. He looked at us with amusement; he even smiled when a thousand different birds honed in on him. He calmly raised his hands next to his ears and snapped his fingers. That was it. A thousand birds fell from the sky and hit the street like hailstones. My grandfather quickly waved his arm and our winged friends flew off in full retreat.

"Son-of-a-bitch," squeaked Red. "That rotten son-of-a-bitch."

We stood some sixty feet away from the hotel and the street was as silent as an empty church. Man Killer stood behind me as I stood next to my grandfather. Red stood behind him. Soliah was smiling and he beckoned us closer. "Impressive," he said, playing with the corner of his thin mustache. "You'll have to teach me that trick, Huckleberry. You sure scared the hell out of the good people of this fine little town."

We didn't move; the street was littered with the bodies of our friends. Their heads seemed to have been violently twisted and their little tongues protruded from their beaks. I reared back and threw my arm toward Soliah. The tall glass windows of the hotel imploded into a million pieces. Soliah shook his head and smiled. "Huckleberry," he said in his smoothest voice. "You have no idea who you're messing with."

My grandfather raised his fist and the rail of the hitching post in front of the hotel, snapped free of its supports and was suddenly hurtling like a javelin towards Soliah. For a moment, I really thought it was all over. The hitching post missed its mark by no more than an inch. The look on Soliah's face instantly turned to rage. He stood there for a moment with his teeth clenched and stared at us with angry eyes. And then he began to change before our eyes.

He leapt down the stairs, not as a man, but as a cloven-hoofed troll. He was covered in black fur up to the waist, where his skin was the color of a fire engine. A long red tail followed him. I shuddered when I saw his face. There was no mistaking that it was still Soliah, but he had sprouted short horns from his temples and had grown fangs. Man Killer gasped.

"He is a shape-shifter," whispered my grandfather. "This is not good."

Man Killer shoved me aside and defensively stood in front of me. Red squealed something unintelligible. My heart was slamming inside my chest.

"I warned you," the Soliah-thing spat at us. "You just can't listen, can you, Huckleberry? Well, take a good look at me, boy. You're going to look just like me before this is all over. _This_ is your true destiny."

"Never," I cried, trying to shove my way around Man Killer. This was between Soliah and me now, and I suddenly wished that I had left the others back in the forest. Soliah seemed to read my thoughts and he raised his red hand to his ear and snapped his fingers. It happened that fast. I heard the thud of falling bodies before I realized what had happened. I looked down and saw Man Killer wrapped tightly in chains, lying next to my grandfather, who had been trussed exactly the same. Red was bound tightly in a thin rope and a tiny gag was tied securely inside his mouth. Man Killer shrieked in terror. I roared with anger and every window in sight exploded in a shower of flying shards.

"You have twenty-four hours," hissed Soliah as he clomped up to within three feet of me. His face was burning red and dark smoke flowed from his ears. "Twenty-four hours to give yourself up, or I promise you that I'll kill them in a way you cannot possibly imagine. I've tried to be patient with you, Huckleberry. My patience is gone. I'll be expecting you at Spirit Lake before the sunset, tomorrow. Now, if you'll excuse us?"

I charged him, but found that I charged into thin air. As fast as I was, he had been that much faster. I suddenly found myself alone on the dusty street. I stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. And then I began to cry.

Aunt Bea was suddenly on my shoulder. "Pull yourself together," she pleaded. "You have to get out of here."

I nodded my head, but my legs felt like I was standing knee-deep in setting concrete. Doors began to open and I heard the sound of men shouting. "Go," I screamed at Aunt Bea. "I'll meet you in the forest!"

"Hurry," squawked Aunt Bea, and she quickly took flight.

I turned my attention to the group of men who were gathering at the side of the street. Guns were being leveled at me by the dozen and I lashed out at them with everything I had. The screaming was a terrible thing to behold and the men scattered like shrieking flies. The town glowed red with molten iron.

And I spelled: _Huckleberry Brindle._

Somehow, I managed to find my feet and I retreated into the forest. No one followed. I walked alone, having absolutely no idea of where I was headed. I needed to get to Spirit Lake and I had just one day to get there. Night fell, but I continued to walk under the light of the moon.

### Chapter Twenty-Four

I tried not to think about Soliah's promise, but it would rise up from time to time and slap me across the face. I also tried not to think about what he had said about my true destiny. That too, would bubble to the surface and cause tears to spill down my cheeks. I couldn't be like him, I just _couldn't_ be. I stumbled on through the night, blindly negotiating my way across the rocky floor of the dark forest. Just as I began to notice a hint of light in the eastern sky, I spotted the glow of a distant campfire. I was suddenly full of energy and I raced towards it at full speed.

The two of them were sitting cross-legged at the campfire; Dog Breath and Crooked Walker, old and wrinkled, but alive and in the flesh. I collapsed to my knees. "He's got them," I cried. "He's got Grandfather, Man Killer, and Red. "He's going to kill them!"

The two old men looked at me like I had sprouted a trunk. The look threw me for a second, before I realized that these men had lived against impossible odds for their entire lives. This was merely a bump in the road compared to what they had seen. "I'm sorry," I said. "I just thought you might like to know."

Just then, Aunt Bea flew down from the sky and landed on my shoulder. To me, it felt as if a strong hand had just been placed there.

"Are you going to introduce us to your friend?" Crooked Walker asked with a wry smile.

Aunt Bea had somehow restored my composure and I quickly made the introductions. Aunt Bea then recounted our story from her eyes. To that, I added our earlier confrontations and the terrible losses after each battle. The old men said nothing as we spoke and they sat in silence after we had finished. Aunt Bea flew from my shoulder and stood between the two. "Make sure the fire is gone before you leave," she said, adding: "Come on, Huckleberry, we still have a long way to go."

"We will need tobacco," Crooked Walker said. "We must smoke on this."

After both men stared at me, expectantly, Dog Breath's expression turned dark and he produced a small leather satchel. "This is all I have left; I was trying to save it."

Crooked Walker dug in a canvas sack and came out with a long antler, fashioned into an ornately carved pipe. He pinched tobacco from the satchel, filling the bowl full. He then dipped the pipe into the flames and began to puff. Satisfied, he handed the smoking pipe to Dog Breath. Crooked Walker then motioned for me to sit and join them. I did as he asked, taking the pipe from Dog Breath. I drew on the pipe and my mouth was filled with the taste of a strange tobacco, nearly as sweet as candy. The old men began to chant as we continued to slowly pass the pipe. The forest was suddenly full of a warm, glowing light; it was as if the campfire had intensified a thousand times over. I stared into the growing flames as they rose from the firewood, before taking the shape of a man.

And that's all I remember until Dog Breath's scowling face came into view. "What is the matter with you?" he barked at me. "You missed everything!"

"Shit," I said, rubbing my eyes and sitting up. "What do you mean?"

"Kids," muttered Crooked Walker, dismissively. "The Great Spirit is very disappointed in you. How could you fall asleep during the Tobacco Ceremony? He's pretty angry."

"Oh, that's just great," I said. "I didn't fall asleep, I passed out. What was in that pipe, anyhow?"

"That was tobacco," spat Dog Breath. He then glared at me with such fury that I scooted away from him.

"I don't know what happened," I said. "But I certainly didn't fall asleep. Tell the Great Spirit that I'm awake now and I need to hear what he has to say."

The old men exchanged a look and they both began to laugh.

"Let's go," pleaded Aunt Bea, who had landed on my knee. "We can leave these old fools out here by themselves."

"Old fools?" asked Dog Breath. "You better watch your beak, my friend. My stomach is telling me that it is time for a meal."

Aunt Bea sprang to my shoulder. "If you're nice to us I can tell you where to find a great herd of buffalo."

"Buffalo?" asked Dog Breath, jumping to his feet. "Where, Canada?"

"Not far from here," Aunt Bea said. "First, you need to tell Huckleberry what the Great Spirit had to say. After that, I'll tell you where to find the buffalo."

I could see that Aunt Bea had gone straight for their throats. The old men licked their lips and rubbed their small bellies. Crooked Walker nodded his head. "They had better be close, or we will have robin for breakfast. Telling Huckleberry what he was meant to hear, is not how he was intended to hear it. The Great Spirit might become angry with us. That would not be good."

"He could send us back," Dog Breath hissed. "I have found that I do not miss my wives all that much. I am not ready to go back. Fifty wives are too much for one man, even me."

"What did the Great Spirit say?" I asked, trying to get him back on course.

"He said that you will have to fight the Evil One. It has been told since the beginning of days that there will be a great battle; and that you were born to take our fight to the Evil One. The only hope you have of defeating him is by being part of him. You must fight him on his own level. You must hurt him, and keep hurting him until he dies a slow death. That is the only way he can be defeated." Crooked Walker then crossed his arms and stared at me.

"Keep hurting him until he dies a slow death?" I asked. "What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

There was an explosive: _crack_! The thunderbolt landed close enough to throw me face first into the pine needles.

"That is all we can tell you," said Dog Breath with a fearful eye to the purple light above. "Trust us on that. Now, _Aunt_ _Bea_ , tell us where the buffalo are."

They were back at our little camp an hour, or so, later. Each held a great horn in one hand as they dragged the massive dead animal across the forest floor, as if it was made out of cardboard. The beast had at least six arrows buried into its hide. One look told me that they had already cut its belly and had removed his organs. Steam rose from the split sternum of the buffalo. They dropped the animal across from Aunt Bea and me, with the great head looking directly at us. I found myself growing hungrier by the second.

"Fresh buffalo!" exclaimed Dog Breath, as if this were the first he had ever killed.

"I have a good knife in my things," said Crooked Walker, excitedly rummaging in his sack.

The great buffalo suddenly raised his head and stared directly at Aunt Bea. "You're a bitch," he said, blood bubbles forming in its huge nostrils before the giant head fell back to the earth.

"How do you like that?" said Crooked Walker. "You don't see that everyday."

Aunt Bea looked at me and I saw shame on her face. She flew up into the trees and I never saw her again.

The old men quickly went to work and soon there were three thick slabs of buffalo meat roasting over the fire. We had different tastes when it came to how well done we liked our meat, with the old men opting for extremely rare. I had mine done medium. I had to admit, as sorry as I had felt for the poor buffalo, he sure tasted good.

We finished our breakfast and after we had extinguished the fire, we set off into the woods. The morning was bright and a little cool, with only a few, high thin clouds to blemish the sky. As we walked, I began to have that familiar dizzy sensation, and I knew we were traveling much further than our feet carried us. We walked into present time, my present time. The sight of a hundred abandoned vehicles, just where I had left them, suddenly lay before me.

We were back at Spirit Lake.

### Chapter Twenty-Five

I turned my head to smile at the old men, but they had changed back into the younger versions of themselves. Crooked Walker's hair was long and black as night, tied in the back. He wore fresh buckskins over his lean muscles and stood very straight. He carried a lever action rifle and a large revolver was strapped to his hip. Looking down, I could see that he still loved my Red Wings. They looked to have been freshly oiled and brushed.

Dog Breath was dressed in a simple breechcloth. His skin was the color of plums and he was solid and formidable. There were great smears of war paint on his cheeks and his expression was fearsome. He carried a long bow slung over his shoulder and a quiver of long arrows on his back. He carried a stone hatchet and looked ready for battle.

Now, while all of this was very encouraging, I looked down at myself and saw that I still wore my Brindle patch on my work uniform and a pair of tired sneakers. I would have been happy to have been ten years younger, or to have been given a good kitchen knife; _something, anything,_ that may have been useful in our attack on Soliah. Crooked Walker and Dog Breath said nothing, but they brushed past me like I wasn't even there. They headed straight for the house and after a moment spent sulking, I followed them, feeling naked and somehow alone.

I heard something in the woods, turned my head for a moment and they were gone. I lost a step and began to creep up along the cars without making a sound. I thought of my wife and grandfather, of Red and all of those who had died before me. These thoughts gave me strength and courage, and I never let them get too far from my mind. The long line of cars, vans, and pickups, looked like they had been there for years. Some of them had flat tires and all of them looked dull and neglected. _How long had I been gone?_

The closer I got to the end of the line, the more my heart began to pound inside my chest. This really was the end of the line. I wondered about Dog Breath and Crooked Walker. Where were they? Would they be waiting for me on the manicured lawn of the white house? I prayed for a weapon, I really didn't care what. I thought a bazooka might be nice, but I had no idea of how to use one and I quickly prayed for something else. I did feel that prayer was my only hope to find something to fight Soliah with. He had already proven that my magic was no match for his. I began to look inside the grimy windows of the vehicles I passed. I was hoping to find a shotgun, or perhaps a hunting rifle. What I saw were cardboard pine trees and empty soda cans and I kept on praying as I neared the end of the line.

How I could have missed them is beyond me. They were waiting for me at the front of the line, gleaming in the sunlight as they sat parked on the lawn. My Whitehead Buster looked as if it had just rolled off the showroom floor. The Swinger Special stood tall and proud, the cables that ran up the boom looked brand new and the windows of the cab were clean and clear.

Abe Steinman stepped from behind the Buster. He was smiling. I took a deep breath and ran up to greet him.

"How do they look?" Abe asked, leaning one shoulder against my Buster. "They were in pretty rough shape. You really should take better care of your equipment."

I shook my head and smiled. "How did you save them?"

"I heard a prayer."

I hadn't been expecting that and the words rocked me back on my heels. I stared at the old man and he gave me a sly wink. "Don't just stand there like an idiot, come on up and say hello."

I walked the remaining few feet up to Abe and I stuck out my hand. "Hello," I said. "Thank you for everything."

Abe covered his face with a hand and shook his head. "I didn't mean for you to say hello to me, I wanted you to say hello to your equipment. You need to get reacquainted."

I shrugged my shoulders and thought about that. I knew these machines inside and out. I knew every nut and bolt. "I slapped Buster's side and smiled. "Hello," I said.

A blast of black smoke escaped from the stack and I jumped back. "Hello, Huck," came a deep voice from somewhere inside the engine compartment. "It has been a long time."

I felt the air rush from my lungs as I stared from Buster to Abe Steinman. "Don't forget your Swinger Special," he said with a grin.

"Oh, Huckleberry, just look at you," exclaimed the Swinger. The voice was almost feminine. "Are you ready to knock over some bad guys? Hop on in, big guy! Let's get swinging!"

"Oh my God," exclaimed Buster. "Here we go again..."

"Now you stop that," quipped the Swinger. "You're just jealous that I get him first. You've always been that way, don't you deny it, Buster."

"Mr. Steinman," said Buster. "Can't you cut his vocal cords? I can't sit here and listen to this."

"I can see my work here is done," said Abe. "I've got to run, good-bye!"

I quickly turned, but Abe seemed to have vanished into thin air. Buster began to move on his tracks and he spun around until he faced the dead cars on the driveway. There was no sound from the big diesel and I thought about that. I heard a dull thud and I returned my attention to my Swinger. The boom had fallen and was lying across the lawn.

"What did I ever do to you?" asked the Swinger, defensively. "Each and every time we've gone out on a job together, didn't I smash things into small enough pieces for you to handle? Do I somehow threaten you? Trust me, you're not my type."

"Make him stop, Huck!"

"Wake up, Buster. "This is the twenty-first century!"

"Huck?"

"Let's get at it," I shouted, pointing up at the freshly painted house by the lake. "We've got a job to do, boys. A lot of people are depending on us!"

"That's what I wanted to hear," exclaimed the Swinger and the boom rose high in the air. "Hop in, Huckleberry, let's kick some ass!"

Why I thought it would be so easy, I didn't know. I ran up to the Swinger and climbed inside the cab. The levers looked shiny and new and none of the gauges had broken glass. The old seat with the duct tape was gone and a brand new one had replaced it. I took the controls in my hands and made a few practice swings. The five-ton wrecking ball sliced through the air and obeyed my every command.

"Ooh!" purred the Swinger. "That feels good."

I shot a look at Buster and I can't tell you how, but I could feel that he was laughing at me. I didn't care. I returned my attention to the house and aimed the Swinger in that direction. The tracks bit on the lawn and we moved silently across the green grass. The sound of the engine had been replaced by something that sounded more like heavy breathing.

We stopped at the southeast corner of the house, just where I had stopped all those years ago. The thought of that caused a chill to run down my spine. This had been a long time coming. I would keep the wrecking ball above the foundation and pray that everyone would be safe in the basement. A voice reassured me that it was a good plan.

There were no words, no cries of triumph as I pulled on the handles and the heavy wrecking ball began to rear back, suspended by the cable attached to the tall boom. I was ready for this and I wanted to get it over with. I slammed the controls forward and the Swinger swung hard, propelling the wrecking ball with a velocity that was frightening to behold. Five years of frustration were riding on that wrecking ball and I gritted my teeth as it neared the point of contact with the house.

The ball connected with the corner of the house with an explosion of flying debris. The ball entered on the side and exited through the back, leaving two clean circles in the corner of the house that looked like giant portholes. I groaned, in my excitement I had hit the house too hard which had minimized the damage. I pulled hard on the brake to stop the cab from twisting, which in turn stopped the boom and caused the five-ton ball to arc high in the air on its cable. I waited for it to reach its summit, released the brake and reversed the swing. I performed the maneuver perfectly and I felt a rush of pride at not losing my touch. The boom groaned, and I wasn't sure if it was from the added weight caused by the momentum of the ball, or because the Swinger felt a rush of mechanical adrenaline. The ball connected again, this time striking from the back and exiting the side of the white house. The result was the same, which was impossible.

I let the boom follow the swing, which caused the ball to lose speed and I released the cable. The five-ton ball fell to the lawn with an audible plop, burying a quarter of its mass. I stared back at the house. Two direct hits should have caused ten times the damage. I had now created two perfect eyeballs in both the back and the side of Soliah's home. The second hit should've caused the upper two stories to crash down upon the first, at least in that corner of the house. What I saw defied logic. The red carpeting on the floor gave the eyes I'd created a fiery glare. I should have taken that as a warning.

I popped open the door and stepped down on the steel cleats of the track, which were covered in ruined grass and soil. The air was still and quiet, the sun resting somewhere around three O'clock. I had expected some sort of a reaction, flying missiles or lightning bolts, something. I had thought Soliah would come flying out the door with a rifle, or much worse. I mistakenly thought that I had caught him out of the house. I hopped down off of the track and approached the first set of holes.

"That's close enough," hissed the Swinger. "I don't like this, Huck. Let's take a few more raps on that old barn, it'll come down."

I paused then continued on toward the house. I had to see what I was up against. Maybe there was a support column inside there that I needed to find. There had to be some sort of clue as to why the place hadn't crumpled or the entire corner hadn't been blasted to bits.

"Huck? Come back here... I've got a _bad_ feeling about this."

I ignored the Swinger and continued to slowly approach the house. I could smell something that smelled like pot roast mixed with the distinct scent of hot apple pie. My stomach nearly screamed. I hadn't realized that I was so hungry. I stepped closer, now merely five feet from the house and well within the danger-zone. I knew better than to do this. I should have stayed safely in the cab of the Swinger until the place was rubble. I could see the kitchen from where I stood and I was close enough to see a single place set at the table.

A steaming bowl of pot roast sat on the table. There was freshly baked bread, a tall glass of milk, and a big slab of apple pie. All I had to do was step inside and take my place at the table. I could hear my stomach growl as I took another two steps and leaned my weight against the house. I tested my weight against it and it seemed solid and sound. The table was eye level and the smells were too much for me to bear. I examined the hole, I could easily climb through.

"Huck!" shouted the Swinger. "You get back here right now!"

"I heard, but I was already climbing inside the kitchen. A man's stomach has its own compass and I was foolishly following mine. The smell was overpowering here and I rushed the last few feet to the table. I gave the room a quick once-over, but a pride of hungry lions could have been stalking me there and I probably wouldn't have noticed. My hunger had robbed me of any sense of reason. I sat down at the table and lunged for the fork.

A hand appeared out of nowhere and it grabbed my wrist with enough strength to nearly crush it. I gasped and found myself staring into the distorted face of Soliah. "Why Huckleberry," he said with absolute delight. "Welcome home." His skin was apple red and the horns on the sides of his head were pearl white. He grinned at me with a set of shark teeth.

I shocked myself by throwing my face forward into the bowl of stew. I still have a hard time believing I did that, but my stomach was still very much in control. Soliah roared with laughter as I began to snarf up the food in great gulps. He continued to laugh as I chomped like a starving pig. Even as I ate, I knew that was exactly what he wanted me to do. The bowl seemed as bottomless as my hunger and I slopped up the food as fast as I possibly could. Suddenly, something wriggled inside my mouth and I jerked my head back. The bowl of pot roast was now full of baby snakes, as was my mouth. They writhed in agony as I had bitten a good many of them in half, the proof was in the bowl. I spit out what I could and cleaned out my mouth with my free hand. One of the snakes bit my tongue just as I began to throw up.

Soliah released me and fell flat on his back, laughing hard enough to shake the entire house. I fell from my chair and found myself on my hands and knees, unable to do anything but expel the contents of my stomach. My eardrums threatened to burst from Soliah's terrible laughter. He did not stop until I had finished. I sat back and felt as weak as a small child. I looked for the holes in the kitchen wall, but they had seemingly vanished. I should have known that it had all been a trap. My stomach had betrayed me.

"My, my," said the Soliah devil. "What a hideous mess you've made, Huckleberry. Now, clean it up!" Soliah's soft voice had become deeper with each word he said, until the last few had sounded like the low notes of a tuba.

He rose to his hoofs and began to circle me as I sat on the floor. I was extremely sick, dizzy and so nauseated that I couldn't look at the floor to see what I had done. He lashed out with one of his hoofs and kicked me hard on the back. "Stop," I pleaded. "Please..."

He kicked me again, this time a wicked shot that caught me on the side of the head. "I ordered you to clean up your mess," growled Soliah. "Did you think I was joking?"

I held my hand to my ear and it came away covered in blood. A tear fell, was this how it was going to end? I certainly thought so. I began to scrape the chunks of vomit into a pile with my bare hands, which only caused me to have another wave of dry heaves. Some of the chunks were still moving. He kicked me again in the lower back; knocking the wind out of me and sending me face-first into the pile I'd created. Whatever strength I had left was instantly gone, I didn't even have enough to lift my head. I managed to roll my head sideways, smearing the mess onto the floor. I closed my eyes and prayed for death.

"Get up!" ordered Soliah. "Get up, or I'll make you hurt in places you can't imagine. You're going to clean that mess up and then you and I are going down into the basement. There are some people down there who would like to see you. We don't want to disappoint them, do we?"

I opened my eyes and saw a metal bucket sitting six inches from my face. Somehow, I managed to sit up and I found the strength to wash the floor. Thankfully, Soliah seemed to be finished with my beating and I gradually came to my senses. I was weak, but the nausea had passed after I was through cleaning up after myself. I got to my feet and stood there defiantly, staring into the face of the devil, himself.

"Today we'll make a man out of you," Soliah quipped in his impossibly deep voice, which was still full of southern charm. "I've been waiting for this day for a long time, Huckleberry. I'm sure that you cannot imagine what this means to me. Today is the day you become master of this house. Today is the day you release me from my earthly duties. I suppose I should thank you for that, but I'm just not ready to do that quite yet. I do hope you will forgive me."

"Get on with it, Soliah," I wheezed. "You don't have to thank me and I sure as hell won't ever forgive you." I then walked to the sink and quickly cleaned myself up. I half expected him to try and stop me, but he stood on his furry legs and waited patiently for me to finish. Looking out the window above the sink, I could see the Swinger where I had left it, standing idle and looking sad on the lawn. Beyond that, standing at the edge of the woods was the Buster. I had let them down. The thought made my eyes burn.

"Follow me, Huckleberry," beckoned Soliah, waving his muscular arm at me. "I've got something to show you in the basement. I promise you won't be disappointed. After you see what's down there, maybe then you and I can make a deal for those earrings?"

I held my hand up to my good ear and felt the bear-claw earring. I moaned softly. There was nowhere to run, even if I suddenly found the strength. I thought I knew what was waiting in the basement and prayed that I still had the power to bargain for their safe release.

I followed Soliah down a short hallway at the back of the house, passing a spare bedroom with a single bed and a small dresser. The room looked ordinary enough until I took a closer look. The mattress looked to have been soaked with blood and a handsaw sat on the dresser. Thick ropes were tied at each corner of the bed and I tried not to imagine what went on in that room. Soliah passed the room without a second look and he stopped in front of the next door down the hallway. He turned to me and smiled. "Here we are," he said, flashing his razor-teeth in a satisfied smile. The oak door was stout and locked with a heavy iron bar. Soliah lifted the bar with his right hand and he set it upright against the wall. He then twisted the knob and opened the door.

The first thing to hit me was the stench. It rose up from the depths and smelled unlike anything that had ever assaulted my tortured nostrils. The air smelled thick and stale, what you might imagine the inside of a coffin to smell like after a few months buried in the earth. I gagged and held my hand over my mouth and nose. Soliah watched me with interest. "Why Huckleberry," he said with amusement. "I would have thought you would be accustomed to bad smells by now."

I walked the final three steps to join him at the stairs and I felt the blood drain from my face. The stairs were made of stone and they looked as old as time. A reddish light emanated from below and it allowed me to see at least one hundred feet down, but the stairs didn't end there. Only Soliah knew how far down they actually went. The stairs were covered in a black moss and the stone walls oozed with slime. The steps were very steep, yet wide enough to allow two men to descend together, but that would bring you dangerously close to those walls and whatever dripped down from above. A tendril of smoke rose from below, glowing red in the eerie light.

I did not want to go down there.

"What's the matter, Huckleberry? You look like someone just shit on your grave."

"What's down there?" I managed to ask. "How far down does it go?"

"When are you going to wake up and smell the coffee?" Soliah asked; his deep refined voice edged in sarcasm. "They go all the way down and you sure as _hell_ know where they lead. You first, my boy, we don't have all day."

I took another look and my feet froze. I stood between Soliah and the door and took a deep breath. I was still weak from my time spent in the kitchen and it was taking all my willpower not to run away as fast as my legs would carry me. "I don't want to go down there," I said. "I don't want to die."

Soliah's eyes bulged from their sockets and he bellowed with a laughter that echoed down the stairwell. He laughed for a long, long, time. "You never cease to amaze me, son. I declare, that is about the funniest thing I have heard in twenty centuries. I would have thought you had figured it out by now. You _are_ dead, my boy, and you _have_ been dead these past five years. Didn't you ever wonder why your life went down the toilet? You let your friends down and have been living in your own little hell. Now, its time for you to see how the other half lives. Move it!"

The words hit me so hard that my knees threatened to buckle. That certainly explained a lot of things, but I had never even considered it. If what he told me was true, how was it possible that I still felt pain, love, and loss? Why did I still feel hunger and humility? If this was death, what did death really mean to anyone? That was my last thought as I felt Soliah's powerful hands slam into my back and I was sent flying into the abyss.

### Chapter Twenty-Six

I rolled down the steps like a bouncing rag doll. I screamed, far too many times to count. The stairs seemed to go down forever and I built speed the further I plummeted. I was certain that I'd break an arm or a leg, or both; but I tumbled on without doing so, as painful as it was. When I hit the stone floor below, far, far below, I was covered with bruises, but intact as far as I could tell. I sat up facing the wall of stairs and I could hear the clickety-clack of Soliah's excited hoofs. I groaned and shook my head. The bitter taste of bile and fear filled my dry mouth.

Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack.

The sound was still far away and I painfully rose to my feet. I turned around and faced an endless vista of pain and suffering. Thousands, no, millions of souls toiled in the great smoldering cavern. They completely ignored me as they went about their work, and I wasn't sure if they saw me at all. They looked as miserable as any new widow and completely drained of strength. Men and women, chained together in a long line of human deprivation. They carried armloads of something that looked like coal, and they were covered from head to toe in black soot. The floor of the cavern was smattered with burning rocks, and they seemed to stretch as far as one could imagine. The heat was nearly too much to bare. Hot air burned inside my lungs.

Clickety-clack, clickety-clack.

I gasped when I saw the first of the trolls. They were roughly three feet tall, plump, but muscular in a way that was grotesque. Like Soliah, thick black fur covered their bare bodies from the waist down. They carried clubs and spiked balls that hung from blackened chains, and wore dark expressions of complete contempt. They seemed to take great pleasure in inflicting pain, and they seldom stood idle. They also ignored me, which I was thankful for. Sweat fell from my forehead and rolled under my arms.

Clickety-clack.

"What do you think of it, Huckleberry? I know it isn't much, but with a little paint and some elbow grease... Why, the possibilities are endless!"

I felt a slap to the back of my head and I turned to face Soliah. "You're a sick bastard," I said. "I'll never give up these earrings until everyone is released from this terrible place. Do you understand me? Never!"

"Release them? Why, wherever would they go? Some of them have been down here for fifty centuries. Should we send them home to their families? No, Huckleberry, these pitiful creatures chose their lot long ago, and they certainly won't be part of any deal. Besides, I couldn't release them even if I had the mind to."

"Why did you take me down here, then? Are you _proud_ of this place?"

Soliah's face clouded over. "Am I proud of this place? What in the world is that supposed to mean? This _place_ was created for me. Why wouldn't I love it?"

I studied his face to see if he was putting me on, which didn't seem to be the case. He thrust out his arms and held them wide, proud as a new parent. "This isn't what we came down here to see, is it?" I asked. "Let's get to it."

Soliah's face lit up. "Good boy, I can see that you're finally starting to smarten up. My word, it's about time. I knew you had to have some of my blood in there. Follow me, Huckleberry, and please, stay close. I won't be held liable if one of my boys takes a dislike to you."

I nodded and followed Soliah, as promised. We followed a stone path littered with bones. I can't be sure, but I think they were fingers. He kept looking over his shoulder with his wicked smile, which caused his long tail to wag. The end of the tail was a pulsing tumor, bright red and lined with veins. I followed it at a safe distance. The sound of his hoof-beats blending with the pitiful moans of those sentenced to eternity. A woman screamed in pain. We walked like that for the better part of an hour, until I was hopelessly lost and deathly afraid of the trolls.

We stopped at the edge of a towering wall of stone, where two trolls stood sentry at a tall door made of iron. They stepped aside, but eyed me suspiciously. "Boys," exclaimed Soliah. "I'd like to introduce you to your new boss. This is Huckleberry Brindle."

I gasped as the trolls got to their stubby knees and bowed their heads to me.

"Pleased to meet you," grunted one of the trolls.

"How are you today, sir?" asked the other.

I quickly turned my head away from them. I certainly wanted no part of leading these evil creatures. "What's behind the door?" I asked, as Soliah removed a large skeleton key from the wall and inserted it into an ancient lock. The lock made an audible click.

"This is what we came down to see. This, my boy, will absolutely _blow_ your mind."

The door slowly swung open and I was amazed to see a great forest and a small village of wigwams next to a wide river. A small fire burned and something was cooking over it. The sun was high in the sky and I felt instantly refreshed as I stepped into the light. As I was getting ready to run, Soliah caught me with an iron claw. "Hold on," he said. "Not so fast. First, you and I have to come to an understanding. This, what you see before you, is forever. You, my boy, are the only person standing between this door and the People that live here. If you agree to my terms, without _reservation_ , then they will continue to live here until the end of eternity. That is the only way those earrings will come off. You have to want to give them to me."

"Take them," I said. "Nobody is stopping you."

"That's where you're wrong, Huckleberry. If that were true, I would already be wearing them. I'm going to do you a favor. Go and spend a few hours with them. Think of it as a last chance to say good-bye. You see, I'm not such a bad guy, after all. I do have my moments. Just remember, if I don't have those earrings in my hand when I come back for you, this is all over for them. They will spend eternity on the other side of this door."

"I believe you," I said, a tear falling from my cheek as I spotted Otis and Goober.

Soliah produced a large hourglass from out of thin air. He grinned and then flipped it over and set it down on the dirt. I looked away from him. "I'll be back when the last grain of sand has fallen. Don't try to run, it won't do any good and they will pay the price for any foolishness."

I turned to respond, but Soliah was gone. So was the door, the stone wall and any sign that they had ever been there. All that remained was the hourglass and a small pile of sand at the bottom. I took a breath and ran toward my friends.

"Dude!" cried Otis, just as I ran up and threw my arms around his neck.

Goober jumped up on his hind legs and placed his paws on my shoulders. He then slobbered my face as I laughed. Tears fell like rain as we rejoiced at our reunion. Something scampered up my leg and climbed up my shirt. I looked down and saw Red, and he suddenly squealed with joy. He climbed to my shoulder and began to lick my ear.

"Where have you been?" Goober asked, finally settling back to his four paws. "We've been really worried about you, Huck."

"Wait until the Oddfather sees you, man," said Otis. "He's going to shit his pants."

"Man Killer is going to be so happy," chirped Red. "She looks for you every day."

"Where are they?" I asked, scanning the horizon. "When will they be back?"

"Tomorrow," said Goober. "They all went to the buffalo fields, the entire village. I'm afraid you're stuck with us until then."

"Don't look so blue, brother," said Otis. "It ain't the end of the world."

I felt dizzy and I quickly sat down and put my head in my hands. The sobs erupted from the deepest place in my heart and I covered my face in agony. I knew they were watching me, waiting for me to put my emotions in check. How could they have any idea, as to what the truth really was? I would never see my grandfather, or my wife, ever again. Wherever the buffalo fields were, I doubted that we could get there in an hour. The thought made me unbearably sad. The bottom had fallen out of my world, quite literally.

I knew I couldn't spend my last hour here crying like a baby. I got up and walked down to the riverbank where I stuck my head in the cool water and slowly began to pull myself together. Otis, Goober, and Red, stood where they had been, looking a little confused and I knew that I needed to tell them something. I thought that maybe if I just told them some of what I knew, it would be better than leaving them in the dark. I rubbed my face and shook my head, I then walked back up to join them.

"Go on, spit it out," Otis said, sitting back on his hind legs.

"I can't stay long," I said, wondering how much I should tell them. "I've got to go back to my place and time and I don't know if I'll ever see you guys again."

"Soliah," hissed Goober. "What has he done to you this time?"

"Nothing that concerns you; I need you guys to promise me that you'll tell Man Killer and my grandfather how much I love them. I was hoping to do it, myself."

"We could help you," said Red, who had climbed up on my shoulder. He sunk his little paws into my cheek. "We won't let anyone take you away, will we boys?"

"Not while I'm still standing," agreed Goober, who was pacing between me and Otis. "I'll put a call out to the pack, what we need are reinforcements."

"Good idea," said Otis. "We need an army. How long do we got?"

"No," I said. "You don't understand. There isn't anything you can do."

I had never heard Goober howl with such an urgency. The howl started low and throaty, but the pitch gradually increased and the last notes were off the scale. The sound hurt my ears and had probably carried for ten miles.

Red scampered down from my shoulder and dashed away without saying another word. I knew where he was heading and my heart broke because of it. One squirrel or ten thousand, it wasn't going to matter.

"Look at me, Huck," barked Goober. "How long do we have?"

"An hour...actually, a little less than that."

"We have an hour. Otis, you know where they're at. I need you to run like you've never run in your life. You need to find the Oddfather."

"You're kidding, right? I'm supposed to just prance out to the Happy Hunting Grounds and find Odd Whitefeather? What do you suppose they do when they're over there, play checkers?"

"It's the only way!" Goober growled. "I thought whitetail bucks were supposed to be sneaky."

"We are, and I'm the sneakiest buck in the forest. Okay, Goob, I'll find them. I just have one question, what's an _hour_?"

"I don't know, just hurry up! And don't call me Goob!"

"Goob-Goob-Goob-Goob!" snorted Otis as he bounded away across the river and into the woods.

"That guy really knows how to get under my fur."

We were alone and I sat back in the tall grass and stared into the bluest sky that I had ever seen. Goober trotted over and squatted down next to me. "Okay, Huck, I need you to start from the beginning and tell me everything. We can figure this out, just the two of us. I can be pretty sly when I put my mind to it. I have to know what we're up against."

I knew it was hopeless, but somehow they had given me hope. I continued staring into that bluest of skies, and I began to recount everything that had happened since I had last seen him. I told him about the unseen wall and what waited on the other side. I went on to tell him about Soliah's desire for the earrings and about how I needed to give them to him, without reservation. When I had finished I found that I felt a whole lot better. I sat up and looked at Goober, who had begun to pace again.

"Okay, so what do you think will happen when he comes back? Do you think he'll come in through that door you mentioned? Show me where it is, come on."

"I don't see it, anymore. It's over there, somewhere," I gestured with my hand, pointing toward where I thought I had entered their world."

"By that funny-looking glass thing?"

"Yeah."

Goober trotted off and inspected the area. Satisfied, he lifted his leg above the hourglass and stood there for nearly thirty seconds. He then hurried back to where I sat, looking quite pleased with himself. I could clearly see that half of the sand had already passed to the bottom chamber.

"Otis will never get back in time," I said.

"Who needs Otis? You and I are going to take on whatever comes through that door. Do you understand that? We're not going to go down like a couple of cowards. This is it Huck, this is what separates the pups from the big dogs."

"This is my fight. I'm not going to get you involved. Let me handle Soliah."

"Right," growled Goober. "And you've done such a good job of that, haven't you, kid? I'll bet Soliah is just shaking in his boots. You're not going to tuck your tail between your legs, are you? Aren't you supposed to be a _man_ , or something? I thought that was supposed to mean something."

"Will you knock it off? You haven't heard a word of what I just said. He's too powerful..."

"I'm tempted to take a chunk out of you, myself. Never give up! Being a big dog or a man is all about facing your fears and showing some courage. We're not licked, yet. I don't give a crap what you do. I'll take on whatever Soliah throws at us."

I was about to respond to that when I heard something behind me. One of Goober's pack had snuck up behind me and was sniffing my ear. He then licked the side of my face. "You need some muscle?" he growled.

I got to my feet and gasped. The clearing was crawling with wolves. There must have been nearly a thousand that I could see. I thought that more might be lurking in the woods, or still on their way. The sight nearly took my breath away and I had my first optimistic thought of the day.

"Thanks for coming, buddy," said Goober.

"What are friends for?" asked the other wolf.

"Oh my God," I said. "Will you look at that?"

"Look at what?" asked Goober, turning to look in the direction I was pointing.

The grass of the prairie began to fall as if it were being pulled down by its very roots. Red suddenly bounded up my shoulder and he nuzzled his head against my cheek. "My friends are here," he said.

A massive swarm of small furry creatures surrounded the area in which we stood.

"Holy shit," muttered Goober. "Where did you find them?"

"I've got friends," said the squirrel. "How do you want to play this?"

"We take no prisoners. Huck says that Soliah is going to come through a door over by that glass thing. He says that we can't see it, but it's there. I say we surround that place and attack the second he steps through that door."

"Sounds good to me," agreed Red. "I see that you've got a few friends of your own, that's good."

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Goober, sticking his snout a few inches from the squirrel's little head.

"Why do you always have to be like this? I was just trying to pay you a compliment. You don't have to be so touchy."

"I can't help it; you and Otis are always trying to make me look dumb. Don't you deny it either."

"Wolves," muttered Red. "You've got such thin skin."

I turned away and something caught my eye from across the river. Otis stood there, proud and tall. On his back was the unmistakable form of Man Killer. Between us were ten million rabbits, squirrels, moles, mink, and badgers. I saw porcupines, beaver, muskrat, and chipmunks. They milled together in a great angry mass and I could see why Otis had stopped. He couldn't go any further without stepping on them. "Man Killer!" I shouted, waving my hand in the air.

"That was pretty fast," said Goober.

"Otis had better not trample any of my friends," said Red. "They'll take him down."

"Tell them to move out of the way and let them through," I nearly screamed at Red.

Red almost laughed. "You're kidding me, right? Even if I could speak a dozen different languages at one time, they could never hear me. Look at them!"

I took a closer look at the little animals and I could see what Red meant. They appeared to have been worked into a frenzy and some were frothing at the mouth. Their little eyes glowed and most sat on their hind legs and clawed at the air. "What's the matter with them?" I asked. "Why are they acting so crazy?"

"You have got to understand something Huck; this is about a whole lot more than you think it is. What you're looking at are cornered animals. They know that if we fail to defeat Soliah that it's all over. They have families, homes, lives of their own. The important thing is that they are here. You'll get to be with your wife, soon enough."

I could see Otis searching frantically for a way across the open prairie. There was two hundred yards between us, but the earth was covered in brown fur and he had no choice but to remain where he was.

"Its show-time," growled Goober. "Look what the cat just dragged in."

While we had our backs turned, the door between the two worlds had been opened. The Soliah-devil stood on his cloven hoofs, just outside of his kingdom. One hundred yards of tall grass separated us. He held the hourglass in one of his red hands and he pointed to the empty top with the other. "Time's up, Huckleberry," he said, looking at us with smug contempt.

My mouth immediately became as dry as sand. I tried to speak, but I had absolutely no idea what to say. Should I walk back to the other side and bid my friends farewell? That would prevent any bloodshed. What stopped me from doing so was what Goober had said about being a man. I was done running.

"Huckleberry?" shouted Soliah, who was starting to look confused. "We had a deal. You're going to get your friends killed. You know that, don't you?"

The way he said that, with such complete apathy and confidence, made my blood run hot. I gritted my teeth and charged at him like a bull. The wolves took my flanks and I could feel the ground rumbling with millions of little feet. The look on Soliah's face changed from amusement to complete shock. We covered fifty yards in no time at all and I screamed something. A wolf howled, and he was quickly joined by the others.

Much to my disappointment, Soliah wisely stepped back into his own world and he threw the door closed. Both he and the door vanished without a trace. We were less than ten yards away as I heard it slam shut. We had been that close. We slowed our charge and finally stopped after we'd stepped across where the door had been. I joined in with the wolves and growled with fury. I turned to see the wave of furry creatures slow to a crawl and was further disappointed to see that Otis and Man Killer hadn't moved an inch. The void created by our charge had instantly been filled by more of the little animals. I secretly wished that Red wouldn't have invited so many. I put my hands on my hips and realized that I was twice as far away from them now. Man Killer waved at me and I waved back in frustration.

The sun was high in the blue sky and a slight breeze blew through my hair. I stood there feeling helpless and a little foolish, wondering what I should do next. Suddenly, the wind began to lash out at me with such incredible force, that it nearly knocked me over. The sky instantly turned black and the air grew suffocatingly hot. I turned around and every ounce of courage left my body at once. We were doomed.

Soliah had somehow taken the wall down between our two worlds and I found myself suddenly staring into the faces of a million or more of the damned souls. They were filthy and dressed in rags, and there was blood in their eyes. They stood in the glowing red light of their world in an endless line that went as far as the eye could see in both directions. I heard Goober's distinctive growl.

And that's how it started.

We met head on, like two tidal waves meeting in the middle of the ocean. There were screams from both sides as death reared its ugly head. I saw the wolves tearing men to pieces, men scooping up small animals and chomping down on them with a ravenous hunger. The trolls seemed to be leading their troops as they fought. I began to punch and kick, to bite and claw, just as Otis had taught me, what seemed like years ago.

We were slowly pushed back, but not without a fight. The little creatures were hurling themselves into the faces of their attackers, and they went straight for the eyes. The tortured screaming of the blinded men and women was nearly too much to bear. They stumbled around and impeded the progress of those behind them. I punched a thin man hard in the nose and it exploded like an over-ripe plum. I watched a group of porcupines unleash their sharp quills on a group of men. The men fell on their backs in complete agony.

Still, Soliah's army was far superior to our own. Though they were mostly unarmed, there were far too many of them and they continued to pour across the divide between heaven and hell, which is how I had begun to see it. The trolls lashed out with their clubs and maces, sending blood and fur flying in every direction. I watched four of them beat a lone wolf to a bloody pulp. We were now fighting in the village, having been pushed back some two hundred yards. The wigwams were blazing with fire and the air was thick with smoke. We were going to have to retreat across the river, there were just too many of them.

When I looked at the river I nearly cried. What had been crystal-clear water only a few minutes before, had suddenly turned into a flowing stream of molten lava. I watched in horror as more and more of our armada were driven into the lava. I gasped as I saw them instantly catch fire and burn like candles. The sound of their terrified screams rose to an ear-splitting pitch. Goober flung a man aside and joined me in a fight with three of the trolls.

"We have to get across the river," he barked, snatching one of the trolls by a stubby leg, before tossing him like a ragdoll into the flowing lava. "Do you have a plan?"

By that time we were standing on the very bank of the orange-colored river. I could feel the heat at my back and could smell cooked flesh. I hoped it wasn't my own. I did not have a plan and thought that we would be dead in a few seconds. I lashed out at a troll and caught the little runt with a karate chop to the throat. I turned on the last of the trolls, but Goober had him on his back, where he viscously ripped out his throat like so much spaghetti. He spit it out as the troll lay quivering on his back. "Down there," Goober screamed, pointing like a black lab. "We can cross on those rocks!"

I looked in that direction and saw five or six large rocks that stretched out in a line across the boiling river. They had been worn flat and looked to be about ten feet apart at their widest. I had no hope that we could make it, but we had no choice but to try. Goober howled to his remaining friends and I made a grab for Red, who had his sharp teeth buried into the neck of a man without any eyes. Blood poured from the empty sockets and he clawed at thin air in agony.

"No!" screeched Red. "What are you doing?"

"We're crossing the river!" I said. "We have to try!"

"Put me down!"

I didn't listen to him and I felt awful about that. I knew he would rather die next to his friends, rather than abandon them on the battlefield. I followed Goober and we began to run. One hundred feet separated us from the bridge of rocks and any hope of living. Red bit my finger and I screamed with pain. He kept screeching for me to put him down, even as I followed Goober in a burst of speed as he leapt onto the first of the rocks. I timed my leap perfectly and planted both of my feet on the flat surface. I dipped down and did a bunny hop to the second rock, the largest of the group and about ten feet in circumference. Goober waited for me there.

"You bastards!" shrieked Red. "How could you do this to me? Let's go _back_! I want to go _back_!"

"Ready?" asked Goober, completely ignoring Red. "This one is going to be tricky. Don't stop, I think we need to keep our paws moving."

I looked down at my feet and nodded my head. I got the point. "After you," I said, tucking Red close to my chest. He was twisting like a cat above a tub of water and it was all I could do to hang onto him.

The heat from the bubbling river was so overpowering that I nearly fell over. The temperature had to be close to boiling and I could feel my skin begin to blister. I watched Goober choose a line and he threw himself onto the next rock. Without a second thought he leapt across the three remaining rocks, which looked very small from where I stood. Goober landed with bare inches to spare and he quickly turned and howled for me to jump. I took a deep breath and charged across the flat surface of the boulder. That is all I remember, but the next thing I knew I was standing next to Goober on the opposite bank. We were safe, at least for the time being.

"Oh shit," growled Goober. "That's got to hurt like hell."

"What do you mean?" I asked, setting Red down where he promptly bit my left ankle. "Knock it off!" I screamed. "We would have all been killed!"

"Your face..." said Goober, his voice trailing off to a whisper.

That was when I looked at my hands and I began to silently scream. They were swollen and horribly blistered. My poor fingers looked like baked hams and even then I could feel the intense pain. But Goober hadn't been talking about my hands and I moaned in terror.

"Serves you right!" squealed Red. "Look!"

The fighting was all but over on the other side of the boiling river. We were the only ones who had been able to cross and those we had left behind were being mercilessly slaughtered. A teardrop fell from my eye and it burned as it traveled down by blistered cheek. I went to brush it away, but Goober caught my arm softly with his teeth. "You might not want to touch your face," he growled. "Its pretty messed up."

I nodded, trying to imagine how I looked to them. Red was turning in circles, furious that I'd taken him across the river against his will. The victors stood on their side of the river and stared stupidly at us. They began tossing the wounded creatures into the river and they shrieked with laughter as the animals cried out in pain.

"You bastards!" screamed Red. "I'll kill you all for this! Do you hear me! "I'll kill you all!"

I looked to Goober, but he was slinking away, no doubt feeling shame and a great sense of loss. Once again he had lost his pack and it had been my fault. The creatures that stood on this side of the river began to part and I slowly followed Goober to where Otis and Man Killer waited. The pain seemed to double with every step I took. The walk seemed to take an eternity.

I caught Man Killer's eye from across the sea of little animals and I could plainly see that she was horrified by the sight of me. I had become the Incredible Melting Man and I was coming to claim my terrified wife. Goober's blackened fur was smoldering and I could smell him as we walked past the animals. They looked frightened and on the verge of an all out retreat. I couldn't blame them a bit.

"No!" cried Man Killer as I crossed the final twenty paces to where she stood next to Otis. Just hearing her voice and seeing her expression was enough to open the flood gates. I cried like a lost child.

"Don't!" Goober barked, but it was too late. I rubbed my right eye and what seemed like half of my cheek slid off onto my cooked fingers. I screamed in horror at the sight. I could feel my right eye droop in its socket, and half of my field of vision fell to the ground. The sensation was not unlike falling out of an airplane, or at least that is how I imagined it to feel.

Man Killer stepped back and I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Holy shit," said Otis. "They turned you into a monster over there, didn't they, Huck? Oh, that's messed up, man. I'm gonna really kick some ass over this, you wait and see. Oh, that's so gross... Oh!" And with that, Otis dropped his head and vomited into the grass. I had never seen a deer throw up before and all I wanted to do was run away. The pain and humiliation had become too much to bear. I sank to my knees and began to wail.

"My poor boy," soothed a familiar voice. "What have they done to you?"

I slowly opened my good eye and looked into the face of my grandfather.

" _The_ _Oddfather_ ," a thousand animal voices spoke reverently as one.

He looked at me with so much pity that I could hardly stand it. He then stood tall and shook his fist at those who stood across the river. "You will pay for this!" he cried. "No one messes with a member of my family and gets away with it! Do you hear me?"

"Can you help me?" I begged, keeping my face turned down in shame.

"I'm so sorry, grandson, but here I am just a normal man. I think we all have lost our powers."

Man Killer burst out in a terrible fit of grief. She ran to my side and carefully hugged my shoulders.

My grandfather kneeled down next to us. "Where are Crooked Walker and Dog Breath?"

I pointed across the river. "Over there," I managed to say, just before I tipped over and passed out from the pain.

### Chapter Twenty-Seven

I woke up to a different world. I was lying in a bed and looking out an open window. The sky was once again blue and the air felt cool on my scorched skin. I could feel that my face had been bandaged and I was looking at the world through a slit in the bandages over my left eye. I had absolutely no idea where I was and I lay there contemplating my situation.

"You're awake," exclaimed Abe Steinman. He crossed the room and began brushing the top of my head with his wrinkled hand. "We've been worried sick about you."

Theresa and the three girls rushed into the room and stood over me, looking both happy and full of pity at the monster lying on the soft bed. Me. "Does it still hurt?" Theresa asked. "It's a good thing Abe brought you here, I'm a nurse and Amanda here is pre-med. We've been feeding you with a tube and giving you morphine. You've been sleeping for nearly a week."

"How did I get here?" I asked; my tongue feeling like an old chunk of shoe leather.

"I brought you here," said Abe. "You would have died if I had left you behind."

"What about everyone else?"

Abe looked away and faced out the window. Even with only one eye, I could see a cloud of sadness cross the old man's face. "They are in the fight of their lives."

I sprang up from the sheets and the room began to swim. Pain shot through my body with such intensity that I lost the ability to scream. I clawed at the air and fell back on the pillows. The world once again became a dark place, one without dreams or sense of time.

It might have been a day later, or a week, I never knew. I opened my eyes and examined my hand. The bandages had been removed and I found that my hand had mostly healed. I held up the other one, and it too looked to be nearly as good as new. I tenderly felt the side of my face and it felt like I was touching the surface of the moon. I recoiled at the sensation, realizing that my right eye was still staring straight down. In all of my years I had never felt so much self pity. I groaned as the tears fell.

I was alone and the house was quiet. I slowly sat up and could feel the pull of tubes that had been inserted into my body. I pulled them free with an audible plop and rose to my feet. I wanted to find a mirror, and I didn't want to find a mirror. I had never felt such fear.

I looked at the walls of the little bedroom. They were decorated with old photographs. A bookcase occupied one wall and the shelves were crammed with dusty-looking copies of hard-covers. I walked out the door and into the hallway. A steep set of stairs lay to my right, a short hallway stretched out to my left. I could see the bathroom down at the end of that hallway. I took a deep breath and headed towards it.

I found the light-switch and flipped it on. The bathroom was small, with just enough room for a single occupant to conduct their business. I stepped inside and faced my reflection in the mirror.

And I began to scream.

I stumbled out of the bathroom with my hands over my distorted face. I don't know what I had expected, but I certainly hadn't expected to see that I'd become the Creature from the Black Lagoon. I took the stairs two at a time, wanting to get out of the house and as far away from there as possible. I was out of the game and only cared to somehow find my way back to the here and now, and with any luck I could go back to my old life. I told myself that if I went to bed back in my trailer, I might actually wake up and find out that this had all been some kind of an epic nightmare. I hit the bottom of the stairs and walked straight for the door. I nearly screamed again when I opened it to find Crooked Walker standing there.

"Yikes," he said, looking at me with wonder. "I'll bet that must have hurt."

"Don't look at me," I stammered. "I want to go home."

"But we need you," Crooked Walker said flatly. "Odd Whitefeather and Man Killer are in the middle of a great battle. Would you abandon your wife and grandfather when they need you?"

I brushed past him without a word, and sitting on the porch with his back to the house was Abe Steinman. He smiled and gave me a friendly wave. I stopped and turned back to Crooked Walker. "What can I possibly do to help them? I keep making things worse."

"You still have the earrings," Abe said in a soft voice. "That is what Soliah really wants. They are more powerful than you know."

"Yeah?" I said, turning on Steinman. "Well, they certainly haven't done anything for me."

"That is because you do not know how to use them," Crooked Walker said, pointing to a wicker rocking-chair. "Sit down and let us explain. Do not interrupt us."

Like a child obeying his father, I reluctantly sat down on the rocker and stared straight ahead. I would listen, but after that I was going home. I was a beaten man.

Crooked Walker gave me a hard look and began to speak. "Long before the white man arrived to our land, there was a great bear that lived in these woods. He was called One Ear, because of an accident he had as a young cub. One Ear grew to be as tall as ten men and when he walked the ground would shake."

One Ear was beginning to sound a lot like Barney and I listened as Crooked Walker chronicled the life and times of One Ear. Like Barney, this bear was a good friend to have on your side and a terrible enemy. Crooked Walker told the story of how the bear befriended a small band of Ojibwe who were locked in a deadly battle with the Lakota Sioux. One Ear found the Lakota camp and devoured their Medicine Man. His name was Hollowfoot. What he didn't know was that the Medicine Man was very powerful and that he would live inside his belly for many years. Crooked Walker went on to say that the earrings were cut from One Ear's mouth after he died. They were the tips of his canine teeth and contained great magic.

"They still do," agreed Abe. "You just need to believe in their power."

"That is right," said Crooked Walker. "You need to believe in the spirit of Hollowfoot and One Ear. You need to believe that good will overcome evil and that the Great Spirit will guide you to the right places, but it is up to you to make the right decisions. Do you believe that?"

I put my face in my hands and thought about that. I had seen enough to believe what they said about Hollowfoot and One Ear. I just had a hard time believing that the Great Spirit had guided me to the right places. I had always tried to do the right thing and where had it gotten me? Was all of this my true destiny? Was I supposed to be happy about my life? I pulled my hands away and a chunk of flesh, the size of a silver dollar stuck to my left hand.

"Oh," said Abe. "You really shouldn't touch your face while it's healing."

I shook my head as Abe quickly got to his feet and rushed over to me. He gently peeled the skin from my hand and placed it back on my cheek. He pressed it back into place, adjusting it with a little twist. Satisfied, he returned back to the bench he was sitting on. I sat there, too numb to think of anything but my own self pity.

"You did not answer the question," exclaimed Crooked Walker. "Am I wasting my breath? This is a big moment for you, Huckleberry. Do not let it slip from your fingers."

I stared at the old man in his buckskins and the Red Wing boots. His deeply lined face was deadly serious and his brown eyes seemed to look right through me, directly into my soul. That was the moment when I let go of my troubled past, ruined face and all. "I do believe in all of that," I said. "I'm sorry, I've only been thinking of myself."

The smiles on their faces were bright enough to light up a large city. "Grab a hold of the earrings and repeat what you just said," Abe said, excitedly. "Hurry, there isn't much time."

I looked to Crooked Walker; he was nodding his head enthusiastically. I took an earring in each hand. "I believe in all of that and I ask for forgiveness."

"Oh my," said Abe. He was staring at me with wide eyes. Crooked Walker actually backed up two steps.

Something was happening, my head began to swim and I closed my eyes. I felt a sudden surge of unbelievable energy and heard something that sounded like the glorious notes of a trumpet. I sat like that for the better part of a minute. When I opened my eyes I looked at the old men in front of me. They looked utterly shocked, yet very happy. I examined my hand and found that it had completely changed. The burns were gone and I was no longer wearing the cotton dressing gown. My arm was bare and there were muscles in places that there had never been. Thick veins stood out like cords and my skin was the color of an old penny. I quickly reached up and gently touched my cheek, it felt baby smooth and undamaged. A tear fell from my eyes.

"How do you like that?" Crooked Walker said to himself. "Go in the house and find a mirror. The Great Spirit has spoken."

"He certainly has," Abe added. "My room is a mess. You can use the one in the bathroom."

I quickly stood up and realized that I was wearing nothing more than a breechcloth and a pair of moccasins. My legs looked like they had been sculpted by Michelangelo. I further examined myself, my chest was broad my stomach was as flat as an ironing board. I let out a little yip of excitement and bolted into the house. I nearly slipped on the wood floor as my feet slid like bald tires on ice. I laughed as I regained my balance and I headed down the hallway into the bathroom. I threw on the light and stood before the mirror in shock.

My face had completely healed and I now looked almost completely different. My hair was long and as black as coal, I wore three white eagle feathers on a leather headband. My nose had grown some and my chin jutted out solidly. My eyes and mouth were the same, just enough so that I could still recognize myself. There wasn't a whisker to be found on my face and my teeth were brilliant white. What really took my breath away was that I had grown nearly a foot taller and that my body was solid muscle. I flexed my arms in the mirror and gasped. Could this possibly be me?

"That's enough of that," said Crooked Walker from the bathroom door. "We do not want you to fall in love with yourself."

I was guided back outside and it seemed like I was walking on the clouds. I remember Crooked Walker showing me how to aim the bottom of the earrings at things. "Like this," he said, taking one of them in his fingers and pointing it at a garbage can. "Imagine now that the big bucket is Soliah." I did and the "big bucket" exploded into something that looked like a steel banana peel. I grinned like a schoolboy with his first rifle.

The three of us continued on like that for the rest of the afternoon. When Crooked Walker tired, Abe was right there to show me something new. They complimented each other perfectly, like two car salesmen showing me the unlimited options of the ultimate sports-car. We had barely finished when the familiar sky-blue Saturn rolled into the driveway. The look on Theresa and the girl's faces was priceless. They got out of the car and stood there, their mouths hanging open in shock. The three of us walked over to join them.

"Mr. Brindle has made a remarkable recovery, hasn't he?" asked Abe.

Theresa stepped forward and gawked at me. "All right, _somebody_ has some explaining to do!"

"Sorry girls, there is no time for that. Crooked Walker and Mr. Brindle have something to do and I have taken up enough of their time. What's for dinner?"

"What's for dinner?" asked Theresa, looking wildly at Abe. "What the heck is going on around here?"

"We had better go," said Crooked Walker. "Nice to meet you..."

Crooked Walker turned to leave and I followed him on my new legs. I wanted to go, to run, and to jump. But mostly, I wanted to fight. New muscles can sometimes do that to a man. Crooked Walker walked into the woods and I followed him as Theresa viscously grilled Abe for information. I had a good laugh about that.

### Chapter Twenty-Eight

We walked for what seemed like hours, but we never crossed a fence or a road. The sun slowly fell in the sky and at just before dark we came upon the glow of a small campfire. I could see a solitary form squatted over the fire and the smell of cooking meat made my stomach rumble. I began to run as I recognized the man as Dog Breath.

He looked up at me and smiled, yet there was no sign of shock in his face. He looked as if he had expected me to come, and to arrive as an Ojibwe Brave. "Buffalo Head," he said. "Sit down and have some elk. I made it just for you."

Crooked Walker followed me into the little camp and he stretched his limbs. "It has been a long day and I am very hungry. That elk smells good, grandfather."

"The elk is not for you, it is for Buffalo Head. There are some dried toads in that sack over there. Help yourself. They are not too bad with a little salt."

Crooked Walker made a sour face and walked over to look inside the bag. He shook his head in disgust before popping a dead toad into his mouth.

Dog Breath took me by the shoulder and sat me down at the fire. He then took the huge chunk of elk from the fire and handed it to me on the stick it had been cooking on. I ate hungrily as Dog Breath watched me, he was obviously very happy to see me and it showed in his eyes. Crooked Walker looked glum and not very interested in his toads.

"I think I smell Soliah!" I shouted, standing up and pointing off into the blackness. "That way!"

Both Crooked Walker and Dog Breath leapt to their feet. Dog Breath charged out of the camp, letting out a fierce war whoop as he ran. When Crooked Walker went to follow, I held out my arm and stopped him. I then handed him the remains of the elk steak, which was nearly half. I pointed in the other direction. "Go," I said.

Crooked Walker licked his lips and smiled. He then headed off into the opposite direction as Dog Breath had gone and disappeared into the woods.

Crooked Walker was the first to arrive back at the fire. Dog Breath came back a few minutes later. "I did not see anything," he said. "Your nose must have been playing tricks on you."

"That is what I said," agreed Crooked Walker.

Dog Breath eyed the two of us, suspiciously. He simply nodded his head and took his place at the fire. After a little while, he pulled out his pipe and the little pouch of tobacco from the satchel he carried over his back. "Now, it is time to smoke. We must pray to the Great Spirit to guide us on our journey."

I sat with my legs crossed as we smoked tobacco from the long pipe. The fire felt warm on my face and crickets chirped in the distance. I prayed like I had never prayed in my life, I think we all did, and when the pipe finally burnt up all of the tobacco, the old men curled up on their sides and closed their eyes. I did the same and quickly drifted off into a deep sleep.

We woke at first light and we quickly broke camp. The morning was chilly and I wished for a light jacket and a pair of blue jeans. Dog Breath offered me the sack of toads and I shook my head. "I am still full of elk," I said.

Dog Breath peered into the bag and then looked back at me. "I would say you are about half full," he said, cocking his head.

I quickly excused myself and dashed off into the woods. When I came back, Dog Breath never said another word about the toad sack or the elk. I was happy for that. I did not want him to be cross with me. We began to walk down a whisper of a trail that led through the tall pines. Dog Breath led the way and he seemed to be in a great hurry. With Crooked Walker following at his heels, he strode down the trail like a man on a mission. I had to do my best to keep up, which surprised me. I had thought they would slow me down and it looked as if the exact opposite was true. They were constantly reminding me to stick close.

The sun was obscured by clouds, which made it very difficult to estimate the time. I don't know how far we walked, but my feet began to get sore. I guess my new skin still needed to develop calluses. Just as I was about to ask if we could take a breather, the forest thinned and we walked out into a wide open prairie. What I saw there stopped me dead in my tracks. Thousands of the Original People, of every creed and age, had gathered on the prairie around a roaring fire. A great cry rose from them as we walked out of the woods.

A few hours later I would find myself in the middle of my worst nightmare.

I stuck close to Crooked Walker and Dog Breath as we were welcomed into the group. The camp was buzzing with activity and I quickly found myself riding bareback on one of horses, which is something I had never done before. It seemed that we were the last pieces to the puzzle and the men were in a great hurry to leave once we arrived in their camp. Dog Breath selected a dark brown Bay for me to ride and I took to it like a fish to water. We rode across the open prairie and soon the forest was a distant memory. The temperature seemed to be falling fast. I followed behind Crooked Walker while Dog Breath rode at the front with the leaders of the group. The sound of clomping hoof-beats across the prairie and the snorting of horses were the only sounds I heard for a long time.

Most of the men were armed with long bows and many carried lances. I saw war clubs and stone hatchets, but none of the men appeared to be carrying any firearms. I was unarmed, except for the two teeth that dangled from my earlobes. I prayed that they would protect us.

We crossed a shallow river and the terrain began to roll with hills and valleys. Up and down we trotted across the never-ending sea of tall green grass and wildflowers. We followed the riders down to the bottom of the largest of these hills where the leaders had stopped. There, we spread out in a great line that stretched nearly as far as my eyes could see in both directions. My stomach churned as I realized that whatever waited for us was waiting on the other side of the tall grass of the great hill. We rode together in a single line, climbing up and up, ever closer to the precipice and I could feel my heart beating inside my chest.

Crooked Walker rode close and he gave me a hard look. "Stick close to me," he said softly. I nodded my head just as we topped the rise.

What I saw before us was enough to take my breath away. A wide valley stretched out in a massive bowl that was teaming with men and animals. They seemed to be running in our direction. What looked like a solid wall of reddish black smoke rose to the sky from the opposite side of the valley. This smoking cloud seemed to be pursuing the men and animals below. We paused at the top for less than a minute as our line formed at the top of the ridge. I desperately searched for Man Killer and my grandfather as we waited there, but the shapes were too far away to make out and my heart sank as I realized that the smoke was moving much faster than the men and animals could run.

A loud whoop erupted from the middle of our group and our horses bolted down the hill at a full gallop. The sound of thousands of hoofs trampling the earth, thundered in my ears. I held onto my reigns and continued my search. The further down we traveled, the less I thought the chances were that I would find them in this stampeding herd of men and animals that was headed straight for us. They began to part in the middle as they saw us approaching and we were soon swallowed whole by the terrified creatures that had been fleeing the approaching storm of death. I cringed when I saw that most of the men and animals bore wounds, some were missing entire limbs. They were ravaged and bloody, but the sight of us coming down the hill seemed to reenergize them and they began to circle around us in a great arc. Crooked Walker turned on his Mustang and gave me a solemn look. The look only lasted a second, but I understood it completely. He was saying good-bye. We slowed our charge to a trot and prepared to meet whatever was inside the spreading gloom.

A long brown cougar, bloody and nearly exhausted, turned tail and joined us on the skirmish line. He slipped in between us, his paws digging up chunks of the trampled grass. He was a brave animal. I remember thinking that as we were enveloped by the blackness.

The air was nearly too thick to breathe and I fought to see anything beyond my own nose. Screams began to break the silence and some ended so abruptly that it sent chills up my spine. I urged the Bay forward, but the horse was having none of that. I could feel him stiffen as the smoke began to slowly clear and the red light began to glow with increasing intensity. I swallowed hard as I caught my first glimpse of the blackened soil. A white skull was staring back at me with hollow eyes. I then saw another, and pieces of another.

A troll flew out of the murk with uncanny speed. He charged at the Bay with something that looked like a pitchfork. His squashed features were set in a deadly grimace and he held the pitchfork leveled at my Bay's chest as he dashed forward. The Bay reared up, and just before the troll was able to deliver the blow, the cougar leapt onto the troll and sank its teeth into his hairy face. The pitchfork fell to the ground and there was a brief struggle. The Bay had nearly thrown me and I scooted forward as the big animal dropped back down on its front legs. The entire incident took only a few seconds, but the faceless troll was lying on the ground and looked like a half-eaten apple. The cougar was already gone.

I could now see ten to twelve feet inside the suffocating reddish-blackness. I took a firm grip on the reigns as the Bay turned in a tight circle. The sound of the ferocious battle was all around me, yet I had met up with only a single troll. I spotted a lance lying on the ground, the business end dripping with blood. I let go of the reigns and slipped to the ground. The troll had taught me that I wasn't as good as I thought I was. I had nearly gotten my horse killed. I picked up the lance, it was heavy, but well-balanced and it felt good to hold it. I turned, but the Bay had vanished. Before this had time to even register in my brain, a group of five or six trolls stepped out of the mist. They smiled at me.

They made a fatal mistake and tried to surround me. That gave me time to drop the lance and take hold of the bear's teeth with both hands. What happened next was sudden and violent. I spun on my heels and as I did, the trolls began to burst like rotten fruit. I completed the circle and spun another time. All that remained were some weapons and the hairy, overgrown feet of my attackers. One of them had been carrying a sword and I bent forward to pick it up. The weapon felt better than the lance. The sword was perhaps eighteen inches long and it looked as old as time. I swung it in an arc and then back again.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I felt something behind me. I turned, just in time to avoid being run through by another of the wicked little trolls. This one was dressed in rags and wore an expression of complete madness. He quickly composed himself and lashed out with a sword that looked identical to mine. I met the blow and there was a loud clash of steel. The troll was muscular and determined to kill me. I held my sword with both hands and swung my blade hard, straight down at the troll's matted skull. The troll stuck his sword up in the air, hanging onto both ends as the blades came together. His block saved his life, but he now had a split scalp and it looked as if he had lost a thumb.

"My thumb," the troll muttered in disbelief. "You bastard!"

We fought for the better part of a minute. I met his charges and he met mine. He was very fast, even with only one hand. Blood squirted from his missing digit, and dripped down his oval-face and into his tangled beard. I could see his yellow teeth clenched with fury as he continued to swing his blade. He grunted like an animal with each clash of steel.

A whitetail deer bounded past us, close enough to nearly knock the both of us over. The deer was engulfed in flames and it was bleating like a stuck pig. My troll dropped his blade for a fraction of a second and began to chuckle. "Let's go get some cooked venison," he grunted. He then roared with laughter. I took the opportunity to sink my blade into his exposed belly. He looked at me with shock in his eyes. "You weren't supposed to do that," he said. Then he dropped to his knees and awkwardly pitched forward. His big feet kicked like he was trying to swim away, but then he was still. I gave him a kick and picked up his sword. I hadn't liked his joke and felt no pity for the creature.

I walked on, killing at least five of the trolls in more or less the same manner. I continued moving deeper into the fray, armed with two bloody swords and a resolve to seek vengeance. I heard the unmistakable crack of gunshots. The explosions sounded loud and foreign, in what had been a battle fought in the ways of old. I didn't like the sound, for I knew that our group hadn't brought in any firearms. The shooting began suddenly and rose to a terrible crescendo. I could feel bullets whizzing by my ears and one hit the earth at my feet. I was standing among a dozen dead Braves and a few of their dead horses.

"Kill me, please?" asked a raspy voice during a short pause in the gunfire.

I looked down and into the long face of a bloody Mustang. The horse was looking at me with fear in his eyes. I looked and saw his belly had been slashed and his entrails were oozing from the wound. I looked back into that pleading face and sank to my knees. "I can't do it," I said. "I'm sorry, big fella." I dropped one of the swords, placed my hand on his neck and waited for death to take him. Bright light suddenly glowed from the belly of the fallen beast and I could feel something passing from my hand into his neck. My arm began to tremble as the horse's head began to thrash from side to side. I closed my eyes and concentrated. I didn't know what I was doing, but whatever it was, I wasn't going to stop until it had run its course.

The Mustang looked at me and I swear it was smiling. The light dimmed to a glow beneath the magically repaired wound and it slowly faded away. I smiled back at the noble creature. I only wished that I knew what I had been doing, just in case the opportunity presented itself to save something, or someone else. The Mustang twisted and rose to his feet.

"Get on my back," the horse ordered.

"You'll be safer if we both walk."

"You gave me the second chance to live and I want to use that chance to get back into the battle! Now, hop on my friend. Let's go kill some trolls!"

I took the reigns in my free hand. "What's your name, big fella?" I asked.

"I am called _Andy,"_ said the horse in a voice with a southern twang. "I am a friend of the Oddfather, do you know him? We have to save him!"

I needed no further encouragement and I was on Andy's back in the blink of an eye. The Mustang reared back and we headed off into the darkness. I held my sword at the ready in my right hand. We galloped with increasing speed and I sank low on Andy's back. We were moving far too fast to react to anything that I saw, but it looked as if Soliah's friends were winning. We passed soldiers here and there, ghostly white and wearing dark blue cavalry uniforms. They would fire blindly after us and only one of the shots came close to hitting me. The black mist swirled by us like so much smoke. Dead bodies littered the earth.

And there he was, my grandfather. He was completely surrounded by trolls and was being put into chains. There must have been twenty of them in the group. My grandfather's straw hat was gone and his white hair was matted with blood. One of his arms appeared to be broken and it hung crooked and useless at his side. I let out a howl of anger and I leapt from Andy's back. I charged the trolls from ten feet away and I sunk my blade deep into the chest of the first one I encountered. I screamed like a madman as I withdrew the blade and turned to face the next in line. He came at me with an axe and I swung the sword with a backhand blow that caught nothing but neck. The troll's head fell back on his shoulders and bounced on the ground. A silent scream of agony escaped from its twisted mouth.

"Stop him!" ordered one of the remaining trolls who held my grandfather. The group responded as one and they left the two of them alone as they concentrated on me. I had plenty of time to harness the power of the earrings, yet, I didn't touch them. I met their charge head on and three of them were dead in less than ten seconds. I swung the sword with devastating results and the trolls screamed in agony and terror. I continued swinging and slashing with my blade, limbs fell and heads rolled. I felt an overwhelming need to seek vengeance and I took it out on the group before me. Soon, it was just the three of us. I casually walked over to confront the troll who held my grandfather captive.

"You had better unlock these chains," said my grandfather. "That would be the wise thing to do."

The troll stared stupidly at the bodies of his friends and then back to me. He quickly produced a key and began springing the locks as fast as he could. My grandfather shed the chains and stepped free from his bonds.

"I did what you asked of me," grunted the leader of the trolls. "Now, you have to let me go."

My grandfather limped towards me and stood by my side. Andy suddenly charged from out of the mist and he spun and kicked the troll hard in the chest, the troll made an awful sound as he flew backwards. Andy then began to jump on the body of the fallen creature, trampling him deep into the earth, long after the troll had expired. Satisfied, he walked over to where we stood.

"Andy," said my grandfather, taking the long snout of the Mustang in both hands and kissing him on the top of his nose. "You saved my life."

"We've got to get you out of here," replied Andy. "Get on my back, both of you!"

I was going to say something about me playing a small part in saving his life, but this seemed like neither the time, nor place, to do that. Andy dipped and grandfather swung his long leg over Andy's back. He then patted Andy's rump. "Hop on, Huckleberry," he beckoned. "What are you waiting for, Christmas?"

I had thought that I would be riding in front. I shook my head and handed my grandfather my sword. "Hold this," I said. "I'll be wanting that back."

"Of course you do. What, do you think I can fight them off with only one good arm? How would I hold onto Andy?"

I backed up three steps and I launched myself onto the back of the impatient Mustang. I took the sword in one hand, and, with a good deal of trepidation, put my other arm around my grandfather's middle. I could immediately feel the healing power surging through my skin. It was brief and powerful. My grandfather began stretching his broken arm, testing it in the air. Andy began to turn and he started to trot.

"Thank you Andy, for bringing him to me," my grandfather said. "Huckleberry is a good one to have in a fight."

I wished he would quit thanking Andy. "Where is Man Killer?" I asked.

I could feel my grandfather stiffen as I finished the question. "I am not sure," he said in a weary voice. "She was taken from me."

"Who took her?" I nearly screamed at him.

"Major Soliah..."

Hot tears spilled down my cheeks and I pressed my head into my grandfather's back. Andy began to build speed and soon we were galloping away. Shots rang out, but I never lifted my head as we shot through the dark reddish haze. I saw thousands of dead bodies, some human and some not. The ground was littered with them and sticky with congealing blood and gore. I could feel the strength leaving my body as I continued to sob.

We galloped like that for a long time, passing none of our number whom still drew breath. More gunshots sounded and a bullet whizzed by my left ear. I lost my grip on the sword and it slipped from my fingers. I wrapped that arm around my grandfather and held on with my remaining strength.

Andy suddenly burst into the sunlight and he kept running until we were a safe distance away. I concentrated on my breathing and tried to pull myself together. I dismounted and turned away from them, wiping my face with my hands. I pulled my hands away and found that I was all alone on the prairie. "Grandfather!" I cried, watching him and Andy charge back into the blackness. "Don't leave me here!" It was no use. They had dropped me off like so much baggage. I began to curse under my breath and they were gone. I collapsed to my knees and once again began to cry. I fell face forward into the soft grass and curled up into a ball. It was very embarrassing, but I couldn't help myself. I could only imagine what Soliah would do to my Man Killer. Somehow, inexplicably, I fell fast asleep.

### Chapter Twenty-Nine

I awoke to a black sky with only a sliver of the moon lighting the darkness. I quickly got to my feet and gathered myself. I shook my head, wondering how I had been able to fall asleep with everything going on. I stood there for a long time in the silence. Not even a cricket stirred on this black night and there wasn't so much as a puff of wind. I had absolutely no idea where to go, nor did I have any idea of what to do. I felt naked and defenseless in the pale and brooding moonlight.

"This way," whispered a familiar voice. It was Abe Steinman, I was sure of it. Yet, I could not see him anywhere. "Come on," he beckoned. "Follow the sound of my voice..."

I began to do as he asked, not getting it right for the first few steps. "Where are you?" I asked. "Why don't you walk with me?"

"Sorry, kid, can't do that. A little to your right, there, now just keep moving forward. We have a long way to go and we don't have time for small-talk."

I felt my strength returning and my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. I began to jog in order to keep up with the mysterious voice without a source. "To your right," it commanded. "A little to your left, that's it. Come on, Huckleberry, you've got to hurry!" I was soon running across the open prairie. I continued running even as we entered the woods and it became as black as sackcloth. Somehow, the voice guided me cleanly through the ancient forest and I didn't even brush a stray limb. Abe's crackling voice continued to guide me and I followed it without ever once feeling tired. It seemed as if I had become part machine.

I have no idea how long I ran, but it was certainly hours. Gray light slowly crept over the darkness and I could see the tall pines standing in the shadows. I continued following Abe's voice and he began to say that we hadn't much further to go. I slowed my pace to a jog as we came upon the last in the long line of abandoned vehicles. I knew exactly where I was.

"You have to finish what you started," whispered Abe's voice. And then it was no more.

I walked along the ghostly shapes of the cars, minivans, and trucks, and tried to steel myself against what lay ahead. The line seemed endless, had more arrived since I'd last visited this place? It sure seemed like it. More light fell from the sky and fog swirled inside the woods. At one point I needed to drag my hand across the side of a few cars to keep my bearings straight. I continued walking as the fog grew thick before me. I suddenly walked out onto the short grass of the lawn and nearly tumbled right into my Buster.

"It's about damn time," grunted Buster. "He and I were just about to give up on you. Where the hell have you been?"

"Stop that," called the high-pitched voice of my Swinger. "You be nice to Huck, don't forget everything he's done for you. How are you, Huckleberry? Are you ready to get this show on the road?"

I couldn't yet see the Swinger, but I nodded my head. I indeed was ready and I didn't plan on making the same mistake twice. This house was going down. Dawn had yet to arrive and the fog that had rolled in off of the lake was thicker in the open. After a brief search, I found the Swinger where I had left it and I climbed up into the cab. I was going to need a little more time to be able to see my target and I prayed that it would pass quickly.

I should have never waited.

When dawn finally broke the fog began to swirl about the cab like smoke going up a chimney. The inside of the cab grew cold and the windows began to steam up. Overhead, the sky was turning purple and dark shades of orange, and then, even the top window fogged over. I opened the door to the cab and hoped that the fresh air would help clear the windows. The mysterious mist crept inside with me and it seemed as if it were replacing the air. Soon, I could barely see my own hands before my face. This was no natural phenomena, this was Soliah's doing, I was sure of it. The temperature dropped even further and ice began to form on the controls.

And from somewhere much too close for comfort, I heard the all-too familiar sound of Soliah's laughter. It began as a low chuckle and built in intensity. Soon, the sound of his maniacal laughter began to echo inside the cab. I covered my ears and tumbled out the door onto the track. The sound was threatening to burst my eardrums. I took a step and slipped on the ice-covered track. I found myself lying on the frozen earth staring up into the gray shroud of emptiness. The laughter slowly began to diminish and then it stopped, altogether.

"Welcome home, Huckleberry," greeted Soliah, sounding as if he were right on top of me.

I scrambled to my feet, but I was as blind as a bat inside the fog. I rubbed my bare arms and tried to warm myself, the temperature seemed to have fallen well below zero in only a few minute's time. I knew that I didn't have much time and that soon I'd be frozen like a TV dinner.

"Aren't you going to say hello to your old grand-pappy?"

"What have you done with my wife?" I asked angrily, feeling the steam rush out with each word.

"Your wife?" Soliah replied, the sarcasm clear in his voice. "My dear boy, as long as you continue on with this foolishness, that woman will continue to be my property. Why don't you just give up? Surely, you have to know that you can't possibly win. Be sensible, why don't you just come over here and give me those earrings? You can have your _precious_ Man Killer back and I can finally get out of your hair. What could be wrong with that?"

The cold had crept into my bones and I was shivering uncontrollably. "I'll never give them to you, you son-of-a-bitch! You'll have to kill me first!"

There was a long silence before Soliah finally spoke. "I was afraid you were going to say that," he said in a voice that sounded nearly sad. "All right, have it your way."

For some reason I took hold of my earrings and held them, protectively. Relief flooded over me as my field of vision began to increase. I could make out the dark shape of the Swinger and could see the icy fog creeping away. I held them tighter and a ray of warm sunlight fell on my head. The air seemed to warm seventy degrees in the blink of an eye.

"Very good," said Soliah, who was still hidden somewhere in the mist. "I really didn't want you to miss any of this. Here, let me help you with that..."

I heard something that sounded like the snapping of fingers. The fog began to swirl around in a tight circle and then it was suddenly gone. Soliah stood ten feet away. He wore a wicked smile on his bearded face. He stood there with his muscular arms crossed under his Charles Atlas chest, his tomato-skin nearly glowing in the early morning light. The fur that covered his lower body looked old and mottled, like the fur of a long-dead black bear. His long red tail swung back and forth behind him. The sight of him made my knees weak.

"What's the matter?" Soliah asked, trotting a few steps closer on his cloven hoofs. "I'll bet I know. You're wondering what I plan to do with you, aren't you? That's a fair question, my boy, a fair question, indeed!"

I began to back away, still holding the ends of my earrings. I had never felt such fear. Had it all come to this? I backed straight into the tracks of the Swinger and I could move no more.

"Do you like bugs, Huckleberry? I only ask because I'm thinking you don't. That's too bad, bugs are quite remarkable creatures. Oh, yes they are. They are nature's way of disposing of useless matter. Things like you, my boy."

I watched as he hopped a few feet closer. He now stood only five feet away and my back was against the Swinger. The smile on his candy-apple face was a terrible thing to see. The horns at the sides of his head began to slowly corkscrew. "I'll give them to you," I whispered. I had always hated bugs. Soliah had to have known that. My heart was pounding inside my chest as he took another leap in my direction. There was no pity on his face.

"Too late for that, my boy, I gave you every chance in the world and you've done nothing but disappoint me. No, it's time to take the bull by the horns, if you can excuse the pun. I just wanted to be sure that the last face you see on this earth is _mine_. I promise you, this will be extremely painful..."

The ground at my feet began to move and I fell to my knees, banging my head hard on the steel track of the Swinger. I felt dizzy and disorientated, and I began to crawl around like a punch-drunk boxer on my hands and knees. Tiny things were crawling all over my body and I frantically tried brushing them off. When my vision had cleared I could see that I was covered in leeches, beetles, and fat, grimy night crawlers. I screamed.

"Farewell, Huckleberry, I can't say that it hasn't been fun. I'll be waiting for you on the other side."

I looked up, but Soliah was already gone. I clawed at my skin, but the worms and the leeches clung to me like a second skin. I could feel a billion tiny teeth sinking into me and the pain was unbearable. I rolled on the ground, my head still ringing from the rap it had taken when I fell. I could feel things crawling into my nose and ears and I clamped my mouth shut. A leech tried attaching itself to one of my eyes and I took a swipe at it. I could feel it clamp onto my eyelid and I let out a terrified moan. I thrashed around and could feel the weight of a million more of the squirming things wiggling their way on top of me. They were hungry and I could feel the blood being drained from my body. I continued to roll and I felt something heavy hit the ground. I squinted my eyes open to a slit and found myself staring at the wrecking ball. It had missed me by barely an inch.

I rolled over again, clawing at my face. My mouth was covered in yuk and slime and I wanted to puke my guts out, but I knew that if I opened my mouth that a thousand slithering creatures would crawl inside. The ground shook again and I heard a loud _plop_. The wrecking ball from the swinger had dropped again.

"Get up, Huck!"

I stumbled to my feet and continued to claw at my face. I felt like the insects had covered me in a thick cocoon and I fought to free myself from their grip. I dug my fingernails across my face and was finally able to open my eyes. Buster was speeding directly towards me, blade down, tearing up six inches of lawn and slaughtering the crawly things as they poured from the ground.

"Use the earrings!" cried Swinger. "Hurry up, Huck, it's the only way!"

I grabbed the ends of the earrings and I prayed for help. For a long moment, nothing seemed to happen and I wondered if I had waited too long. I closed my eyes and continued to stumble around as I grew weaker by the second. Exhausted, and perhaps on the brink of death, I fell to my knees and slowly pitched forward into the blackness.

How long I lay there was anyone's guess. When I came to, I found myself staring up at the hot sun. My skin seemed as if it was on fire and I held my hand up to block out the glare. That was a mistake, for I could see that my skin was covered with something that looked like a frightening case of acne. I felt the skin of my face, testing it with my fingertips. Thousands of angry bumps covered my cheeks and forehead. The bugs were gone, but they had left me an oozing mass of pus and infection. I scrambled to my feet; the blood left inside of me was already beginning to boil. I stumbled over to the Swinger and crawled inside the cab.

"Let's do it," I said, grabbing the controls tightly.

"I thought you'd never ask," cooed Swinger.

### Chapter Thirty

I raised the wrecking ball high in the air where it hung at roof level and I began to twist the controls. There wasn't much cable to work with, but the first swing caught the side of the brick chimney and it shattered like it was made of glass. Bricks rained down the roof and onto the lawn. I shoved hard on the controls and the Swinger spun nimbly around as I released a little of the cable. The next blow was to the middle of the roof. Cedar shake shingles exploded into the air and I laughed like a madman. A ruined dormer crashed to the ground. Again, I jammed the controls ahead and the Swinger began to spin around for another pass. I dropped more cable and set my sights on the top floor of the old house.

Soliah's face suddenly appeared on the other side of the windshield, not a foot away from my own. His eyes were wild with anger and he slammed his fist into the glass. The glass spider-webbed and I turned my head just as his red fist brushed past my nose. I stayed in my seat and the Swinger continued to spin. Soliah screamed with rage as the next blow took great chunks of the upper wall with it. A bed and dresser fell crashing to the ground.

"Stop!" Soliah ordered, baring his pointed teeth at me.

"Go to hell, you bastard!" I screamed back at him.

"That's what I've been trying to do!" He shouted as he bashed his forehead into the ruined windshield. I was peppered with glass and I had to close my eyes for just a second. But a second was all that it took for him to find the release for the cable and the ball wrecking plunged straight to the ground. He then grabbed me by the neck and ripped me right out of the cab. My forehead banged hard against the roof on my way out. His strength seemed to have no limit and he threw me across the lawn like I was a ragdoll. I lay there bleeding from a gash on my forehead and stunned from the blow. A freight train seemed to be roaring between my ears.

Soliah clomped down from the cab and he bounded over to the wrecking ball. He took the loose cable in his hands and he pulled it taught. He then gave a mighty heave and every nut and bolt of Swinger seemed to scream in protest. The trusty crane began to fall over, but Soliah began to turn on his two hoofs and impossibly, my Swinger began to slowly spin in the air like an oversized discus.

"Leave my buddy alone!" Buster bellowed. He then found that strange highway gear and he raced at Soliah like he had been shot out of a cannon.

Soliah spun one more time and then he launched Swinger toward the calm waters of Spirit Lake. I could hear Swinger give a terrified scream as it flew to an unbelievable height. It arced across the sky and landed with a huge splash, a full football field out into the lake. Buster was on him in a second, but Soliah had seen him coming and he dropped down to meet the charge.

"You rotten bastard!" shrieked Buster in a voice that I barely recognized.

What happened next is hard to describe. Buster was traveling at freeway speed and he dwarfed the red devil squatting on the lawn. I thought Soliah would be flattened like a spider under a heavy boot. The next thing I knew, Buster was cart-wheeling high in the air.

" _No!"_ Buster bellowed as he followed Swinger's flight path over the water. I could just see the top of Swinger's mast poking out of the water. Buster landed directly on top of it with a sickening splash. A huge geyser of lake water shot into the air and Soliah began to roar with laughter. I had been sitting up, helpless to do anything but watch with horror as the beast destroyed the last of my equipment. The loss was too much for me and I fell to my back and prepared to die.

"Huckleberry?" Soliah asked in his sweetest voice. I could feel his hot breath in my face and I opened my eyes. I found myself staring directly into his. "Huckleberry, do you know what I am going to do now? No, of course you don't. I can tell you this much, grandson or not, you are a dead man. I have given you every opportunity to save yourself, but I could never trust you in my world. I know that now. What a waste. What a terrible waste."

"I could never be like you," I croaked, my voice too clogged with emotion to speak with any force. Tears dripped from my eyes and I shook them from my cheeks. I didn't want him to see me cry. I tried one last ditch effort to grab my earrings, but Soliah plopped his hairy self on my chest and pinned my arms with his knees. He smelled like sour milk and mildew. His weight felt like a Mack truck was sitting on my chest.

"Get off of my grandson!" ordered a familiar voice.

" _Oddfeather_!" shrieked Soliah, spinning off of me.

"That's Odd Whitefeather to you!" Crooked Walker shouted back at him.

"This is good," laughed Soliah as he faced his attackers. "You boys are saving me the trip to find you."

"Well, you have found us," said Dog Breath in an even tone.

Soliah spun again. Dog Breath was standing on the other end of the triangle of my relatives. Soliah laughed again and he suddenly stopped as he was swept off his feet by an unseen hand. Odd Whitefeather had swatted his hand as if he was swatting a fly and Soliah tumbled nearly twenty feet across the lawn. "Do not mess with the family," growled my grandfather.

Crooked Walker let out a whoop and he gracefully swung his arms before him. They pointed to the sky for a second, before the entire third floor of the old house came crashing down upon the dazed devil. "How do you like them apples?" Crooked Walker shouted, brushing his hands together and looking very satisfied.

From out of the rubble, Soliah poked his head up and he began to try to stand up. Dog Breath stooped forward and picked up a brick. He then tossed it like a Nolan Ryan fastball. The brick connected with Soliah's head and it took one of the devil's horns with it. Soliah roared with pain and rage.

I had hoped that the brick would take his head off. I got up and stood on wobbly knees in the morning sunshine. My grandfather stuck his hands up in the air and chanted to the sky. Soliah was suddenly violently attacked by as many as fifty bald eagles. They were larger than life and they came at him with their sharp claws, tearing chunks of skin off of Soliah with their talons. Their mission complete, the eagles soared off into the blue sky.

The look on Soliah's ruined face was a terrible thing to see. I knew what he was capable of and that as long as he still drew breath, we were all in serious danger. Crooked Walker must have known that, too. He pointed at one of the towering pines and then to Soliah. There was a terrific crack and the huge pine toppled, and then fell directly on top of the enraged Soliah. He was driven into the earth like a sixteen-penny nail.

"Are you all right," my grandfather asked.

I opened my eyes and found that I had passed out. The three old men were standing over me. "He has bleeding under his skull," Dog Breath said. "He is dying."

My vision blurred and it occurred to me that I must have hit my head a lot harder than I had thought. The sky seemed to be spinning and I closed my eyes to keep from being sick to my stomach. "Soliah?" I croaked.

"Right here," replied Soliah in his best southern drawl.

I screamed as I saw the red bastard grab Dog Breath by the hair. There was a whoosh of air and suddenly Dog Breath was sent flying out into the lake. There was a long moment of silence before I heard the splash. "Devil!" cried Crooked Walker as Soliah began to do the same thing to him. Everything happened so fast that I could scarcely believe it was happening at all. My grandfather charged Soliah and they both were sent sprawling onto the lawn.

I could feel the life draining out of me and I was powerless to stop it. I tried to see what was happening on the lawn, but the two had become one in my eyes and they continued to exchange blows.

"Huckleberry," whispered a sweet voice into my ears. I opened my eyes to see Man Killer kneeling at my side. I tried to manage a smile. "I love you," she said as the tears ran down her face. She held my head in her hands and kissed me full on the lips. I had never tasted anything sweeter.

"Save yourself," I moaned. "Run, Man Killer, run!"

"I will never leave you again!"

I heard a loud cry in my grandfather's voice and I tried to focus my eyes on the source of the sound. I was rewarded with the sight of him flying high in the air. He crashed to the water with a sickening plop. I dropped my eyes to Soliah; long ribbons of skin hung from him loosely, revealing thickly corded muscles. He was looking directly at the both of us and he was smiling.

"Take the earrings," whispered a man's voice from out of thin air. I immediately recognized it as belonging to Abe Steinman. "Man Killer," he pleaded. "Do it now before it's too late!"

Man Killer looked around, then she suddenly tore the earrings from the lobes of my ears. "What am I supposed to do?" she cried.

"Put them on and live up to your name," Abe's voice instructed her. "Put them on!"

I fell back to the ground as I became even weaker. I saw Man Killer attach the first of the earrings to her right ear. She quickly followed with the other.

"Give those to me!" ordered Soliah. "They are of no use to you!"

I could see him leaping towards us, bounding high in the air with blood in his eyes. I tried to warn Man Killer, but he was on top of her before I could draw a breath. I groaned as I saw him take my woman by the hair and yank her off of her feet. Man Killer was slammed violently to the ground. Soliah then reversed directions and she was sent flying in the air before crashing down to his other side. Man Killer screamed in pain.

"The earrings!" I managed to scream to her. She lay not five feet away from me, hanging by her long black hair that Soliah held like a rope on a sack. I could see that her legs were badly broken and blood streamed down her face. Somehow she was able to command her hands to take hold of the earrings and she closed her eyes.

"This is your last chance, Melody. Give me those damn earrings or I'll tear your head off!"

Man Killer then screamed something in the old tongue and Soliah dropped her as if she were made of molten steel. He quickly backed away. "No..." he cried. "Melody, we can have a beautiful life together. You can keep the earrings..."

"My name is Man Killer!" shouted my beautiful bride. "Feel my wrath!"

Soliah howled with pain as the hanging skin was peeled off of his body by an invisible hand. The skin stretched before it ripped free and fell to the ground in red chunks. I pumped my fist. "Get him, Man Killer!" I hissed. "Kill the bastard!"

A brick suddenly struck Soliah full in the face. Teeth flew and blood poured from his shattered mouth. Man Killer continued to chant and while I didn't understand a word of it, I knew what she was saying. A four-foot long splinter of timber was suddenly sticking out of Soliah's red belly and he roared with agony. He dropped his hands to try and pull it free, but it didn't budge an inch. He strained at it until the muscles on his arm shook.

"You're a dirty rotten bastard!" Man Killer shrieked at him. She then pointed the earrings directly at Soliah and lightning shot from the ends of the bear's magical teeth. The lightning hammered Soliah squarely in the chest with a brilliant explosion of light.

"No!" cried Soliah, trying to fend off the continuous bolts of lightning with his bare hands. _"No!"_

"This is for all of the brave animals of the forest!" Man Killer screamed.

Major Soliah, the all-powerful murderer of man and beast, the devil's own son, glowed bright orange as he continued his tortured scream, and then he was no more. He exploded into a million tiny pieces that littered the earth before bursting into flames.

I wanted to stand up and cheer, but my strength was gone and death was calling me. Man Killer crawled her way over to me, pulling her ruined legs behind herself like a salamander. She collapsed next to me and I have never seen a face filled with so much sadness. She pulled herself close and she kissed me as the tears fell. We were both crying now and she trembled as our lips met. "Man Killer," I whispered as she pulled back a few tender inches. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Huckleberry Brindle," she whispered back.

And after that I was sent plunging into the blackness.

### Chapter Thirty-One

Things were dark for what seemed like a very long time and I wondered if this was what death was going to be like. Could it be just a great black void? Finally, there was a light at the end of the tunnel and I followed that light. I could hear Man Killer weeping, but her voice sounded far away. The light was so bright that I had to shield my eyes for a moment to let them adjust. I thought that was very strange, why would my eyes hurt if I was dead?

"That is because you're not dead, Huckleberry," Abe Steinman said in his crackling voice. "You're just visiting."

I pulled my hands away from my face and sure enough, I was standing before the little old man. He was seated at a long table and dressed in a simple black suit. His eyes shone with an unusual brightness and he was smiling. "Come in, come in. Have a seat, my boy."

"Who are you?" I asked, staring about the huge room like someone who has just stumbled inside the Sistine Chapel. To even begin to attempt to describe the high-ceilinged room wouldn't be fair, because there is nothing made by man or on God's green earth to compare it to. I did as Mr. Steinman asked and sat across the table from him.

"I am a carpenter, Huckleberry. I thought that you may have guessed that by now."

I stared at him for a long moment, too shocked to think or speak. He gave me a wink and continued to smile at me. I slipped off the chair and got down on my knees. "Oh boy," I said in an uneven voice. "I mean, your _Majesty_."

He laughed at that and urged me up with both of his wrinkled hands. "I didn't mean _that_ Carpenter. You'll meet the Boss in due time. No, what I meant was that I built this room and everything inside of it. What do you think?"

I didn't move from my knees and I spoke with my head bowed. No single man could have ever created what surrounded me. Not in a thousand lifetimes. "I think this is the most beautiful place I have ever visited."

"Thank you, I was hoping you'd like it. After all, this will be your new home. This is only the entryway, the foyer. What lies beyond those doors is really going to knock you out. Now, get up. I insist. We have a lot to talk about and there isn't much time."

The insistence in his voice caused me to quickly get up on my feet and to sit back down at the table. "Where is this place, Mr. Steinman?" I asked, feeling that it was a foolish question.

"I insist you call me Abe. Mister Steinman was my father's name. This, my boy, is yours as a reward to a life well-lived. I added a room for every good deed you committed yourself to. This is a big place, Huckleberry. You were a hard man to keep up with."

"That's not true. I pretty much wasted the past five years of my life."

"Did you?" Abe asked, looking at me with a keen interest.

"Yeah, I think I did. I drank whiskey every day until I passed out. I think you could call that wasting five years. I am sorry for that, if that helps."

"You will be forgiven for that, I am sure of it. The important thing is that you never bothered anyone else while you did so. Alcohol causes people to use poor judgment, but you never changed from the person you have always been. You are a kind, thoughtful man, and you lived your life with dignity and respect for others. You followed the Golden Rule, my boy. You looked after complete strangers and tried to make it a better world. You took care of God's creatures, great and small. That world was a better place with you in it."

"So, I really am dead, huh? That's funny, I certainly don't feel dead. Why do I still need to breathe and how come I'm hungry?"

I was suddenly sitting over a stunning Caesar salad and a heaping plate of teriyaki chicken wings. My mouth watered as I reached for the silverware. "A-hum," said Abe, bowing his head and folding his hands together. I snatched my hand back and quickly did the same. Abe then said a short, but sincere prayer over my meal; he waved to me that it was all right to eat.

"You see, things are not always as they seem. You are dead, Huckleberry. You just have the option of going back. It is done from time to time. I should tell you a little bit about the world you would be going back to. You and you alone, are responsible for saving the lives of nearly two hundred men. They will die if you do not return. Which; for most of them, wouldn't really be a bad thing. They will end up here. Of course, they won't be living in a place like this. The few of those who won't be heading upstairs, well..."

"I have to go back," I said, chewing on one of the delicious chicken wings "They're depending on me. They have families to look after. Why, only a monster would allow them to die. Send me back, my mind is made up."

"I knew you would see it that way," Abe said, except he looked sad and he was slowly shaking his head. "Maybe I should tell you a little more about this place."

"There is nothing more to say. If what you're telling me is the truth, won't all of this be waiting for me, someday? I mean, I would just be putting everything off for a while, right?"

"Of course, just as long as you don't completely change on me; it can happen, you have got to be careful down there. I need you to see someone before you make your decision. Please, have a seat over there on the sofa. I'll be right back."

I was suddenly staring at an empty cane-backed chair. I rose to my feet and walked over to the sofa in question, and I sat myself down. The deep cushions were soft and comfortable and I closed my eyes and tried to absorb as much of this place as I could. I felt someone sit down next to me. When I opened my eyes, I was staring into the face of my Man Killer. She was still wearing the bear's teeth earrings. I reached for her and we exchanged a tender kiss.

"Oh, Huckleberry," she whispered into my ear. "I have missed you so much."

I pulled back and took in her beauty. She was dressed in her buckskin dress and her long black hair was pulled back behind her ears. She stroked my cheek with her delicate fingers and a tear fell from her eye. "I love you," I said. "I will always love you. We have to go back. We have people counting on us."

Man Killer's bottom lip began to tremble. "But, I cannot go back. Those people are counting on _you_ , not me."

The words hit me like a ton of lead and I shook my head, even though I knew it was true. "You have to come back, how could I live another day without you in it?"

She took me in her arms and whispered. "Because you have to, Huckleberry, this is your destiny." We then cried together for what seemed like a very long time. This was the toughest good-bye I ever had to say.

And then she was gone.

I held my head in my hands and I wept until the tears were all used up. I had lost her again, my beautiful Man Killer. I hoped that the rest of my life would be a short one, which was probably wrong, given where I was. Still, I hoped for a short life, anyhow.

"I see you didn't change your mind," said Abe, solemnly. "Are you ready to go back?"

I nodded, wiping my face with my hands and standing up from the sofa. "I'm ready."

"I'm going to have to add another wing to this place. I just wanted you to know that. You're a hard man to keep up with, my boy. Until we meet again...good-bye."

I found myself hurtling down into the blackness below; the sensation would best be described as being dropped from a great height in the dead of night. I screamed in terror as I continued to fall, faster and faster. I could feel the air whooshing by my face and it threatened to take my breath away. I closed my eyes and screamed again, but I was already slowing down and the falling sensation had suddenly been replaced with a mild headache. I opened my eyes and found myself looking into the warm eyes of my grandfather.

"It is good to have you back," he said, kneeling at my side. He held his straw hat in one hand over his heart and it looked as if he had been praying. "I thought you were a goner."

I sat up and found us alone on the lawn of the Soliah Home. I looked up at it and found that it seemed to have aged a hundred years since I had left. The roof was gone and the neglected house looked as if it might collapse in on itself. We got to our feet and I scratched my head. Behind me were Buster and Swinger, but they too, looked old and neglected. They were the machines that I had repaired in my equipment shed, what seemed like decades ago. I waved to them, but they simply sat there in the morning sunshine.

"We are back in our world," my grandfather said, taking me by the shoulder. He was dressed in a long-sleeved denim shirt and blue jeans. He looked very old and tired. "You have a job to finish, there are men waiting to go home."

"Do you know where I was?" I asked, feeling the need to share my experience with someone.

"I will find out when my time comes. I don't want you to spoil the ending for me."

"It's not really an ending at all," I said. "In fact---"

"Hush! I told you that I want to find out for myself. Give an old man some respect, will you?"

"Yes, Oddfather."

"And do not call me that. I am your grandfather. I am the Oddfather in another world, not in this one. Are you making fun of me?"

I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. "I'm not making fun of you," I said, walking towards the Swinger, determined to finish this job and get home to whatever awaited me there. I wondered if the town would still pay me for the job. I really needed the money.

I climbed up into the cab and closed the door. "Hello, old friend," I whispered, reaching down for the key. The engine coughed, sputtered, and begrudgingly sprang to life. I gave my grandfather the thumbs up sign and he returned it. He had put his hat back on and the breeze was toying with his long white hair. I eased the controls forward and the Swinger crept across the lawn.

The demolition was a lot of work for one man, and I still had to find a way to haul away the debris. The house came down easy enough and I used the Buster to push it away from the foundation and into a mountain of rotten wood. Satisfied, I joined my grandfather under the limbs of a tall pine. We sat in the shade and talked about this and that, nothing worth repeating. The sun had nearly fallen to the top of the trees when the first of the men climbed up out of the hole in the ground. It was Bing Louie.

He was dirty and his clothes were torn, but he looked no worse for wear. He looked from the hole in the ground to us, and he shook his head in amazement. He then stumbled towards the driveway. He was followed by another man, and another. A long chain of men began to exit the living hell they'd been forced to endure. They followed Bing in wild wonder, walking drunkenly across the lawn and towards their cars. I smiled to myself, knowing in my heart that I had done the right thing. I would desperately miss my wife, but she would be waiting for me.

The last five men to exit the hole were my employees. They smiled and hugged each other, before giving me a quick wave. They followed the others and I began to hear the sound of starting engines. The long string of vehicles exited the driveway and I could hear them crunching away on the gravel road for a long time.

"I guess I'll be seeing you, then," my grandfather said, holding his hand out for me to shake.

"What do I do now?" I asked.

"That is entirely up to you," he replied.

There was a brilliant flash of light and he was gone. A bald eagle stood in front of me and it flapped its mighty wings and flew out of sight. I shook my head, happy to see that everything hadn't changed. My world would be a dull place without at least a little magic.

It suddenly occurred to me that I had a long walk home.

### Epilogue

I was welcomed back into the town as a hero. I was paid for the job and I split it evenly among my men. There was a huge bonus check and we split that, as well. I was able to junk my old trailer home and buy a new doublewide. I also bought a used dump-truck and suddenly found myself a busy man. Life had become good and I was a respected man in my community. I began attending church and I would stop by to visit my grandfather whenever I had some spare time.

Summer turned to fall, then to winter, and then to spring. I will never forget the day it happened and I will do my best to recreate it for you. I was outside with my dog, Stanley, a dachshund I had rescued from a local shelter. Stanley follows me everywhere and I talk to him as if he knows every word that comes out of my mouth. I like to think that he does. The morning was cool, but the day quickly warmed and it was one of those days when everything seems to bloom at one time. We sat in the grass and played catch with a tennis ball. I never toss the ball far, Stanley's back legs have failed him and he hops around like a baby seal. He doesn't seem to mind.

I could hear the car from a long ways off. I hadn't been expecting company and it was a Sunday, so I doubted anyone would bother me about work. Still, there was something inside of me that said to pay attention to that car. I gave the ball a toss and got to my feet, brushing the grass clippings from my trousers. The car began to slow, but it shot past my driveway before skidding to a halt. There was a grinding sound as someone shifted into reverse and I grimaced. The car, a sky-blue Saturn, began to back up and it quickly lurched onto my driveway.

There was no mistaking the car. It belonged to Abe's granddaughter, Theresa. I began to jog over toward it, the sun glaring off of the windshield, making it impossible to see the driver. Poor Stanley hobbled behind me with the tennis ball stuck in his mouth. We stopped twenty feet away and I gasped when the car door opened. It wasn't Theresa.

Man Killer stood there looking more beautiful than ever. She wore a flowered summer dress and white sandals on her little feet. She stared at me for a long minute. "Mr. Brindle?" she asked. "Huckleberry Brindle?"

I ran to her and stopped as she pulled away, nearly climbing back inside her car. "Wait," I said. "Man Killer, don't you know me?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "You must have me mistaken for somebody else. _Man Killer_?"

I could feel my stomach falling and my knees became weak. I shook my head and tried my best not to lose my composure. I was sure this was my Man Killer and this all seemed like a cruel joke. Still, I knew that my wife would never play such an evil prank upon me.

"My name is Melody Hollowfoot. I have some very important papers that I need to go over with you. Do you mind? I could come back at another time..."

_Melody Hollowfoot?_ I thought, feeling the strength rush back to my limbs. "Now is perfect," I said. "Why don't you grab your things and set them over there on the picnic table. Would you like a glass of lemonade?"

"Thank you. That would be very nice."

A few moments later we were sitting at the picnic table, sipping our lemonade as Melody opened up a black briefcase and produced some papers. "This," she said, pointing to the first paper on the stack. "This is the Last Will and Testament of Major Barnabus Soliah. Apparently he was your grandfather, but you were adopted and the two of you had never met. You are his last surviving heir. This is a little strange because he died so long ago."

I cringed at the sound of his name and I smiled when she said I was the last of his bloodline. Melody recoiled at this, looking completely shocked by my attitude. "Sorry, I heard the guy was a real asshole."

"Excuse me," Melody said. "This _asshole_ left you a lot of money. More money than you can possibly imagine. I think we could refer to him with a little more respect."

"I don't want a nickel of his money. Do you got that?" I said, pushing the papers away from me as if they were diseased. "I don't care how much it is."

"Mr. Brindle..."

"Mister Brindle was my father's name. You can call me Huck." I watched Stanley hop over to her and he rested his head on her shoe. She reached down and scratched behind his ears.

"Huck, please, you have to hear me out on this. I was paid to give you this information."

"Consider it given. There is no way in hell that I am accepting his money. What do I need to sign?"

"The money is already yours, I am afraid it doesn't work like that," Melody said, removing a pair of glasses from the briefcase and setting them lightly on her nose. She looked so beautiful that I wanted to reach out and kiss her. I was only barely able to restrain myself. "The money is waiting in your name in a Swiss bank account. Here are the numbers and necessary documents. You are a very rich man, Huck. I don't think you understand. The money is yours."

"I don't think you understand, I don't want the money. When are we going to finish this dance, Melody? What about if I give the money to charity, would that be okay?"

"Well, I suppose so, but---"

"Go ahead, pick a charity. I really don't care; the choice is up to you. I am not taking a cent of that money. That is final. Pick a charity, Melody, any one you wish."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"I have never been more serious in my entire life."

"My grandfather created a scholarship for Native Americans. I've always held it close to my heart."

"That's where the money is going. Done."

"You're going to make a lot of young people happy," Melody said, wistfully. "This is a lot of money, Huck; you're going to make some big headlines."

"Oh no, I don't want any credit. That's the deal. I want to remain anonymous. I can do that, right?"

"I suppose you can, why not? Oh my God, wait until they find out at the office. This is going to blow their minds! Do you mind me asking why you would give away a fortune like this? You don't even know the actual dollar amount."

"And I don't want to know. I am happy here. I have a good life. Stanley and I have all that we need and I wouldn't know what to do with a fortune. Besides, that man was a total asshole. Please don't call him my grandfather. My grandfather lives on the other side of town and he is a great man."

Melody smiled and shook her head in disbelief. "Whatever you say, Huck. I'll get back to the office and fill out the necessary documents. I will stop by tomorrow for your signature. Is that all right with you?"

"What's your rush?" I asked. "We don't get much company out this way and you've hardly even touched your lemonade."

Melody looked at me for a long moment with a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The look made me think of Man Killer and I wanted to take her in my arms and never let her go. Our eyes locked. "I am sure your girlfriend wouldn't like that. Unless you're married, is there a Mrs. Brindle?"

I laughed at that. "No and no. I am completely single, what about you, Melody? Are you in a committed relationship?"

"Oh, heavens no; who has time for relationships? I work sixty hours a week and there just isn't time for a social life. I haven't even been out on a date in nearly two years."

"It's been a lot longer than that for me."

Melody's eyes twinkled. "Is that right?" she asked. "Well, Huck, maybe you and I should do something about that?"

I smiled as our eyes met. We sat there for nearly two hours in the spring sunshine as flowers bloomed and lives changed. A lone eagle soared overhead and I knew without a doubt that it was my grandfather. My true grandfather: Odd Whitefeather.

The old guy still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

THE END (or is it?)

About the author:

Nicholas Antinozzi is a lifelong resident of Minnesota and currently resides in St. Paul.

Discover other titles by Nicholas Antinozzi at Smashwords.com
