Odd People: Andapu Oyate:
Friendships and Feuds Between Pioneers and Native Americans
Excerpt: One Against
“They can’t get away with it,” To-ko-witz growled. “We must
not let them think that the battle is won.”
“I agree,” said Mon-dats. “We need white blood.”
I didn’t say anything, even though I wanted to remind Mon-dats that
the blood of the white-skinned people had proven to run as red as ours
when it spilled from their bodies. It’s true that it made a brighter
contrast against their pale skin, especially if their hair was the
strange, ghost color of many spider webs strung together over their
heads. It was fascinating, this light color that made me think they
already had half of their spirit in the grave. The spider hair made them
look old, even if their faces were young. I wondered if these
light-hairs felt the wounds of death as keenly as those of us with the
solid skin color of earth. I had killed my share of the pale skins, but
hadn’t known how to ask them how it felt to die.
“We’ll lie in ambush,” To-ko-witz said. “Many of the pale skins
are coming into the canyon to cut wood.”
“Bah,” said Orro-kani with disgust. “They build their shelters
thick and solid, and they don’t move them with the seasons. They squat
together like ants crawling over a carcass, and their dwellings are as
ugly as a pile of moose turds.”
This made me laugh. It was so like Orro-kani to speak his mind. Even
though he was one who liked to laugh, I would not want to be on the
wrong end of the spear if Orro-kani were my enemy. There would be
nothing left of me if he truly wanted to be rid of me. He was the
fiercest warrior I knew.
“They make good bread,” I mumbled. My stomach growled in agreement.
The others stared at me, their dark eyes narrowed.
“What?” I asked.
“You would trade a loaf of bread for the lands of your forefathers?”
To-ko-witz demanded.
“No, of course not.” I set my jaw so they would not ask me any more
questions. Was I the only one who missed the days when the white
settlers first came to our valley? They had come here during a time of
first cold, bringing their fat cattle, who were so tame that they stood
and watched while you notched your arrow, and watched it fly toward
their hearts. Then they would fall over dead. They were more
accommodating than deer or elk. As the winter wore on and snow piled
deep, the cattle began dying of their own accord. We would drag off
their carcasses and feast in our camp.
More settlers came the next year, bringing more cattle. We found it to
be much more convenient to drive the cattle into the mountains before
slaughtering them, because some of the settlers didn’t like us to help
ourselves. They had a strange word, called “stealing.” We didn’t
have such a word in our language. We saw things very differently from
the whites, with their pale eyes. We took what we needed, we took what
we wanted. If anyone could take it back from us, then it was theirs by
rights, and they deserved to have it more than we.
We soon discovered that some of the cows gave milk, and cream, and the
whites had magical machines that turned cream into butter and
buttermilk. I had even been to Walter Cox’s house on some occasions
where they had made ice cream. They shared with me, as they always did.
When I lifted a spoonful of ice cream to my tongue, it hurt. I yanked
the spoon away, thinking I’d been burned. But the little Cox children
were putting spoonful after spoonful into their mouths. The bit of ice
cream on my tongue melted and I caught the flavor. I had never had
anything like it before. It must be food of the Gods. I scooped the rest
of my ice cream into my mouth as quickly as the awkward spoon would
allow. Then Walter’s missus saw my empty bowl. She looked into my
eyes, smiled, and put more into my bowl.
“Mama,” said one of her daughters, called E-mi-lee. “May I have
more?”
“No, I’m sorry. There is no more.”
E-mi-lee stuck out her bottom lip. “Then why does he get more?” She
pointed her spoon at me, and I began to scoop the ice cream into my
mouth faster.
“He’s our guest,” said Missus Cox.
I grinned at E-mi-lee and opened my mouth wide to take in the last bite
of ice cream, delighting in the shock of cold that melted into sweetness
beyond any berries or even honey that I’d ever found in the forest.
E-mi-lee wasn’t a spiderweb hair, but her sister Sarah was. When Sarah
saw that my bowl was empty, she leaned over to take it from me. I
reached up to touch her hair. She jerked away, a look of surprise in her
strange round eyes, as blue as the sky in summer. I wondered if
everything looked blue through her sky eyes.
“It’s all right, Sarah,” said Cox. “He’s not used to blonde
hair, that’s all.”
Sarah gave me a thin smile and hurried into the kitchen with my bowl.
I burped as loudly as I could so that Missus Cox would know how much I
liked the food she’d given me, especially the ice cream. E-mi-lee
gasped and put her hand over her mouth, as though she’d burned her
tongue on a roasted cricket. One of the little Cox boys laughed out
loud, and I grinned at him.
Nearly all of the whites would give us food when we asked, but most of
them handed it out the door to us, then shut it in our faces instead of
inviting us to eat with them like Cox did.
There was one white woman, the crazy Yew-nees Warner, who held out no
good will toward us, even though her husband had honor in death by
killing an Indian before he himself had been killed. It was an even
exchange, a trade that balanced the numbers in the best possible
proportions. Yet Yew-nees didn’t seem satisfied that her husband had
died a noble warrior’s death and had gone to the best afterlife, far
better than if he’d died an old man in his wigwam.
I had gone along when we’d been to visit Yew-nees at the dwelling of
her parents after we’d made peace from the killings. Her father was a
white leader, a man we called “Captain.” He was reasonable about
war, he knew that it was simply a way of life, and once the deaths were
avenged, there was no sense in hanging onto the dead with a heavy heart.
One of those who had killed Warner had claimed Warner’s strange neck
cloth to wear around his own neck, although he didn’t tie it in the
same fashion as Warner had, with a knot that slid magically along the
length of fabric. Warner also had some curious talismans with him, a
metal cylinder that folded out some most wondrous tools that we had
never seen the like of. None of us had been selfish, but had broken
several of the tools off so that we might all take part in the new and
wonderful things that the pale skins brought with them. Yet when we
visited as guests in Yew-nees’s home, she glared at us as if we were
demons. My fellow warrior adjusted his neck cloth and smiled at her,
thinking that seeing how we honored her husband’s belongings would
prove to her the high regard we held him in.
We all pulled out the pieces of metal that had been shared with us and
laid them out on the table for her to see with what honor we esteemed
the brave Warner.
As soon as she saw the items, a most wondrous change occurred in Yew-nees’s
face. It drained of what little color it had until she truly appeared as
one dead. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth compressed into a thin line.
She hardly looked human anymore. Even though she was obviously with
child, she wasn’t slow to grab up a knife and start toward us. If she
had reached us, I had no doubt that she would have done her best to
plunge the blade into at least one of us, possibly more, since we were
so surprised at her actions. Yet she didn’t get the chance to kill
even one of us. Instead, her father grabbed her by the shoulders and
pulled her from the room. A sound escaped her mouth, a strangled cry
that didn’t even sound human.
We laughed in amazement at her power and determination. She would have a
strong papoose, of that we were all in complete agreement.
Captain returned alone. If he had beaten her while in the other room in
order to teach her to keep her place, she hadn’t cried out, not even
once. Our admiration for her grew, as well as our conviction that she
was possessed of an unusual spirit.
It was after she had her papoose that one of our young men, Enapay, who
had heard our stories of Yew-nees decided to go and ask for bread from
her household. He said he wanted to see this pale devil woman. He would
have to go without me because I remembered, all too well, the knife that
had come for me faster than I had thought possible.
We could see the fort from our Indian camp. We watched Enapay go in, and
later we saw him come running out, screaming and crying that the devil
woman had beaten him nearly dead. When he calmed down enough to make
sense, he said that he had found her alone with her papoose when he
knocked. He asked for bread.
“No.” she said. “Go away.”
She was not a large woman, not even tall. Enapay closed the door and
leaned against it. “Give me bread,” he said. He was determined not
to be put off by this small white woman. He would make her do as he
commanded, as a woman should.
Yew-neese laid her papoose down on the bed. “That baby stared at me
with its strange, pale eyes,” Orwitz said, his own eyes growing wide
with the memory. “He bewitched me and fixed me to my spot. I
couldn’t move. Then Yew-nees pulled a stick from where it propped up
one of their glass walls. The pane of glass crashed down, sounding just
like rifle fire. I thought that someone was shooting outside, so my
attention was distracted. Then she came at me with her stick, swinging
it with such ferocity that I didn’t even have time to pull my blanket
up around my shoulders to protect myself. She beat me until I had to cry
for mercy or die. At last that devil-woman opened her door and told me
to get out.”
Enapay showed us the bruises and bloody cuts on his back and shoulders.
When Chief Arropeen heard his tale, he told Enapay that he deserved just
what he got.
“I was bewitched!” Enapay declared.
“Squaw,” Arropeen said.
Ever since that exchange, Enapay had been “Squaw,” and not one of us
would ever ask Yew-neese for anything. Sometimes the children of our
tribe would dare each other to approach her and touch her skirt, but it
was the rare child who would even take up the dare, and none followed
through. Yew-neese was possessed of a devil spirit, there was no doubt
about that, but we still called Enapay “Squaw.”
The Cox family was as opposite of Yew-nees as it was possible to be.
They would always smile when they saw that it was me at their door. They
invited me in, cut the bread thick, and spread it with some of their
good sweet butter before handing over it to me. Sometimes it had golden
honey poured over it, if they had any. They would ask me to sit at their
own table to eat, bringing a cold glass of milk for me to drink with the
bread. I felt as though I was one of their tribe.
If all whites had been like that, then there wouldn’t have been so
much bloodshed. Yet some of the whites expected us to abandon our
homeland for them to take over. They called us names, cheated us in
trading, and taught their children to throw rocks at our children.
Recently, some of our tribe had been killed in a skirmish a day’s ride
south. We had to avenge our tribesmen, and we sought enemy blood in
exchange for the Indian blood that had spilled.
“We will kill some of the men who are cutting down our trees in the
canyon,” Mon-dats declared.
“They always have some of their numbers stand guard with fire
sticks,” said To-ko-witz.
“We’ll get them first,” said Orro-kani. “We’ll gather enough
of us to kill the fire-stick holders, then we’ll kill the rest.” His
eyes shone with eagerness.
“Or we could lie in wait and ambush anyone going into the canyon,” I
said. “They wouldn’t be expecting us to wait patiently. They think
we’re blood-thirsty barbarians.”
Orro-kani turned his dark eyes to me. “We could be as sneaky as
rabbits in a burrow,” he said. I thought he was poking fun at me,
until he said, “We could be rabbits hiding the teeth of a bear in our
mouths and the claws of a cougar in our paws!” He grinned, and I
grinned back.
“Are we all agreed to this plan?” To-ko-witz asked. He looked at
each of us in turn, and we all gave him a nod of assent.
“All agree,” he announced. “Let’s go spill some pale face blood
and avenge our brothers.”
“The first ones to come along,” Mon-dats said. “We’ll kill them
before they can even scream.”
My heart pounded with anticipation as we grabbed our weapons and headed
for the canyon mouth. I even let myself hope that maybe there would be a
flame-hair among those who would fall into our trap. I had seen only two
flame-hairs in my life, and I would be proud to own a scalp like that.
It couldn’t help but bring me luck, to have a scalp with such powerful
magic as to be the color of fire.
We made our way through the trees along the river that ran along the
bottom of the canyon. When I spotted the white man’s bridge, I had an
idea. “Wait! “ I said. “Let’s hide under the bridge. It will be
the perfect place to wait for our victims. After they’ve crossed,
we’ll attack from behind and they won’t even see us coming.”
Orro-kani placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “Good thinking,” he
said. “I say we make our burrow under the path that spans the
river.”
Again, To-ko-witz checked that we were all in agreement, and then he led
the way to the bridge. We hunkered beneath it, weapons in hand, our
heads tilted upward to listen for any sound of feet, be they human or
horse, on the planks of wood that stretched out into a shelter over our
heads.
We were patient. After a time, we heard the sounds of female voices and
laughter.
It was difficult to keep my excitement in check as the voices grew
louder, and the sounds of feet rattled the boards over our heads.
Females had long hair, and long hair made the best scalps. It sounded as
if there were enough for each man in our party to claim one. I strained
to listen for the sound of a male voice, but none came through to my
ears. It was rare to have female paleskins out alone, but perhaps they
thought they would be safe in numbers. Foolish thinking. Even if they
had a gun, they would be so weak that even if they saw us coming, we
would be upon them before they could even raise and fire a weapon.
When the females had crossed the bridge, To-ko-witz signaled to the
others to make their way up onto the road. I was right behind Orro-kani.
We slid like shadows into the brush beside the road to make our attack.
There were six white women walking along the road just ahead, with
baskets in their hands. I grinned. After the massacre, we could take the
baskets, which almost surely carried food that was going to the pale men
who were cutting trees in our mountains.
So much the better. If we were taking the lives of the women who
mattered to the men, then they would be wounded in their hearts as well.
Even better than that, we would get some of the white man’s food to
eat.
I was suddenly hungry. Their bread was so fine-textured compared to the
coarse flour that our women ground with rocks and made up into fry
cakes. Too bad for the pale men gathering wood who would now have to do
without their food and without their women.
Then my eyes stopped on one of the women who walked at the back of the
column, one with hair the color of spider webs.
Although there were many of the whites who had light hair of different
shades, there was something about this hair that struck a memory in me.
When the smaller girl walking beside her turned to say something to
spidersilk hair, I nearly gasped out loud. It was the face of E-mi-lee,
Cox’s daughter. And spider web hair was Sarah. I knew it without
having to see her face.
“Stop!” I hissed.
Orro-kani spun around and scowled at me.
“We cannot do this.”
“Why?” Orro-kani demanded, his eyes narrowed into angry slits, his
fist wrapped around the shaft of his bow, and his fingers worked the
fletching on his arrow.
“I know those women,” I said.
“Then you get to kill the ones you know,” Orro-kani said.
“No. I cannot kill them. They are daughters of my friend.”
“Whites are not our friends,” Orro-kani spat. “That’s why
we’re doing this.” He shook his head as though despairing of my
sanity.
“We must vote,” To-ko-witz said. “Who is ready to kill these white
maggots and get them off our land?”
Orro-kani nodded his head, and so did the others. I shook my head
“no.”
Orro-kani looked at me as if he would like to kill me.
“We have one against,” To-ko-witz announced, not sounding the least
bit happy about it. “It is over.”
Orro-kani gave a gasp of disappointment loud enough that I was sure the
women would hear him. I glanced down the road where the white women were
disappearing around the bend. Not one of them looked back.
“You rabbit!” Orro-kani snapped, then he stomped off through the
forest. I knew his feet were heavier than they needed to be.
A couple of weeks later, I went looking for Cox and found him in his
field. As soon as he saw me, his face broke into a smile as broad as the
yoke he had on his oxen’s shoulders. He showed no sign of fear, even
though I had my bow in my hand and a quiver full of arrows slung across
my back. “Are you hungry?” Cox asked. “Come, share my lunch,” he
said. He didn’t even hesitate, and I knew I had done right in sparing
his daughter’s lives, even though I was about as popular in camp as a
bloated buzzard.
Cox opened his cloth bag and pulled out some bread and a lump of yellow
that he called cheese. It was soft and chewy and salty. Delicious.
“Cox,” I said, “Don’t let your E-mi-lee and Sarah go out in the
mountains alone any more.”
His eyes opened wide in surprise. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“They could get dead.”
Cox’s face darkened. “Is this a threat? Haven’t I always been your
friend?”
I held up one hand to ward off his sudden anger. I had enough people mad
at me back in camp. “It is because you are my friend that your
daughters are alive,” I said. Then I told him of our plans, and how I
had voted against the massacre.
Cox’s eyes got wet, just like a woman’s. I looked away so I
wouldn’t have to see his loss of manhood dripping down his face.
“You are a true friend,” he said, his voice tight and garbled with
women’s water. I was feeling sorry that I had told him anything.
Certainly, women were valuable property, but not worth breaking down to
cry like one. But his next words redeemed himself in my eyes.
“Come to my house tonight,” Cox said. “Come and have all the ice
cream you can eat.”
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Table of Contents
Remember Me?
First Impressions
Do Unto Others
Topaddie’s Treasure
Sick, Sick, Sick
Bought and Paid For
Fair Trade
Rude Welcome
One Against
Is The Doctor In?
A Token of Love
A Life For A Life
A Dying Curse
Massacre
Little Indian Emissary
General Store
Bed and Breakfast
Abandoned
Two For Two
So Scared
Guess Again
Indian Court
From Little Things
Endorsements:
Shirley Bahlmann's How Odd: Friendships and Feuds Between Pioneers and
Native Americans, is a delightful departure from the dusty tomes of
history. Breathing life into each of her historical events, Bahlmann
gives us a look at what the participants may have been feeling at the
time their encounters with each other occurred. Particularly enjoyable
are her efforts to present events from the perspective of 19th century
Native Americans, who far too often get the short shift when it comes to
their integral part in "American" history. Now and then we all
need to try on someone else's "moccasins."
Blaine M. Yorgason, Author of The Windwalker, Charlie's Monument, and
From One Tattered Angel, With Love.
Shirley has a great storytelling gift. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this
book. Great job!
Doreen Brugger, Manti Temple Matron and former Snow College Music
Teacher
This is an excellent book of stories about the interface between
pioneers and Indians. Shirley Bahlmann has taken known and documented
incidents and created plausible short stories around them. They are well
told, interesting, and very enjoyable to read. My grandfather, the
Archie Buchanan whom Shirley mentions in the story about the abandoned
army wagons, was a major Indian interpreter for Brigham Young and other
early Church leaders. I grew up on stories like these. Many of the
stories seem to grow more heroic and expand in significance each time
some of his posterity related them at family reunions. I enjoyed the
stories in this book very much and actually found them more plausible
than many of the stories I heard as a young boy. I think that
Shirley’s storytelling ability is increasing significantly as she
continues her series of books. I think this book is excellent.
Col. (Rtd) Archie M. Brugger MD, Manti Temple President
I thoroughly enjoyed this book! Compared with my experience of living on
an Indian reservation and my personal studies of Native Americans, these
stories ring true. I like the way they’re put together, as they kept
me in suspense and made me feel like I was with the characters, sharing
their adventures right to the very end.
Gary I Montierth, United States Veteran
This is an interesting book, with separate biographies encompassing
different periods of time. The stories show what people did, how they
lived, and how they survived. That part hit close to home because my
father survived the Trail of Tears.
The stories regarding the Native Americans are pretty close, but since
different tribes have different customs, if you get members from another
tribe, they might disagree.
In some ways I found it good to read because it opened my eyes a little.
Tsosie Hosteenez, son of a Navajo Shaman
I truly enjoy your books and your desire to seek out the facts and get
the stories right. You have great talent. You’re a real artist. Keep
it up!
Keith Burdick, Shoshone
We are happy to endorse these fun, interesting stories, and recommend
that anyone who has either Mormon pioneer ancestors or Native American
ancestors read this book. It gave us a different perspective than we had
in the past about Indians and pioneers in their encounters with each
other. We really enjoyed reading this. We are big fans of your
"Odd" series and can't wait to collect the entire series.
Shane and Julia Draney |
