The Diary of Jerrod Bently by J.W. Osborn (large ebook reader TXT) 📕

and we settled down for the night. Scrub Pot was cooking something in a large kettle beside the wagon and the sour look on his face made me want to avoid him. Obviously he was not in very good humor and in the not to distant future, I would find out just why.

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BLACKFOOT TERRITORY - 1845

Bird That Talks was the daughter of the Medicine Chief and quite a few young brave hoped to trade many horses for her. She was short, but VERY attractive in those days and it seemed her popularity not only stemmed from her good looks and her father’s position in the tribe, but from the long unshaperoned walks she took with her lovers into the deep woods. Yes, Bird That Talks was a beauty, with her long dark hair and beautiful dark brown eyes. Her alluring shape was distracting to the men when ever she walked by. She was also vain and self possessed. The other young girls hated her. She had many suitors and lovers, and none of them stuck around long. It seemed that, once close to her, wether it be a lover, friend or relative or even her father.. Bird That Talks’ constant chattering on about nothing was a habit that repelled most every member of the village. It had become such an annoyance it was brought before the Chief himself. Chief Black Eagle knew when he saw the faces of his younger brother and two other braves who had just returned from an unsuccessful hunting trip that something had gone very wrong.
“Bird That Talks scared away the buffalo, the deer and even the coyotes”, the young Scrub Pot complained to his brother. “Bird that Talks will not be my choice for a bride. Mouth runs like wild river and never stops.” Black Eagle gave him a sympathetic look ,”Many have complained, little brother, ” he said “I will marry her off to our Pawnee half brother, Dog That Skulks. He is like her and he will take her away. Mouth runs like river, yet says nothing. You speak the truth. “
”Skulking Dog will need to cover his ears.” Scrub Pot’s companion remarked. They all nodded in agreement. The Chief dismissed the other two men but asked his brother to stay. “I never wanted you to marry Bird that Talks, brother,” he said “She is not good enough for you and I know of your white woman.” For a moment Scrub Pot was scared. He knew that his choice to love Alice Marley could get him killed, even if his brother was chief. He would not lie about it now as he faced him . “The white woman is my choice for a wife,” he said bravely.
The chief was quiet for a moment. “Walks With Horses,” he said “you are my brother. I do not approve of this union, but I will not invoke the laws of our people against you. Go in peace. Be with your woman. Remember our father and me when you have children and never let them forget they are Blackfoot.”
Well, to make a long story short, Bird That Talks married Scrub Pot’s Pawnee half brother and they rode off into the hills, talking all the way and were never heard from again. The man known to his tribe as “He Who Walks With Horses”, left his village and his family to marry Alice Marley, the daughter of a trapper and took his talents as a horse whisperer and scout to the U.S. Cavalry where he became indispensable. It was during his early days with the Cavalry that he was given the nick name of “Scrub Pot” and it stuck with him. That had all happened many years ago. No one knew of his ill fated betrothal to the woman he referred to as “Bird That Squawks.” . Little did the old Indian know that very soon, he would come face to face with her.
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In all of her nineteen years of life , Samantha Dodge had never known her Blackfoot grandfather to be afraid of anything.. Not horse, or man or wild beast. He had never walked away from a fight. He had won many battles against the long knives and rival tribes when he was a young brave. Sam loved and admired him very much, but there were times when they crossed lances. When two are as alike as they were, they did not always see eye to eye. “Cut from the same fabric,” her Aunt Lillie used to say. Sam had never seen fear in her Grandfather’s eyes and never had she known him to back down from a challenge. Not until that late afternoon when she had ridden hell bent for leather into the camp to find him and tell him she had seen a small band of Pawnee at the river.
As you might have guessed, I made it back to the herd and was really glad to see that things had settled down. We were in a good place for water and grazing and everyone was heading for the chuck wagon. Scrub Pot was in a foul mood and it was very evident in his sour expression as he laid out the evening meal of beans, bread and salt pork. I saw him look up suddenly and then drop his pot grips and disappear. Something was wrong. A few seconds later I heard his horse take off at a fast gallop. All the men kind of looked at each other, and then decided to serve themselves. I was next in line when I heard all the noise coming toward us from a small stand of trees near by. It was the loud, raucous voice of a woman that babbled on and on with out a pause. There in the gathering shadows as the sun set, there appeared a Pawnee squaw surrounded by several ill fed Indians and a few small children. The squaw herself was obviously well fed. I’d say she as down right fat. She was short in stature, with long greying hair in a single braid down her back and was dressed in traditional Pawnee attire. Her long grey tunic was smeared and stained with dirt. It fit way too tightly around her ample girth. Since they arrived at the edge of our camp, they had not made a move, but that squaw kept talking and talking. It seemed that her band of companions were deaf to her constant chatter. One of the drovers, Ely Jack, watched them carefully. “What do you want?”, he called out. The rotund woman kept on talking like she had not heard him at all. Then Dodge seemed to materialize out of thin air. “She is speaking Blackfoot,” he said . As we watched, Sam approached the ragged band of wanderers. I realized that this woman who was speaking was the same one we had seen at the river. Sam Dodge was speaking to her in a language I had never heard before, then left them waiting at the edge of the camp. “What do they want?,” Angus Watson demanded. , his hand on his gun.
“They are no threat, Angus,” Sam said firmly “They want food and are looking for someone.” They looked harmless enough, but just the same, they made me feel a little nervous as I watched that fat old squaw waddle into the camp and sit her considerable heft on the ground right by the Scrub Pot’s wagon. The old Indian was no where to be found.

Sam was worried as she saddled her horse and rode off in the direction her grandfather had gone. It was a about half an hour later that she found him a few miles from the herd, and sitting alone on top of a large boulder. His paint was grazing near by. “Why did you leave camp, Grandfather?,” Sam asked “ What is wrong?”
“Pawnee, Samantha,” he replied “I have seen the signs for a while now..”
“Yes,” she said “There were about ten of them.”
“Was the woman we spoke of earlier with them?”, he asked .
“Yes,” Sam replied. She’d never heard him curse before. Sam knew he was very angry. “Do you want to tell me who she is?” she asked.
“She is called Bird That Talks, but I call her Bird That Squawks,” Scrub Pot spit is distaste. “Mouth runs faster than a wild buffalo herd.”
Sam slid out of her saddle, climbed up on the boulder and sat down next to her grandfather. “She is just an old squaw,” she said “Not a war chief and she speaks Blackfoot well.”
Scrub Pot was quiet for a moment and looked up at the stars as they brightened in the darkening sky. “Do you remember your grandmother, Samantha Ann?,” he asked quietly.
“A little,” she said thoughtfully “She was at the fort when we came to live with you after my father died.”
“Yes,” Scrub Pot replied quietly “She was white.”
“I know,” Sam said “I remember that she had long golden hair.”
Scrub Pot smiled “You had barely learned to walk and she had you up on the back of her horse with her. ”
“He was a paint,” she said “Black and white, like Wakeeze. I remember that she took Brian for a ride too and he screamed and cried. “ Scrub Pot put his arm around his grand daughter. “Your brother was never meant to be around the horses. I knew that long before anyone else did. You were my little warrior, Samantha. I loved your grandmother very much, enough to leave the Blackfoot nation for her. I was never sorry. We had a good life but how I miss her.”
“She