The sun was hot as it glared down on the little wagon that tottered down the dirt path to seemingly nowhere. The inhabitants of the canvas-clad wood box saw only a vast hilly terrain for miles and miles. Their destination: Fort Burgess, Wyoming—a former fur trading post. Their reason: they were now some of the few Cheyenne that had not been placed in a reservation, and they needed to either assimilate among the whites, or receive poor treatment from the whites that had pushed them from their homes.

The patriarch of the group, Henry Blackfox, nee Black Fox, shielded his eyes in the sun’s glare and began discussing the scenery with his wife in his native language. “Ma… do you think it’ll be all green like this when we get to town?” His wife next to him gave a “tsk” and complained about the bumpy road. Henry, waiting for a proper response to his question, cleared his throat.

Ada sighed exhaustedly, saying, “If it is, I’d die of boredom. We’ve seen nothing but green for the past two days. Chases the Enemy has got herself a sore behind and Skinny Horse’s got a turned stomach. I’m telling you, our children will drop dead before we reach this so-called Fort Fergus.”

“It’s Burgess, Ada. Nellie and Samuel can handle a few more hours of travel, ain’t that right, children?” Henry’s two youngest children mumbled incoherent replies, which satisfied Henry greatly. Optimistic, he snapped the reins for the ponies to head into a trot.

In the past two years, the whole family had prepared for a new life among the whites. Ada, knowing some English through past visits from missionaries to her village, taught her family what phrases she knew, and Henry helped to gather clothing from passing missionaries. It was all they could do, but somehow, Henry didn’t feel it was enough.

Henry, leaning back, observed his children. Charlotte, the oldest at 18, was busy brushing pollen from her dress and styling her hair. Esther, 15, was blankly reading a dictionary, obviously bored. Samuel, at 13, was proud to be the lone boy, but was at the time only concerned with chewing his lip in discomfort. Lastly, nine-year-old Nellie was as serious as she never was, gleefully throwing pollen from her own clothing onto Charlotte’s. Henry’s reverie was suddenly broken when he heard his ponies whinnying loudly. Snapping his head forward, he could see a distant brown block, like a forest missing its treetops. Quickly, he sat up in his seat, waking up the napping Ada.

Ada couldn’t believe her eyes when she opened them, and a smile crept over her wind-beat face. “Children, we’ve reached it,” she cried out. “I can’t wait to kiss you, ground!” She shouted to the grassy glade surrounding the fort. Her voice echoed with the open, rain-ready air.

As the two ponies traipsed briskly through the opened wood gates, the Blackfoxes all had their hearts in their throats. Esther was especially worried. She’d just begun courting with a young man by the name of Bird Liver when she was whisked away on the trek to this new land. What if this place turned out to be less than what they had expected? Would he accept her back if she returned without her family? Esther let out a big sigh, closing her eyes until the little wagon passed through the gates.

“Hey, there! Wagon-driver,” a gravelly voice called out. Henry halted the ponies, leaning out to see a man running towards the wagon. “Hello, folks, my name is Mayor Calvin Pruen,” the man greeted, tipping his flat hat at the family.

“You leader of town?” Ada said in her best English.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m like the “big chief” around here, you could say,” at this, the little man laughed loudly, his face filling with color. Still, laughing, he raised a hand, saying, “How! Hehe…”

The family was confused. “What does “how” mean?” Henry inquired, putting down his reigns. Mayor Pruen’s smile dropped from his face.

“Er, uh… You folks ain’t Sioux? Well, uh…”

“No! We are Notameohmésêhese!” Samuel cried out, angry for being mistaken for something they are not, especially by a white man.

“No-tah-meh-oh-may... You’re Cheyennes?” Mayor Pruen surmised. He didn’t feel like standing around chatting with Indians when there was working to be done.

“Yes, and we have been… tra-ve-ling for days. Please, let us stay in town. We will work hard. We promise,” Mrs. Blackfox said with a weak smile. She could see rain clouds forming in the sky and didn’t want to have to spend a rainy night in the wagon.

“You can stay here, but our only inn just burned down last spring. Go talk to Mr. Good Cloud, over in that big ol’ black shack yonder. He’s our town carpenter and he’s d___ good at his job. He can build you a house, and he may have the charity to give you use of his own home for the time being. Good luck,” Mayor Pruen called, patting Martha and hobbling off to a big light-blue house.

They clopped along for a good ten minutes before they reached the dreary wooden house, and a tall, dark-skinned man sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch. His head was hanging down, and his hat covered his face. A sign hung above his porch, but none of the Blackfoxes could read what it said.

“Mister? Mr. Good Cloud? Hey!” Henry got out of the wagon and waved his hands in front of the man’s face. Good Cloud snored in reply. Henry, fed up with waiting, snatched the man’s hat from his head. Good Cloud woke up at once, shooting up from his seat and giving Henry a good look at his face. He looked to be no more than a year younger than Charlotte.

“What do you think you’re doing, ité ská?” the boy growled. His long black hair was blowing in the wind, obscuring his face again. He was well-built and long-limbed, with an angular, oblong face, good featured and black-eyed. He was no doubt, by appearances, a Sioux.

“Excuse me, boy, where can I find… Good Cloud?”

“You’re talking to him. Daniel Good Cloud’s m’name,” he sniffed, taking his ten-gallon hat from Henry’s hand and placing it back on his head. “You in need of something, friend?” Daniel saw five people exit a wagon behind this hat-stealer: a woman and four children. They approached Henry and surrounded the back of him.

“Me and my family need place to stay. Can you make us house? Can we stay your house?”

Daniel paused before he answered Henry, considering the dangers of accepting a stranger into his home. But, not being able to refuse a man that looked as honest as Henry Blackfox, Daniel nodded, looking over briefly at Esther. She lowered her head with an overwhelming shyness.

“I’ll let you stay, yes. I don’t have much space, though. And don’t let your kids touch my tools, they’re dangerous—In fact, don’t you touch ‘em, neither. Your missus and you can stay in the kitchen, your boy and your youngest girl can stay in my room, and your older girls can share my sister’s old room. I’m gonna sleep out here,” With all this said, the young man dryly wiped his eyes and turned around on his heel, opening the house door and going into his house without another word.

“Papa, you’re having us stay with a stranger?” Esther cried out in Cheyenne. “We don’t know what he’s like, what he’s done! He could be some sort of crazed deviant…” Esther’s hand floated in front of her throat.

“He could say the same for you, and yet he’s letting you stay in his house. He sounds like a… stand-up fellow. I will talk with him more, get to know him,” Henry announced, reaching for the door knob.

When the door swung open, he was greeted by the smell of cooking food. Good Cloud was nowhere to be found, but Henry could hear some sort of ruckus upstairs. The house was spacious, with rooms open and no walls, the upper floor held up by beams, and accessible by a thin staircase that ran from the floor to a square space in the woodwork of the ceiling. Though unkempt, this house was sturdy-looking, warmed by the stove that was burning in the north-eastern corner.

Upstairs, Daniel was feeling nervous with the prospect of houseguests after three years of living alone. He paced the floor of his room, tracking clumps of dirt and dust on the floor. “How are they gonna pay for their rent? How will my horses ever be fed if I have to feed all these mouths? How will I be fed? Judas priest…”

“I trade fur, and the women good at beadwork. We will sell things in market,” a deep voice assured. Daniel, startled, turned around with fists held high. He was greeted by the man from downstairs. “Calm down, son, you would win in fight with me.” The boy threw his hat on the floor, his face livid.

“Don’t call me “son”! I don’t got no use for the word. All right? Now leave me be, I’d like to think alone.” Henry frowned at this boy’s perceived state: orphaned, alone, and Lakota. Not a good combination in towns like these. This boy needed the Blackfox’s company as much as they needed his house.

“How old are you?” Henry inquired sourly.

“I’ll be 17 in a week. And just call me Daniel. I’m not no “Mister”. Sounds too formal, don’t you think, uh… What’s your name?”

“Henry. Henry Blackfox.”

“Pleasure. I don’t suppose you were born with that name.”

“No, my name now is what I go by, no going back to Black Fox. People can’t say it right, anyhow.” Henry laughed, hoping Daniel would at least smile. The teenager stayed stone-faced.

There was a long silence between the two, the sounds being of conversation and horse-whinnies faintly in the distance. Henry, feeling uncomfortable, decided to head down to the floor level to meet his family. Just as he was descending the steps, he heard Daniel make a noise of uncertainty.

“Mr. Blackfox…” Daniel began, sounding almost nervous. “I’d be very happy to have your family as houseguests.”

“House… guest. Good,” Henry sounded out, trying to fit the two syllables together. “I am glad to be your houseguest, too.”

Daniel smiled.
~o~o~

In another part of town, as this little family was starting life anew, so was a lone doctor from a Podunk Arkansas town, walking into the gates of Fort Burgess merely hours after the Blackfoxes arrived.

Earl Pinke, taking a deep breath, sighed with satisfaction at reaching his long-awaited destination. Laying his satchel at the door of the gate, he sat down, leaning his back against the tall posts. The sky, now pale and mixed with gray and black banks of clouds, began to kiss his cheeks lightly with tiny droplets of cool rain.

No-one was walking outside and Earl was only greeted by the cracking of thunder. “Woo-wee, what a salutation!” He exclaimed. The earth began to soften beneath his behind with the coming waters. “Well, I better get to the hospital. I sure hope Essi kept it clean,” He tried to stand up and his knees creaked from overuse.

“Dr. Pinke, what are you doing out in the rain!” Earl looked up to see a pinched-faced and tightly-corseted woman in a green dress approach him. This was his second cousin, Essi De Morgan, and she looked like an imposing giant with a black umbrella as Earl squinted his eyes past the rain.

“Essi! Glad to see you!”

“Well, get up, you fool! You’re gonna catch something awful, sitting in this rain.”

“Esmeralda, I’m the doctor, not you,” Earl droned with the utmost seriousness. He then stood up, leaning back down to pick up his satchel. Essi began to laugh.

“Bless me, but, did you do yourself a disservice?” She snorted like the pig she resembled. Dr. Pinke turned around to find his trousers wet with mud. He blushed redder than a radish.

“I beg your pardon, but I’ve got to go. Good day, Essi,” Earl rushed off as quickly as he could. His limping lumber was soon stopped when something whacked him in the back of his head. “Sweet sons of Samuel, what was that?” He turned around to see his satchel lying in the mud, his anatomy papers and books soaked with dirty water. Essi was now a distant dot standing in front of Horst’s Candy Shoppe. Earl sighed and bent to collect his things. “Yes, Lord, what a salutation…”