Braiding Three Reports to Make One Factby Sharon Chmielarz
That night at Fort Yates when Sitting Bull turned himself in, a night of clubbing and shooting-- he lining up his sights down the barrel of a gun, ghost dance gun, ghost trigger, ghost barrel, ghost bullets killing four dog soldiers paid to kill him, mortally wounding two others-- a night of sell-out when he lay in the dirt, bleeding, what happened is that the one who betrayed him, the one paid to ride into the fort as Standing Bear rode out as scott-free Sam. Sam retired like a white man to a little house in Wakpala. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow... Slow, as in sewn moccasins and carved peace pipes. Sam hawked them on a blanket in town. Dropping, like the grasshoppers that ate Sam's rows of potatoes and chewed his straw hat. "One big fellow even bit me on the shoulder!" When Sam laughed, his eyes crinkled. His evenings were full of the blackbird's wings.