The Scotsman's Fiddle
The day after A wi-a is placed in the ground Lark and I just wander around in the Buffalo grass.
It appears that wagons are placed an acre apart we don't go to the other wagons for fear of disease.
We do not yet know what is to become of us.
I see a group of riders coming from the north there are Indians and a strange looking man with them.
Lark and I go to the wagon hoping these riders come to move us into the Fort.
It is a Muskogee greeting we receive from the elders "when are you to move into the Fort?"
I ask the Elder how we are to move? with no animal.
Who took your animal? The Elder asks I say, "Soldiers and Apache guards came to gather all, to breed to be stock for Tahlequah"
"You foolish soul, Oxen and Mules are not to breed.
Those horses will not be bred this year they are too poor."
These Solider thieves with their Apache dog's have stolen most of the stock they are moving it to Texas to sell to settlers for highest price paid.
They throw us four poles to use as carriers
As they leave the white man with the strange brogue turns back riding toward us.
I am wondering how we will carry our iron skillet and pot?
The old white man introduces himself as Barney, the fiddler along with us from Bear Mountain.
I say "you have a strange manner of talk".. He says "I am Scots so do you."
Scots Barney, offers to hook one of the carriers we are to make to his horse and accompany us to the Fort.
I wondered why the Muskogee did not make such an offer?
Scots Barney says "Because it is said you refused their offer to join their Tribe."
I think the Muskogee want to use Lark and I as household help for their women.
I am glad I refused.
We load what we can on the two pole carriers Scots Barney has made with rawhide strips.
He say's "Mount out".
As the blazing Sun sets behind hills in the distance, I turn back to look at the wagon that brought us here and think of A wi a.
Lark takes her Bow harp from her pocket and play's, the vibrating sound helps me pull the heavy poles with our belongings. I am very slow.
Scots Barney says "We will camp here for the night, were near enough to the Fort for the patrols to check on us".
We have hard tack and water, Scots Barney says he will be back later saying "Lass you go about building us a fire."
"A fire from what?"
He slaps his knee and says "Are ye blind, there are Buffalo chips all over this prairie".
Lark and I set out to find this waste of the Buffalo. I hear a shot.
Soon Scots Barney, rides up throwing a prairie dog, For me to clean for our supper as he calls the meal. Soon our bellies are full. A small smelly fire burns, "keeps the skeeters at bay" he says.
He takes the fiddle from behind his saddle and begins to play. First it is fast and cheerful,
He asks Lark and I to dance, we do not move "I ain't neer seen me a Cherokee Squaw who couldn't dance her feet off."
I look down at the ground and say "We are not Squaws, we are what you people call maidens".
He clears his throat slowing down his music he takes a pipe from his grimy jacket pocket bends over the fire taking a piece of dry long grass he lights his pipe. I yearn for Tabac, he makes no offer.
Lark and I make our place to lay very close to each other, Fearful of this Old Scots fiddler, with eyes of ice blue like some of our own Cherokee people.
I turn over and look to the stars on this prairie night the darkness is all about yet no cool air.
So many Stars in the prairie sky..
I cannot help but cry.
Cry for our childhoods soon to be lost..
Hating this trail for where it has brought..
All souls long to be where their hearts
Will always be...
Ladybirdã
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