Soul Stance River - 9

As the moon and sun share the fabric of a fading song of ancient blues a ceremony of torch light identity ensues chieftains in regalia of royal feather headdresses and mantles of warrior mania approach the flagstaff that Clark and I stand under with a procession of musicians clad in the symbols of their souls playing instruments that speak the language of their knowledge, after being bedazzled by the brute majesty of the music and pomp our men give gifts of tobacco carrots, knives, beads and small bells, chiefs Wueche and Arcawechar tap both of my shoulders with their ceremonial spears, a gesture of friendship and blessing after which we toast to the fortune of patient eyes with a dram of whiskey, my elocution of America's intentions and jurisdiction is delivered with sincerity and alacrity just as an eagle protects it's range and with the wit and instincts of a wolf Chief Wueche agrees with the terms of allegiance but also admonishes us not only of the pirates of the Plains, but that supremacy is the child of wrath for the natives especially for the dominant tribe of the Sioux Nation, the Teton, he seems to somberly realize that his Yankton people must either become a weapon of America's war machine, or be destroyed by it, J.A.B.