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...“The bloodshed grew, the army was called in,
and sided with settlers as they often did,
Blue Hawk’s people were crushed, all rounded up,
put on the rez and told to stay within.

“Despite the peace both sides still held their hate,
cursing the other right up until they died,
it wasn’t long after Blue Hawk passed on
that he restless ghost first was espied.

“Every Blake who has lived here since those days
has seen Blue Hawk’s spirit wandering the hills,
some say he’s still out looking for his girl,
others that he seeks out Herbert to kill.

“He never once came into this here house,
inside here at least you’ll all be safe.
Though I must say Rudolph was leery
of going out at night from this place.”

I bit back hard on the urge to laugh
because the officer seemed truly sincere,
he left and I resolved to probe deeper
to understand what was going on here.

But when I went to the reservation
they told the same story as the old cop,
that Blue Hawk’s spirit was doomed to wander
until he found the poor daughter he’d lost.

Seeing that locals would be of no help
I decided to look into my side,
never knew much of Herbert besides the name,
but the internet helped to trace my line.

My grandpa Rudolph had been the son
of a Blake who had come from Oregon,
by the name of Ellis, he was the child
of a man who’d gone by the name of Milton.

That was where things suddenly got confused,
when I scanned the eighteen-seventy census,
I found Herbet Blake, my great-great-great grandpa,
and the names of his children in a list.

There was Eudalia, first-born daughter,
died before she could reach the age nine,
Mary and Spencer and Edward and Bill,
said Edward had died, eighteen seventy-nine.

That was the year all the trouble began,
so where had Milton been all of this time?
Then I saw Ed’s middle initial was ‘M’
and the truth of it formed within my mind.

Edward hadn’t died, he’d fled the whole mess,
and started going by his middle name,
but what of Blue Hawk’s missing daughter,
did the Blakes really deserve this blame?

I could find nothing of this girl ‘Small Doe’
when I looked into the country archives,
though given the acrimony of those years
I could not say that this was a surprise.

But an idea appeared half-formed in my mind,
I sent a request to the Oregon town
where Milton Blake had lived his adult life,
and was astonished by what I then found...

CONCLUDES IN PART III.
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