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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required ...They sent a copy of an old tin-type, a picture of Milton and his bride, one look at it and I knew the whole truth, Small Doe in the fighting had not died. A DNA test confirmed what I thought, and I resolved to bring this all to an end, Blue Hawk deserved know death’s sweet peace, so out into the crisp night I went. As expected Blue Hawk did appear, fixed his eyes on me and drew his bow, I threw up my hands, shouted out “Wait! There is something that you really need to know! The Indian hesitated at the words, so I nervously took a deep breath, said,”If you shoot me than you should now you’ll be sending one of your own to death. “Small Doe didn’t die all those years ago, with her lover to the west she fled. She married Edward, who went by Milton, and a family of six children they bred. “I descend from that big family, which means your blood is running through my veins, Herbert Blake was my great-great-grandfather, but Blue Hawk of the Sioux is the same!” They ghost before me seemed physically struck, the bow dropped silently from his hands, his form seemed to flicker in the darkness, then he stalked forwards from where he did stand. He came close, then peered right at my face, at the eyes and the curve of my jaw, anger in his look softened to acceptance, something familiar if my face he saw… With that Blue Hawk turned and trudged away fading slowly as he went into night, he’d gone completely before sixty steps, and I turned back to see my scared wife. She stood in the doorway in her nightclothes, but would not take a single step out, I walked on back, and took her in my arms, said,”I think we will be left alone know.” She asked,”What was it that you told him?" I said,”I just let him know that he misjudged what happened here all of those years ago… far time to settle this age-old grudge.”
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