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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required William Branton has just run into camp as if the earth is falling away from his heels, he has spotted a large cluster of Indians to the south moving towards us on horseback, an estimated 100 + Braves, face painted for combat with sunset as an ally, I've ordered the men to prop up the wide canoes on their sides as a bulwark defense we've drilled for this danger with a quick precision and focused fury, guns to the shoulder, tomahawks to hips if they want the loot their gonna get the lead rain, we'll paint'em red and sever the head, I am going forward with four others, 20 yards outside of camp adrenaline is alive in the very oxygen of this moment a mysterious magnetism seems to be pulling everyone into a flesh of fate, Clark must remain behind in the advent of attack we musn't allow ourselves to be adjacent targets and cripple command, Private Gass is in the lightweight, portable collapsable watch tower made of wood which when erected stands 20 feet high, he is our war eagle and will relay to us the nature and movements of the Indians so far they have made no maneuver to outflank us, that's a positive, their ponies have a cautious strut in the flat open field which is allaying to us, standing square I'm giving the grand hailing sign of amicability by raising my rifle above my head with both hands then slowly lowering it to my knees, repeating this gesture three times with solemnity in my stare, they halt into the golden temperance of the silent sun, six of them dismount with the smooth slowness of water falling from a clenched hand, I feel secure in the still strength of my brethern and I know that war blood shall not touch the earth this day, we meet them in equal stride, four Braves, ornamented with vermillion claws of beasts on their chests faces pasted across to the nose with the black paint of destruction mohawks high holding maces of deadly bone, the other two are French traders clothed in euro attire with buckskin mantles and suade caps equiped with rifles of their own, meeting on the five points of fellowship we invite them to the hearth of peace where tobacco and whiskey are enjoyed and for a few moments we are just men who understand the calm of camaraderie, these are members of the Otoe Tribe and a band of 250 on a buffalo hunting expedition five days removed from their homes, it is decided that tomorrow morning we shall have formal council introducing a new relation to the Plains, Clark is more nervous than I about the potential for ambush tonight he has more frontier experience than I do, and the spartan in him is leary, we've trippled gaurd duty and are sleeping in strategic positions I fret not though, the Indians appear eager for the auspices of alliance and thirsty for novel and abundant trade possibilities, I will dream in the dawn of history tonight,
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