Jim Walking Eagle wore a plains Indian-style beaded vest over his calico shirt on the first day of American Indian History class, his light brown hair hanging in two braids and nearly touching the Concho belt that held up his jeans. From behind he looked almost Indian, but his aquiline nose, his pale skin and a long, thin face revealed a different ethnic heritage. Chilly was the first to see him enter the room. He nudged me on the arm and said, “Check this shit out”. I looked up just as the new student took a seat beside me in the next aisle.
“Aho, brother,” he said to me in a loud voice. “Jim Walkin’ Eagle, Cheyenne Indin’”. He said ‘Indin’ with the same accent as some of our Native friends out west. I caught a quick look at Chilly but had to avert my eyes not to start laughing when I saw my friend’s shocked expression. I could tell from the silent stares around us that Jim Walking Eagle would be the topic of discussion among the entire class once we were dismissed and at a distance from the lanky newcomer.
“Tanake” I responded in Catawba. I was Pee Dee but our people once spoke a similar dialect. “What brings you to South Carolina?”
“The parents moved here. They think they’re white.”
I was willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt when it came to self-identification as Indian or anything else. I had met plenty of Indians who didn’t fit the black hair and brown skin image, I was on the lighter side myself, and I believed it was contrary to Native tradition to deny anyone the opportunity to follow Indian ways based solely on appearance. But in this case I had to bite my tongue.
“Hey, I like that beadwork, man,” Chilly spoke sincerely from his seat behind Walking Eagle. “Where’d you get it?”
“Thanks, brother. I made it.”
“Made it?” Chilly and I said together.
“Oh, yeah, I make lots. Moccasins, beadwork, leatherwork, you name it.” He lifted a moccasined foot and pointed his toe forward to display what looked to be museum quality bead and quillwork on beautifully tanned leather.
“That, too? Awesome, man,” Kevin Big Frog said from a few seats back.
“Yes, it is,” Jim Walking Eagle replied.
The instructor asked for attention before she began calling roll. Almost everyone in the room knew each other, either from earlier classes or from growing up together in the Native community where the college was located, so when she read the name “James Higginbotham” we realized this was the English name of our new classmate. But instead of replying “here” following the announcement, he corrected her with a brusque rejoinder.
“That’s Jim Walkin’ Eagle, Cheyenne Indin’”.
I knew Chilly well enough to know the sounds emanating from his chair came from him trying not to laugh out loud. Others were not so restrained, and audible titters filled the room before the instructor could regain her own composure and resume reading the roll. Through it all Jim Walking Eagle looked straight ahead, smiling, his chin rising slightly as if he were receiving applause.
#
“Lots of familiar faces this semester,” Willie said casually as we strolled to the parking lot after class. I nodded. A Cherokee who had come down from the western mountains and was dating a Natchez woman, Willie had just completed four years in the army and was attending college for the first time.
We were both in our final semester of the Native American Studies program and were looking forward to putting our knowledge to work for our respective peoples.
While Chilly was in the service I had gone to Japan where I’d worked as a journalist; Kevin Big Frog knew us both and convinced us to enroll in college after telling us all the good things that the Native American Studies program and the school were doing for the local Indian community. Chilly and I met during orientation and became instant friends; we enjoyed being the elders in class.
“That new freshman is a trip,” I said. “I thought I’d seen it all.”
“Didja hear his English name? James Higginbotham!” Chilly said in a stentorian tone.
“I’ll give him a chance,” I said, “even if he does have the face of an English butler and hair like a Valkyrie.”
“Like a what?” Chilly asked.
“A Valkyrie, or I should say, Wagner’s interpretation of one.”
“Say what?”
I looked at Chilly and could tell by his blank look that he was in new territory.
“A Viking, then. Blonde hair in braids.”
“Not all Vikings had blonde hair,” Chilly retorted. “Neither does Walking Bird, exactly.”
“Walking Eagle. And you know what I mean, college boy.”
#
A week later Chilly and I elected to fulfill a creativity assignment by singing and drumming a couple of traditional songs for Indian Arts class. We had each been in drums before so it was an easy way to fulfill our obligation and to entertain the others at the same time. It was a cross-listed class, and some of the art students enrolled with us were non-Indians. We were happy to have the opportunity to demonstrate a little of our culture close up, even though it was really a musical style borrowed from the plains people. We rehearsed the night before in my apartment with two other class members and had a couple of Intertribals ready for the presentation.
“I believe the drummers want everyone to form a circle around them,” Dr. Saint announced to the class the following morning as we had requested when our time came to perform. We set up the drum to the sound of twenty-some chairs being moved into position. Soon we were ready. I closed my eyes as the drumbeats began and took a deep breath to begin singing when I heard an additional drumstick hitting the skin. I opened my eyes just as Jim Walking Eagle broke into song opposite me at the drum. He had nudged himself between the two others and began to sing in a northern Plains-style falsetto a song that none of us knew. There was no way to protest without stopping the performance, so the rest of us just exchanged glances, shrugged and followed the beat.
When the song ended twenty minutes later there were shouts of approval and applause from the other students, as well as from the usually reserved Dr. Saint. Some of the students who had stood up to dance during the performance returned to their seats. I considered confronting Jim Walking Eagle but couldn’t bring myself to evoke any more negativity in light of the circumstances, so I complimented him instead.
“Sounded great, Jim,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah, it did,” he answered, his skin flushed and a few strands of hair escaping from the buckskin wraps that held his braids.
“You guys drumming at the fall powwow Saturday?” one of the freshmen asked Jim Walking Eagle with a tone approaching reverence.
Walking Eagle ignored him for a long moment while he placed his beaded drumstick into a beaded leather bag that looked especially made for the purpose.
“Nah, just playin’ around with these guys a little,” he answered. “We ain’t a formal drum or nothin’. Besides, I’ll be dancin’, not drummin’, at the powwow, yeah?”
“Everybody have a good weekend. Hope to see you at the powwow,” Dr. Saint announced above the din of chairs being returned to rows and people talking in excited voices. He walked over to Chilly and me after the others had left and took a seat on a desktop before us.
“Sounded great, guys. Looks like you had a little unexpected help, though.”
“From ‘Jim Walkin’ Eagle, Cheyenne Indin’, you mean?” Chilly said.
“Based on the look on your faces when he ‘sat in’, I’d say his participation wasn’t part of the program.”
“What is it with him, Dr. Saint?” I asked. “Any insights?”
The instructor adopted an expression I’d seen before in situations when diplomacy was required. “I guess when most of us want to be a part of a certain group or situation badly enough, we knock on the door and wait for it to open and hope we’re invited inside. With Higginbotham, or Walking Eagle, it looks as if he lacks the patience or the social skills to wait. So when you walk into someone’s house uninvited, and then proceed to act as though you live there, hard feelings will naturally emerge.”
“I just wish he’d be a little more humble,” I said. “He’d be a lot more welcome if he demonstrated that traditional attribute.”
The others nodded in response.
“Maybe someone needs to take him aside for a reality check,” Dr. Saint suggested.
“That’d be you, bro’,” Chilly said to me. “I don’t have the, what do you call it, the diplomacy.”
“Do you think he has any idea what his name, ‘Walking Eagle’, really means?” I asked no one in particular.
Dr. Saint looked both amused and chagrined as he answered. “I don’t think he has a clue.”
#
The university fall powwow was a well attended event that brought in contestants from across the country. Karen and I were there in traditional southeastern regalia, as were many of the other Pee Dees, in contrast to the pan-Indian plains dress preferred by many of the participants.
“Exhibition, yes, competition, no.” I could hear the deep voice of Earl Big Frog, our classmate Kevin’s father and the powwow emcee, rising in frustration while he explained to Jim Walking Eagle why he couldn’t dance competitively in the powwow.
“Tribal members or card-carrying individuals enrolled in other state or federally recognized tribes only,” he said for the second time.
I had not seen Jim Walking Eagle angry before. His face was purplish red and a snarl separated his aquiline nose from pointed chin.
“It’s not fair. It’s not right,” he spat. “This is a university sponsored powwow and I’m a student at this school. I have a right to compete.”
Jim Walking Eagle glanced my way but either ignored me or was so angry the sight didn’t register. Earl Big Frog began concentrating on other matters, the discussion with Walking Eagle closed as far as he was concerned. I watched Walking Eagle fume for a few moments until his temper dissipated and his expression relaxed. Then, as if he had never been angry in the first place, I watched him approach Earl Big Frog again.
“All right, then,” he said calmly.
“All right then, what?” Big Frog retorted, still upset.
“Exhibition fancy dance. The hell with competing. I’ll show them ‘Indians in name only’ slackers what it really means to be a dancer.”
“Say what, Jack?” Big Frog stiffened. I took an involuntary step back when it appeared the emcee was going to punch Walking Eagle.
“Oh, I didn’t mean you, brother. I’m sayin’ half the dancers here are just doin’ it for the wasichu’s green frog skins, the white man’s prize money, and don’t give a damn about the culture.”
“I don’t think—-.” Big Frog stopped himself in mid-sentence. “Whatever,” he sighed loudly. “I’ll announce you later and you can dance.”
Karen and I, with Chilly and several of the others from class, joined in the Grand Entry dance that marked the beginning of the powwow. Karen looked beautiful in her ribbon dress of maroon calico. She wore her hair in a single braid down the back and was wearing the center seam, pucker style moccasins I’d made for her out of deerskin that I had brain tanned myself. Chilly, who had grown his hair back to its pre-military length past his shoulders, wore his usual regalia of jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt. He accentuated this by including a hairpipe choker around his neck and turquoise rings on several of his stocky fingers.
Out of revenge, scheduling or happenstance, Jim Walking Eagle’s name was not announced until late in the day. There were still plenty of people on hand to witness the exhibition, and if the long wait angered Walking Eagle he kept it to himself. His performance was effortless, his movements smooth as liquid. Following a perfect finish the crowd applauded and yelled their approval as he walked nonchalantly out of the dance circle.
“That was world class,” Kevin Big Frog said to no one in particular. He was a fine dancer in his own right. “I’m going over to talk to him.”
Chilly, Karen and I walked with Kevin from where we’d watched the performance beside the judges’ booth around to the other side of the dance circle where Walking Eagle stood talking with someone. As we approached, we all realized that it was Big Frog’s estranged wife Lisa who stood with him. Everyone knew Kevin wanted her back, and I could sense Big Frog stiffening to see Walking Eagle touching her arm while they spoke. Lisa’s eyes registered surprise when we came near and she saw Big Frog. She crossed her arms and looked away as Kevin reached out a hand to shake Walking Eagle’s. “Good job, Jim.”
“Yeah.” Incredulously, he didn’t take Big Frog’s hand. It hung in the air for another second and then was dropped.
“Where’d you learn to dance like that, did you teach yourself?” Kevin asked, either genuinely nonplussed or making an attempt to cover the slight.
Walking Eagle’s eyes smoldered with resentment before he answered. “Natural talent, yeah? You sayin’ I don’t have elders to teach me, but I gotta learn on my own like a goddamn hobbyist?”
“Huh?!” Walking Eagle’s words surprised us all. “No, friend, I was just trying to give you a compliment,” Kevin replied. “Jeez.”
Big Frog had turned to leave when Jim Walking Eagle spoke again.
“Lisa, reach in the parfleche bag there and give ‘em some cards.”
The familiarity with which Walking Eagle spoke to his wife made Big Frog stop in his tracks. He stood motionless for a moment before turning around slowly to face them both again.
Lisa sheepishly handed cards to Kevin, Chilly, Karen and myself. They were professionally done, with a medicine wheel background logo and embossed with letters that read: “Jim Walking Eagle, Cheyenne Nation”. Below his name was printed: Traditional and contemporary dance, Indian crafts, sweat lodge, powwow emcee.
“I’m startin’ up a dance class if any of you want to join,” Walking Eagle continued. “If you call that number on the card before tomorrow I’ll give a ten percent discount.”
“And hey,” he addressed Kevin. “I’ll show you the correct way to braid your hair into the roach to fasten it,” referring to the headpiece of Kevin Big Frog’s dance regalia, “so’s you don’t have to tie it under your chin like it was some kinda goddamn party hat, yeah?”
A long moment passed in which I thought Walking Eagle was about to be decked by a Big Frog for the second time in one day. Instead, Kevin turned calmly away though it was obvious he was enraged.
“That bastard insults me in front of my people and my wife,” he muttered after we had walked some distance away. “I won’t fight at a powwow, because it’s sacred land. But I’m gonna get that sonofabitch.”
“Let’s waylay him in the parking lot,” Chilly offered. “I’ll pin his arms and you can give him a good kick in the balls. That’ll make you feel better.”
Karen winced at the image Chilly presented.
“I’m gonna get that bastard,” Kevin repeated, as if the rest of us were no longer there.
#
“Can I have a word with you, Jim?” I asked Walking Eagle while he was preparing to leave the classroom Monday morning after we were dismissed.
“All right.” He stood sullen beside his desk until everyone else had filtered out of the room.
I sat atop the instructor’s desk and faced him. “I don’t know how to put this gently, so I’ll just say it direct. The truth is that you’re alienating a lot of people around here with your attitude. People think you’re arrogant and you often come across as a know-it-all.” I paused but Walking Eagle said nothing, so I continued.
“You’ve got much to offer us here, because you obviously know a lot about traditional arts and so forth. But you’re just not going to win many friends unless your accomplishments are tempered with a little humility.”
“This is really about Lisa, isn’t it?”
“Lisa?” I answered, genuinely surprised.
“I get it now. I start seeing Kevin’s ex, he sends you to tell me to chill out or else.”
I noticed that Jim had dropped the western “Indin’” affectation in his voice.
“No, that’s not it,” I answered back. “He’s not too happy about seeing the two of you together, but I’m not his front man. If he wants to talk to you, I expect he’ll do it himself. I’m just trying to give you a little friendly advice, because I don’t think anyone else is going to.”
“You know, I have to correct myself,” Walking Eagle said sarcastically. “It runs deeper than Lisa. This is really about division. All of you are jealous of me and my abilities, you don’t like me coming in here and taking your women, and you can’t stand someone with light skin stealing your glory.” He picked up his books to leave. “To that I say tough shit.”
I sat there for awhile after he left. I looked around the room, considering the cracks in the floor tiles for awhile and then regarding the maps on the classroom walls, trying to understand how my goodwill message had become so twisted in Walking Eagle’s mind. And then, despite my attempts to see all sides of the story, I got angry.
#
Jim Walking Eagle avoided us in the days following the powwow. He no longer sat beside me in class, but moved across the room to sit with others more sympathetic to his accomplishments. Kevin Big Frog was not talking to us either, remaining sullen and pensive both at school and elsewhere. His eyes flashed when Jim Walking Eagle spoke up in class or moved past him to sharpen a pencil or to hand the instructor an assignment at her desk. He looked to be a hunter stalking his prey, waiting for the right moment for his quarry to lower his guard so that he could act.
A couple of weeks later Chilly took me aside when he found me one Friday afternoon in the stacks of the school library.
“You want to take part in a community service project later tonight at Big Frog’s?” he asked in a soft voice. Chilly squinted between the bookshelves for eavesdroppers on the adjacent aisles as he spoke.
“What are you talking about?” It was unusual for Chilly to be less than up front. He then told me the plan that Kevin had devised.
“Chilly, man, that’s just dangerous. It’s bound to backfire.”
“We’re only gonna scare him. I mean, he’s brought this on himself, he needs to be taught a lesson, and we’re all sick and tired of his crap. He won’t know who’s doing it, anyway.”
“Is this for real?” I asked. Chilly responded with a wink, and with that I dropped my argument. Truth was, if they were serious then I hoped the plan would succeed. I had had enough of Jim Walking Eagle’s attitude, and shared a portion of Kevin Big Frog’s embarrassment from the powwow. I agreed to stop in later that evening.
#
“Guess who called me after I got home today,” Karen asked cheerfully. We were sitting at the kitchen table of my apartment for a dinner of catfish, potatoes, beans & cornbread.
“Who?”
“Lisa Big Frog.”
I almost choked. “What did she want?” I asked, clearing my throat.
“Small talk at first, but then she told me the real reason she called.” Karen smiled mischievously while she awaited my response.
“Okay, what did she want?”
“She wants to get back with Kevin. Isn’t that great? Said she thought that she’d made a mistake to start seeing Walking Eagle. She met his parents and they are really weird. Apparently he just made up all that Cheyenne stuff, because while Jim was out of the room his mom made a reference to his ‘Comanche phase’. Lisa said don’t you mean Cheyenne, but his mom checked with her husband and they both said no, we think it’s Comanche. Lisa thought that maybe Jim was adopted, which might explain why his parents didn’t know what tribe he was from. But when she made the mistake of asking them about Jim’s birth family, his mother got really offended. Things were really uncomfortable after that so they left.”
“Poor Lisa. She’s always been kind of naïve.”
“Yeah. She confronted him about it on the way home, and he still insisted he was Cheyenne. He’s got some problems, that one.”
And then it hit me. Everything Chilly and Kevin were planning tonight, if they were serious, was suddenly irrelevant.
“Karen, has Lisa called Kevin to talk to him about this?”
“She hasn’t been able to reach him. I think she was hoping you’d know where he was.”
“Ah, listen,” I thought quickly as I stood. “Dinner’s great, but I need to run over to Kevin’s and see if he’s there. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Wait a minute, wait. What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain it all later, ok? Here,” I handed her my cell phone. “Would you call over there while I get my car keys?”
“No answer,” Karen said when I returned from the bedroom. “What the heck is going on?”
“Kevin’s real depressed and angry, and may do something crazy,” I offered as a partial explanation. I hated to withhold the full story from her, but I felt the need to protect her in case things got out of hand. “I’ll finish eating when I get back.”
#
There were no lights visible at the three-bedroom bungalow where, until a few weeks before, Kevin had lived with his wife. She and the kids had moved back in with her parents following their separation.
I had been there enough times to know that the front of the house was often dark, so I parked on the street and walked around back. The kitchen light was on and the porch door unlocked. Quietly I crossed the porch to the back door and knocked.
A few seconds later I heard footsteps in the kitchen, and then Chilly’s eyes peered out from between the window blinds.
“Come on in,” he said softly after he opened the door just wide enough for me to enter. He whispered for me to follow him down the hall and into one of the bedrooms, and then motioned for silence when I tried to speak.
A single lamp placed on the floor in a corner provided the only light. When my eyes adjusted I could see that Kevin Big Frog was standing in the middle of the almost empty room. He glanced toward me and nodded. He was dressed in full buckskins and had painted his face. He held a large knife at his side, gripped tightly in a strained fist. In a chair beside the lamp sat Jim Walking Eagle, his hands tied behind him and his face covered by a cloth bag secured tightly around his neck with a drawstring. Jim Walking Eagle sat straight and silent in the chair.
“You’re just in time,” Chilly whispered.
“How did you do it?” I asked incredulously. Although I knew what to expect, I was still shocked at the scene before me.
“Oh, man, it was classic,” Chilly continued out of Walking Eagle’s hearing.
“Kevin’s been staking out Walking Eagle’s apartment, to learn his habits and shit, and he found that he cooks out on his backyard grill a lot. So today, Kevin and me hide back there in ambush. Walking Eagle comes out to light his grill, and you know what Big Frog does? He counts coup on him. No kidding, he came out while Walking Eagle was carrying the matches or something back in the building and touched Walking Eagle with his knife on the back collar of his shirt, then slips back in the bushes. Walking Eagle didn’t know a goddamn thing. After awhile he comes back out with a big steak. Kevin let it cook before we both came up behind him. Then Kevin threw the sack over his head while I pinned his arms, and told him not to move if he knew what was good for him. We hauled his ass through the woods to Kevin’s car and brought him in. We tied him up in the chair, ate his steak and here we are. Man, I still got an adrenaline rush from it.”
I was about to remind Chilly that this was kidnapping, a federal offense, when Kevin spoke.
“Mister Big Shot Jim Walking Eagle,” Kevin paced the room nervously. “You come to this community with a bogus story about being Cheyenne, you show your ass about how superior you are to everyone else, and then you steal the wife of one of our tribal members. I say you ain’t shit, Higginbotham, and you need killin’”.
“A Cheyenne warrior is not afraid to die.”
Chilly and I looked at each other, shocked. There had not been any discussion about murdering Walking Eagle.
“I know that. But you ain’t one, are you? If you really were one, how come you’re not with them, helping your people?”
Walking Eagle was uncharacteristically silent.
“Why are you halfway across the country? Traditional people such as yourself have much to teach the generations,” he said sarcastically. “I guess you speak the Cheyenne language, too, but it’s being wasted on a bunch of dumbasses like us, huh?”
“Get on with it, Kevin Big Frog. I know it’s you.”
I had to admire Walking Eagle’s cool under the circumstances. “All right, then, bitch. I will.” Kevin ripped the bag from Walking Eagle’s head, gave him a chance to look at the three of us, and with a loud war whoop thrust the hand holding the knife into Jim Walking Eagle’s abdomen.
Chilly and I had been fascinated onlookers until Kevin used the knife. When we realized what he was planning to do, we each yelled and leapt toward Big Frog’s arm as it descended toward Jim Walking Eagle. We were too late. The force of the blow knocked Walking Eagle backward and out of the chair.
I rushed to Jim Walking Eagle’s side in a panic. But there was no blood, and no knife suspended in Walking Eagle’s stomach. Confused, I looked at Big Frog who still held the weapon loosely in his hand.
“All right. Show’s over.” he said, lifting Walking Eagle back to a sitting position. Walking Eagle stared straight ahead as if catatonic, his sharp features frozen in a face that had lost its color. Kevin pulled a different knife out of his pocket to cut his bonds.
“I stabbed you with a rubber knife. Now you can get up and go call the police. These two are innocent, though. I planned the whole thing.”
“I helped him,” Chilly said after he exhaled a loud sigh of relief. “I thought you deserved to be taught a lesson.”
“Listen, I’ve got news for all of you,” I said before anyone moved, though each seemed to be in their own version of shock. “Kevin, Lisa called Karen today, and they had a long talk. She’s not seeing him anymore. She wants you back, man, and she’s been trying to call you.”
“What?” Big Frog said softly, as if he’d not understood.
“Your wife, Kevin. Lisa wants you back.”
Kevin slowly turned away from us, crossed the room and then slid to the floor with his back against the wall. In a few seconds a single tear rolled down his cheek, its track reflected in the glow of the lamp.
“And as for you,” I said, turning to Walking Eagle. “This little incident ought to teach you something. We tried to give you a chance. We—“
“Hold up,” Chilly broke in, pushing past me. “You want to get down to the bottom line, Walking Eagle? Well here it is. You tell me, do you know what the name Walking Eagle really means? Do you?”
It took him a moment for Chilly’s words to register. “Of course I do,” he said weakly. “I was given the name when I once visited my Lakota brothers. A warrior told me of a vision he’d had, only the night before, which told of my coming. He said a great eagle fell to earth from the sky, carrying a heavy burden, and I recognized at once that the bird he was referring to was myself. Then, he said, the eagle of his vision was so determined to continue his life’s mission that he was willing to walk since he could not fly. I told the Lakotas that I interpreted it to mean that despite the great obstacles I must face, I shall persevere.”
“You told that to the Lakotas? What did they say?”
“They said that was one way to look at it,” Walking Eagle answered solemnly.
Chilly made that sound again. He covered it by inducing a short coughing spell and clearing his throat.
“James, Jim, I—“, Chilly looked at me for support but I just crossed my arms and smiled.
“I guess we’re surprised you don’t know this, but it’s one of the oldest jokes in Indian country”, Chilly finally said. “Jim, ‘Walking Eagle’ is a derisive name, given to someone who is not respected. It means that the one given the name is like a bird so full of shit it can’t fly.”
Jim Walking Eagle paled even more and his mouth fell open as he studied Chilly’s face. Long seconds passed until Kevin finally broke the ice by speaking from where he sat on the floor.
“I guess you really do want to throw us in jail, now.”
It was more of a statement than a question, spoken so deadpan that Chilly began to snort. Then his laughter broke through like a cloudburst, and was followed by Kevin and myself, until we were almost crying. Even Walking Eagle had started to laugh.
#
“What do you think he’s gonna do?” Chilly asked while we watched Walking Eagle begin his three-mile walk back to his apartment from Kevin’s. He had declined the offer of a ride, but he didn’t seem especially angry, especially for someone who had been assaulted just moments before.
“I think he’s still in shock,” I commented as I continued to watch him move slowly away under the streetlights. We all were. Kevin had returned to the interior of the house without a word, while Chilly and I stood in the yard like statues, waiting, perhaps, for a police car to come tearing up the street to arrest us. But none came.
#
Chilly took the seat beside me before the start of class the following Monday. His breathing was shallow and his eyes darted nervously as he spoke.
“Heard anything?”
“About Walking Eagle, the police, that sort of thing?”
Chilly didn’t respond, his expression serious.
“Nothing,” I answered. “I guess you haven’t either?”
He looked away. “If he was gonna do something, he’d already have done it, right?”
“I’d say so.” I was trying to be optimistic but in truth we were still unsure whether or not Walking Eagle had some kind of revenge in mind. We remained wary and were fatigued by being on edge all weekend.
I heard a sound to my right and looked to see Jim Walking Eagle taking his old seat beside me. He’d not sat there since before the incident with Lisa Big Frog. We nodded at each other but neither of us spoke.
The instructor began calling the roll. When she announced ‘Jim Walking Eagle’, he surprised us all by correcting her.
“I’m going by Higginbotham again, if you don’t mind.”
“Hey, it’s a good name,” she responded insightfully.
Jim turned to me. “The Lakotas gave me a good name, too, and one that I deserved.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” I cleared my throat. I could hear Chilly’s breathing to my left while I looked at Higginbotham.
“Would it be—would it be really uncool if I asked if I could just start over again with you guys?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’d like to earn the people’s trust. And a new name, if that’s possible.”
I thought for a moment, trying to understand the implications of his request through my stress and fatigue.
“I see. Well, first of all, you’ve got to take it slow. You can’t expect to be trusted right off the bat, especially coming in here with the kind of attitude that you’ve had. Names have to be earned, you know.”
“Believe me, I know,” Higginbotham laughed at my unintentional reference to ‘Walking Eagle’.
“There’s nothing wrong with your birth name, it’s how you relate and present yourself that’s important. Like I tried to tell you before, humility is a virtue in these parts.”
“If you guys don’t mind”, the instructor chided us in a mixture of friendly sarcasm and authority, “would it be all right if I began class now?”
“Could I ask you a question first?” Chilly addressed her. He knew that an important discussion was underway and improvised to give us a little more time.
“Of course, Mr. Whitetree. What’s on your mind?”
“Umm, what were the major implications of the fur trade in terms of its negative impact on traditional culture?”
The instructor gave Chilly a sarcastic glance before answering, her long response allowing Higginbotham time to continue our conversation.
“I understand what you’re saying,” Higginbotham continued. “I mean, I know now it was really silly of me to come in here bragging about being Cheyenne and all. There’s Indian in the family, I just don’t know what kind. I feel pretty stupid.”
“I can see why, but that’s not what’s important. Like I said, it’s how you carry yourself from here on out.”
I motioned for Kevin to come up and sit beside Higginbotham. He complied with a good-natured smile. If Chilly and I had a weekend of stress and worry, Kevin’s experience was the opposite. Lisa and the children had moved back in with him, and according to Kevin, all was as it had been. He gave Higginbotham an amiable nod.
“Listen, our tribe’s midwinter festival is coming up,” I continued. “If you’d like to be our guest, you’d be welcome. You won’t get a new name or anything like that, you understand.”
Higginbotham nodded. “I would very much like to come. Thank you.”
I glanced first at Kevin, and then at Chilly, who was attempting to both listen to our conversation and to the instructor. He raised his eyebrows as if to say, are you sure this is a good idea? I shrugged in response.
“One word of warning, though,” I turned back to Higginbotham. “You’ll be welcomed and given hospitality at the festival, but the clan mothers and everyone else will be watching you. If ‘Walking Eagle’ decides to show up, you’ll not be invited back.”
Higginbotham’s eyes flashed for a brief second as if he were about to challenge my words. I remembered his confrontation with Earl Big Frog and held my breath, wondering if a similar display was moments away from happening.
“I hear you,” he finally answered, his eyes flat like turquoise drying in the sun. “For once in my life, maybe I truly understand.”
