Read Online Man on Two Ponies by Don Worcester - Free Book Online

You’d think they’d be glad to become cowboys and work with the Brulé cattle, but few will even do that. The government would like to wring their necks for refusing to become imitation whites, but I feel sorry for them. They’re pining for something they’ll never see again. It’s pathetic.” He knocked the ash out of his pipe.
    â€œDo they come here?”
    â€œWhenever they need anything and have antelope or deer skins to swap.”
    â€œMy father?”
    â€œOnce or twice a year, maybe. He avoids whites, mixed bloods, and even fullblood progressives.” He paused, then leaned forward, looking Billy in the face. “I know it won’t be easy for you, but you’d be better off to forget him. You’re not the son he once knew, and he’s not the father you remember. You need to get on with your own life and not, like the nonprogressives, spend your time mourning for something you’ve lost. That’s a hard thing to say, Billy, but I know it’s what’s best for you.”
    After thinking about it, Billy shook his head. “I’ve waited nine years to be with him again. I may have to wait nine more, but there’s one thing I want above all, and that’s to hear him call me his son. Once I hear that I won’t care what happens, but until he does I’ll never know who I am.” Culver’s mustache twitched like his lips were moving, but no words came out.
    Billy settled into the routine of the trading post, glad he had something to occupy his time. He built new shelves for the post and storerooms. “You’re a pretty good hand with a hammer and saw,” Culver told him, as he inspected his work. I never thought I’d be pleased to hear anyone say that.
    One day Billy looked up and felt a sudden thrill to see Mollie Deer-in-Timber and her mother enter the post. At fifteen Mollie was taller and prettier than ever in the dress she’d made, which was tight enough to show that she was becoming a woman. Her eyes opened wide for a moment when she saw Billy. She walked toward him, looking pleased but not quite smiling.
    â€œBilly, it’s good that you’re finally back,” she said, offering her hand like a Wasicun. Her mother eyed Billy suspiciously.
    â€œJulian told me you’re helping the teacher.” She nodded. “You never baked a cake for me like you promised.” She smiled. “Julian also said you’ll be married soon.” The smile faded and she lowered her eyes.
    â€œIt’s not that I put you out of my mind as soon as I got back, Billy. I kept hoping you’d write me.” She looked embarrassed to admit that. “When you didn’t I was sad for a while, for I knew you’d forgotten me and that I must forget you. It wasn’t easy.”
    â€œI meant to write,” Billy stammered. “Really I did. I tried to, but it sounded so stupid I tore it up.” She looked a little sad.
    â€œMy father wants me to marry a white man. He says I’m too much Wasicun to live like an Indian. There’s a man... He’s a bit older, but I think he’ll be a good husband. He wants to wait a year or two, till I’m older.”
    As she left with her mother, she said, “I hope I’ll see you the next time we come.” Billy weakly tried to smile. He felt empty inside, and could think of nothing to say. I never knew how much I wanted her. Now it’s too late.
    Culver regularly received newspapers from Dakota Territory and Nebraska, and Billy got in the habit of scanning them when no one was in the post. In November he read that the Friends of the Indian had met with Secretary of the Interior L. Q. C. Lamar to give him their views on what his Indian policy should be.
    The Friends of the Indian held their annual meeting at A. K. Smiley’s plush hotel at Lake Mohonk in October 1885 to decide for the government what it should do about the Indians. The time has