The couplings clanked, the railcars groaned to life; he was on his way to an unknown land. He drifted into a deep slumber listening to the hypnotic THUMP-thump-thump as the iron wheels marked another few feet in his journey. Deep in the fog of his ears the sound became a loud KNOCK-knock-knock on a door he didn't want to answer.
In his vision he was walking. Mr. Smith joined him on a path that led to the Indian Agency and he heard a native chant. The THUMP-thump-thump of the iron wheels became the beating of a drum and he felt a spirit gently lifting forward.
They passed a lake where buffalo drank and young men and children danced.
Mr. Smith had been the one person who adopted him and showed the most concern for his situation. As he pointed to an Indian dancer Mr. Smith said "That man is your father." Paul saw the dancer had no face.
This manuscript is in early stages. I met Skyhawk last year at a local papcake breakfast. I only had two interviews with him before the Pandemic hit. Once this is over I'll re-trace our footsteps, starting with the pancake breakfast, and continue the story..
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