The Valley: A Historical Novel

By James Whaley

THE VALLEY is a historical novel set near Jackson, Wyoming. Randolph Schmidts life story begins in Omaha, Nebraska, where he meets and befriends Standing Bear, a Chief of the Ponca Indians. This relationship later allows Randolph to gain title to a valley in its virgin state. He vows to keep it in that condition. He must defend it against intrusions by road construction, an electric power company, and land developers. Along the way he meets actual historical characters from Wyomings past Some of the historical personalities beside Standing Bear, are Lillian Heath, first woman doctor in Wyoming, Clifford Hansen and Lee Simpson, and Nellie Tayloe Ross, former Governors of Wyoming, Many of these men and women possess the same characteristics as Randolph. Jules Schmidt, Randolphs son, is an outdoor guide who also crosses paths with personalities from Americas past. When Randolph dies, his grandson, Andrus inherits the valley and pledges to continue his grandfathers dream.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475948769

James Whaley

Eighty-year-old James Whaley spent thirty-four years in the public classroom, teaching twelve-, thirteen-, and fourteen-year-old students. He also taught senior citizens for twenty-five years and high school students for six years. Creative writing has intrigued him his entire life. James lives in Chanute, Kansas, with his wife, Elinor. They have two grown daughters and two grandchildren. The author has always been an admirer of the creative word.

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Copyright © 2012 by James Whaley.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-4874-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-4876-9 (ebk)

iUniverse rev. date: 09/06/2012

Contents

Dedication

Author’s Note

A Christmas Gift

The Stranger

Standing Bear

The Cuban Experience

Rose Wilson

Rose Wilson And Randolph

Rose Wilson In 

 Wounded Cat Valley

The Lillian Heath Incident

The Visit

The Trip To Nebraska

The Trip To Nebraska

The Nellie Tayloe Ross Event

The Wedding In The Valley:

The Wedding In The Valley:

The Experiment:

The Experiment:

The Birth Of Andrus:

The Birth Of Andrus

The Birth Of Andrus

The Birth Of Andrus:

Jules And The Black Bear:

Jules And The Black Bear:

The Death Of Randolph Schmidt

Ann

Andrus And His First

Winter In The Valley:

Andrus And His First

Winter In The Valley:

A Valley Threatened

Andrus—The Accident

Andrus—The Project

Amanda’s Visit To The Valley

Amanda’s Return To The Valley

A Road To The Valley

The Golden Trespasser

Amanda And Andrus

Andrus And The Governor

Andrus And The Governor

The Sheridan Offer

The Second Sheridan Offer

Randolph Junior

Randolph Junior

The Western Power And

Light Conflict:

Western Power And Light Conflict:

The Western Power & Light Conflict

Western Power & Light; The Conflict

Epilogue

DEDICATION

With a distinct sense of honor and with great pride, I dedicate this book to the Alexander wing of the Whaley family.

My oldest sister Wanda, whose steadfast encouragement and positive feedback, kept me at the computer to continue the story.

And to Christopher, who always knew how to make me believe in my writing, and found the time in a busy life to say a few kind words. Also to his brother, Greg, whose generosity surpasses all boundaries and goes the extra mile to come to the aid of family.

Also to the resolute Mark, oldest child, who set a high standard for his siblings to follow. Mark, you blazed a formidable trail.

And sweetest of all, their dear sister Denise. Wise, insightful, and a determination to make the world a better place to live, she paves the way forward with a firm hand of unshakable leadership.

God Bless the Alexander’s, and their families.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This story began with the writing of A Christmas Without Presents. When that section was finished, the title had to be changed to A Christmas Gift, because the segment developed into its own story. It led into an entirely different direction. Thus the story of Andrus and his grandfather was born.

And like any lifetime, the future was unknown. Few events in the lives of Andrus and his family were planned, most just occurred. As in real life there are heart aches and happiness, sorrow and joy, and that’s as it is with Andrus.

Since the events described often overlap each other the segments of the story do not always follow in chronological order. The story is a mix of fiction and real life characters.

It amazed this writer how the characterizations of the real and the make believe were so easily intertwined. Standing Bear is an actual historical figure, as are others such as Lillian Heath, the Governors, the professional football and baseball players, etc. Their descriptions and circumstances are historically accurate, only the interaction with fictional characters is fiction. Some of the people and most of the places contained in the story actually exist, only Wounded Cat Valley and its exact location remains shrouded in mystery.

—James Whaley

RANDOLPH AND ANDRUS SCHMIDT TIME LINE

1865—RANDOLPH SCHMIDT BORN APRIL 15 AT OMAHA, NEBRASKA

1879—RANDOLPH SCHMIDT (14 YEARS OLD) MEETS STANDING BEAR

1887—RANDOLPH SCHMIDT MAY 6th, JOINED U.S. ARMY AT AGE OF 22

1898—RANDOLPH SCHMIDT (33) IN CUBA (SPANISH—AMERICAN WAR)

1898—RANDOLPH SCHMIDT DISCHARGED FROM ARMY

1899—RANDOLPH SCHMIDT BUILT CABIN JULY 20—AUGUST 23

1899—RANDOLPH SCHMIDT MEETS ROSELPHA WILSON

1900—ROSE WILSON AT CABIN TWO MONTHS (MARCH 20-MAY 23)

1901—ANDRUS’ FATHER (JULES SCHMIDT) BORN JANUARY 4

1905—THE LILLIAN HEATH INCIDENT

1908—RANDOLPH SCHMIDT GOES TO NEBRASKA TO ANSWER COURT ORDER

1908—RANDOLPH SCHMIDT (43) ATTENDS SEPTEMBER FUNERAL OF STANDING BEAR

1928—THE NELLIE TAYLOE ROSS EVENT

1930—JULES SCHMIDT & ANN COLTER WEDDING (SEPTEMBER 17)

1932—THE EXPERIMENT—FEBRUARY

1932—ANDRUS SCHMIDT BORN JUNE 15

1933—JULES MAULED BY A BLACK BEAR NOVEMBER 13

1944—12 YEAR-OLD ANDRUS VISITS GRANDPA (75) AUGUST-SEPTEMBER

1944—RANDOLPH (GRANDPA, 79) SCHMIDT DIES DECEMBER 17

1948—ANN’S DEATH JUNE 30

1948—ANDRUS (AGE 16) MOVES INTO CABIN JULY 4

1949—ANDRUS FIRST WINTER IN THE VALLEY

1950—THE STORY BEGINS WITH 18 YEAR-OLD ANDRUS

1951—THE STRANGER

1952—A VALLEY THREATENED: JESSE MAXWELL

1955—THE ACCIDENT

1958—THE PROJECT: ANDRUS ADDS TO THE CABIN

1960—AMANDA’S VISIT TO THE VALLEY

1960—A ROAD TO THE VALLEY

1961—ANDRUS AND THE GOLDEN TRESPASSER

1962—TRIP TO WIND RIVER AREA

1962—AMANDA AND ANDRUS GET MARRIED

1962—ANDRUS AND THE GOVERNOR

1963—THE SHERIDAN OFFER

1963—RANDOLPH JUNIOR

1968—ANDRUS AND THE WESTERN POWER & LIGHT CONFLICT

1976—EPILOGUE (ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN YEARS AFTER THE BIRTH OF RANDOLPH SCHMIDT AND FORTY-FOUR YEARS AFTER THE BIRTH OF ANDRUS SCHMIDT. THIRTEEN YEARS AFTER THE BIRTH OF HIS CHILDREN

A CHRISTMAS GIFT

It was the winter of 1950, and eighteen-year-old Andrus opened his eyes to darkness. He knew it must be well past sun-up, but the little windowless cabin remained without light. The young man tried to move his left arm from under the heavy quilt, but it stayed motionless where it rested against the wooden wall. The muscles in the arm had not functioned since the accident yesterday afternoon. Yesterday had been December 24th, and well into the winter cold. With a foot or two of snow on the ground, Andrus, in need of meat for the table, had been setting traps along the small creek about a mile upstream from the log cabin where he now lay. His attention had been focused on the steel jaws of a trap positioned to snap closed upon any unsuspecting animal foolish enough to trigger the lever. He braced himself with his shoulder wedged against a fallen tree, his left knee against a limestone rock outcrop. Without warning, the large log rolled onto his arm and pinned it against the jagged rocks. The pain from his arm was so excruciating that he passed out. When he came awake sometime later, all feeling in the arm had disappeared and now, a day later, it still remained without any sensation.

With his right leg, he managed to pry the log away from the rock ledge far enough to pull the damaged arm free, and stand up. The ankle of the left leg had taken much of the force of the movement and felt a large knot was forming just below the calf of his leg. Leaving the trap where it sat, the teenager cradled one arm with the other and limped back to his once temporary, but now permanent, home.

The boy’s thirty-five-year-old grandfather constructed the cabin over fifty years before the grandson had learned of it. It was located in the valley where Wounded Cat Creek flowed out of the lush green valley to the southwest. With other smaller creeks, it fed the frigid waters of Wauconda Lake located on the western slope of the Continental Divide high in the Grand Teton Wilderness area of Northwest Wyoming. The Douglas Fir logs of the structure had been cut from an old stand in the valley. They weathered well over the years and remained as solid as the day they were cut. Grandpa Schmidt had succumbed to the ages ten years before but his legacy continued to provide shelter against the elements of Mother Nature.

The boy struggled to rise from the same rope-strung bed where his ancestor had slept for forty years during his self-imposed isolation from the hangman’s noose of society. The old man hadn’t objected to people, just the noise they created with all their gadgets. Now the grandson stood in the same cabin, and of the same mind. I am my grandfather, he mused to himself, as he picked up two chunks of wood with his good arm, and shoved them into a small wood-burning stove. Andrus Schmidt had been told a number of family stories about the social behavior of Randolph Schmidt, but he was most intrigued by the comments from his grandmother on the similarities of the physical characteristics of the young man and his grandfather. Andrus’ six foot, three-inch broad shouldered frame seemed out of place in the little ten by ten foot cabin with a ceiling only six feet from the hard packed dirt floor. Your grandfather bumped his head on that ceiling more than once himself, Ann, his mother, had told him many times. Ann’s mother had lived as a young woman in the Moran community and enjoyed the early fall trips with her sister to visit the outlaw-in-law as she called him. On occasion, the two women would attempt cross-country ski excursions in the dead of winter that were successful more often than not. When the two women paid a visit to the old man’s homestead he, in turn, would construct a lean to near the creek and camp out for a few days, allowing the ladies the run of the cabin. Their greatest complaint was that the old man never saw the need for indoor plumbing, nor for an outhouse. His stock answer to their comments was always the same: Thar’s plenty of trees.

Andrus fashioned a sling for his arm and stoked the fire in the small stove used for both heat and cooking. He placed a pan of water from the pail he managed to carry from the creek yesterday, on the stove. Andrus reached into a small metal box and selected a packet of dried soup he’d acquired last July in his semi-annual trip to the city, as he called Jackson. The trip served two purposes: one to call on his Grandmother, and two, for his winter supplies. Money was no problem. He could normally live for a year on the interest his deposit in the bank earned, thanks to an inheritance from his grandfather. The problem was hauling and stashing six months’ worth of supplies within the confines of the cabin, safe from varmints; both four legged and two legged. While waiting for the water to heat, Andrus removed the sling and his shirt. With great difficulty he was able to work the disabled arm out of his long johns, which he wore the year round. I don’t feel dressed without them, he once told his grandmother.

The arm didn’t look as bad as he expected. Raw in spots, but no deep cuts from the rock. From the shelf above his bed, he used his good arm to retrieve an old can of Watkins Deep Heat Balm. He massaged it into the flesh of the limb until he could feel its warmth penetrating the muscle. Slipping the arm back into his underwear and buttoning up, he splashed cold water on his face, dug out a fresh shirt from the shelf and felt refreshed. With the water on the stove now boiling, he opened the packet of soup, and dumped the contents into a large cup. He carefully filled the cup to the brim with hot water, and placed a small saucer on top. He let it steep for a while, then let it cool down. From a container in a steel locker beside his bed, he picked out a strip of dried venison and bit off a chunk. Whitetail always did make the best jerky, he said. He often spoke to the cabin just like his grandfather before him. Breakfast, lunch, brunch, whatever, is served.

He tested the arm and found that it now had mobility and no sharp pain. Be all right in a day or so, he commented, and the cabin listened in silence. Ought to run the traps this afternoon, maybe I’ll have fresh meat for the evening meal. He smiled at the thought and tasted the soup. It was still a little hot to eat. He replaced the saucer, stood, and walked the three steps to the door of the cabin. Opening it, he found a fresh foot, or more, of snow on the ground. He smiled as a thought came to him. It’s Christmas, and I have all the gifts I need. A roof over my head, a clean shirt, good food, and unlike the folks in the city, I don’t have to shovel this snow. It’s like a present; I’ll just enjoy it. Merry Christmas.

THE STRANGER

I don’t care where you’re from, you can’t have it any better than this. The contented nineteen-year-old young man patted his midsection with satisfaction. He knew no human ear, other than his own, heard his words, yet there existed no shame in his heart for uttering the thought aloud. He often spoke to the cabin he had called home for some time now. To Andrus it was no different than a commuter down at the city inside an automobile having locked doors and closed windows, yelling at a fellow commuter twenty feet away in a similarly closed vehicle.

Andrus had just finished his first meal of the day. The primary dish had been one that he prepared for himself occasionally. Its preparation usually came during the months of the year when he could freeze perishable foods. It was developed out of necessity rather than by design, but regardless, he considered it one of his favorites. He named the dish scraped scrapple, and the recipe remained unwritten for two reasons. First, the ingredients were seldom the same, for they were dependent upon what was available. And two, no self-respecting cook would ever acknowledge the use of leftovers in his or her cooking. Andrus would mix leftover potatoes, vegetables, and meat, collectively in a skillet, add a powdered egg mix, stir vigorously over the hot stove. When the egg mix had jelled, he covered and let it sit on the edge of the stove for a while. This morning he had de-boned leftover fried rabbit, added peas and fried potatoes with onions, to the egg mix, and devoured the contents of the entire skillet with two mugs of coffee. His comment expressed his satisfaction with the meal.

As he finished cleaning his utensils, he heard a thud outside the small cabin. Andrus’ three years of living in a cabin with the nearest neighbor some fourteen miles away had accustomed his hearing to natural sounds, and his senses came alert at unnatural noises. Dropping a towel on the tree-stump table his grandfather moved into the cabin more than fifty years ago, he took only one step toward the door when a loud, deep voice called out, Hello the cabin. The teenager tensed, not from fear, but from the unknown. Visitors to the cabin were extremely rare, particularly in an isolated valley on the western slope of the Continental Divide, and in Northwest Wyoming during the month of February.

Jerking the cabin door open, Andrus stood face to face… rather belly button to face, with possibly the smallest man he had ever encountered. The little man reminded Andrus of a leprechaun he had read about in storybooks, except he wasn’t dressed like one.

Andrus stood at six-feet-three-inches tall; the man in front of him could not be more than four feet. Stepping aside, Andrus motioned to the man, and said, Let’s get you inside, ’fore we melt all this snow. The little man giggled and leaned his walking stick and snowshoes against the wall of the cabin. Stepping into the nearly dark interior of the log house, the stranger stood still. Andrus suspected he was waiting for his eyes to adjust to the change. The traveler might be small in height, thought Andrus, but he has a solid physical build. And a pencil thin, black mustache, that Andrus figured must be dyed because it was so dark. But when the man took off his well-insulated hunter’s cap he wore, Andrus could see the mustache was no dye job. The unexpected visitor had a head of hair that was as thick as it was black. After the stranger dusted the cap to rid it of snow, he undid the buckles of his heavy parka. Andrus realized his surprise guest wasn’t going to be in any hurry to leave, for off came the large backpack, the overgrown parka, and even the fur-lined boots whose designer had planned for easy on, easy off. The man now stood attired in heavy trousers and a bright red vest, and the most purplish socks Andrus had ever seen.

Could I trouble you for a hot drink? Andrus had already turned to the side of the small stove that served as both a heating unit and cook stove, and leaned down to select a chunk of wood to add to the stove’s fire, when the little man spoke. Andrus, taken by surprise at the sound, jerked upward and his head struck a beam supporting the six-foot roof. Ouch, the little man said, that has to smart. You do that often?

Only when I hear an unusual voice with a French accent. What happened to your voice? Andrus didn’t mean to be rude, he was naturally curious about a man who looked to be in his thirty’s with the voice of a twelve-year-old, and a foreign inflection, he assumed to be French.

I can’t answer that, I sounded like this when I was twelve, and when I turned thirteen I still sounded like this. I have the same voice to this day. Now, the French accent I can explain.

Andrus winced as he rubbed the side of his head, while he poured water into the pan on the stove top. He turned to the man and said, Let’s hear it.

What? Oh, the accent? I speak French. Andrus waited but nothing further seemed forthcoming.

Not much call for people who speak French around here. You from Canada?

No, I’m from France, that’s why I speak French. Andrus didn’t know if the guy was putting him on or trying for levity, but he was beginning to enjoy his visitor.

My name is Andrus Schmidt; my grandfather built this cabin. Lived in it for forty years, now it’s my turn. Andrus surprised, realized he’d spoken more words than since he last talked to his grandmother when he had gone to the city. And that was over six months ago! The man moved closer to the little stove, but showed no signs of responding to Andrus comment. You got a name? Andrus’ visitor didn’t offer to answer the question, and the nineteen-year-old considered changing his mind about enjoying this most unusual visitor.

The unexpected guest peered into the pan on the stove. Water, it’s hot. Since he had not allowed for guests when he purchased supplies, Andrus carefully measured the precious instant coffee into a cup. Without further comment, the man moved to the large pack and unzipped a small pocket. From it he removed, and gently cradled, a small object in a manner similar to that of holding a precious stone. He then shoved it into a pocket in his vest. His facial expressions had changed from one of admiration to recalling a time of disappointment, before turning his attention back to his host. Andrus held out the coffee mug.

It’s hot, muttered the little man. After a time he said, I suppose I owe you an apology. You have been kind to share your fire and hot drink with me, and I do appreciate it. If I seem distracted it is because of her. My friend of over 20 years has done me an injustice and created quite a problem for me. Last July, I was notified she had informed the INS that I was in this country illegally. I have nearly exhausted my resources and am on my way north. I understand it is fairly easy to slip into Canada in the Milk River area, so I shall try. The injustice comes from the fact that I am legal but she has my passport and I can’t prove my innocence.

You have accepted quite a challenge. The Milk River is almost three hundred miles north, Andrus said, truly concerned for the man.

I believe I will succeed, and with friends like you whom I meet along the way, I gain the faith to persevere. Because of his dedication to survive, the little man had grown much taller in the eyes of Andrus. He now saw a man not unlike himself: Someone determined to live his life his way. No longer did he see a very short man, but one of great stature.

The man drained the remaining sip of coffee and held out the cup to Andrus. Accepting the empty cup, Andrus watched in silence as the visitor donned his boots and parka. Before buckling the two top buttons, he reached inside and retrieved a small object from the vest pocket. Setting it on a nearby shelf, he hefted the large backpack onto one shoulder. I have a distance to go before sundown, so I must be off. Thank you for your generosity and friendship. The man quickly opened the cabin door and stepped out to continue his quest.

Andrus noticed the snow had begun to fall again, and for a moment thought about asking the man to consider changing his plans. He remembered the struggle his own Grandmother dealt with in accepting his Grandfather’s decision to live a life alone. Andrus closed the door knowing he wouldn’t try to prevent the little man from living as he chose. Stepping to the shelf beside the stove, Andrus picked up the small object left by the visitor. It was a little wooden hand-carved fir tree complete with Christmas ornaments and a star on top. Andrus was amazed at the magnificent work. I’m proud to call you a friend, and I don’t even know your name, stranger. Once again, he spoke to a cabin void of other humans and no response was expected.

STANDING BEAR

Now Alma, there’s nothing to be fretting yourself about, he’s as wild as old Ruthie out there in the barn.

Well, just the same, I’ll be glad when they get him back under government eyes.

You’re thinking the government can see. They couldn’t keep track of him when he was right in front of their eyes.

Randolph sat on the edge of his bed, listening to his parents. It was the talk of the town. Standing Bear was out there, lurking, ready to pounce on uninformed or unprepared citizens.

The year was 1879, and in just a few days Randolph would be fourteen years old. Almost a man, his father said. Old enough to be milking old Ruthie, taking one less chore from my shoulders, he added.

And old enough to have my own shotgun, countered Randolph, instead of using yours, when I want to go hunting. Dirk Schmidt glanced at his wife and said, All in due time, son, all in due time.

Randolph slipped off his trousers and quickly climbed into bed under two quilts. He tried to remember all he had told Miss Hines and his class at school in the report he gave about Standing Bear. He got his information from his father, who cut firewood for Mr. Webster the lawyer in town, who had talked to General Crook about the condition and treatment the Ponca had received from the government. The boy knew Standing Bear was a Ponca Chief and that four years ago he had signed a treaty in which the Ponca agreed to accept relocation to a reservation. In return, the government promised to provide food and supplies until the Ponca could start producing their own needs. The problem with the plan occurred when they were informed that the reservation was in Indian Territory, far to the south of their homeland. Standing Bear understood they were to be located at the Omaha Reservation nearby.

Then, two years ago, the Army was ordered to march the Ponca and Standing Bear to Indian Territory, and to their new home. Randolph’s dad explained that it was unlawful for the Indians to leave their reservation without written permission. He explained that the government rarely gave Indians the authority to leave a reservation without military escort. He also told Randolph that Standing Bear’s son, at sixteen years old died of a disease. Before his death the Ponca chief made a promise to the boy to bury him on the plains of his homeland, near the mouth of the Niobrara River northwest of Omaha.

Last year, with about fifty other Ponca, mostly women and children from his tribe, Standing Bear set out with his son’s bones, en route to Nebraska. They arrived safely at the Omaha Reservation and were welcomed there.

But when the government heard about the move, it ordered General George Crook to arrest the Ponca for violating the law. The General was then ordered to escort the Ponca back to Indian Territory. But Crook, when he learned the Ponca were starving on their reservation because the government had not delivered promised supplies, decided to keep the Ponca at Omaha. Randolph fell asleep thinking about where Standing Bear was now and if his people were still starving on the reservation.

The following morning, Randolph had planned on asking his parents the question about Standing Bear, but forgot in the hustle and bustle of getting to school. It was April 13, the last day of school for the year. He was anxious to get there, because there would not be any lessons, just fun activities and a noon luncheon carried in by the student’s parents. Also, today would be the day he would find out if he graduated from the grammar school to the high school.

I’m going to fix a big dish of potato salad this morning, his mother said, I will have a plate, fork and a drinking cup for you at noon. You’ll find me then?

Yes Mom, can I go now? I don’t want to be late. His mother nodded and out the door he went. He had almost a mile to go to reach the schoolhouse and he ran most of the way.

When school took up, the students recited the pledge of allegiance and sang the Star Spangled Banner. Miss Hines announced the results of the Douglas County Maturation Test. Randolph’s name was on the list of those who passed; he would enroll in the Omaha City High School in the fall.

That afternoon, Randolph waited for his mother to finish clearing the food tables. He had promised to help her to carry some of the dishes home.

Hey, Randolph, did you hear about the trial of that man? Samuel Olsen, a good friend of Randolph, came running up to where Randolph and his mother stood.

What man? Randolph asked, holding a box of dishes for his mother.

That Indian, the one who was dying, or something, Sam said.

You mean Standing Bear?

Yeah, they’re going to trial him tomorrow.

"You mean try him? What for?"

Something about being an Indian and breaking the law. See you later, I gotta go.

Later Randolph asked his mother if she had heard people talking about Standing Bear.

Yes, the trial is to be held in the old courthouse. He has Mr. Webster, the man your father cuts wood for, to stand up for him, and Mrs. Trindle said today the attorney for the Union Pacific has volunteered to speak for Standing Bear also. This trial has become something of a big deal since the newspapers, like the Omaha Daily Herald, and others, have printed up the story of him and his people.

What is going to happen to him? Randolph asked

"Standing Bear has to sue for his freedom. I guess that’s what the trial is for. Mrs. Trindle said it has to do with something called a writ of habeas corpus, which is in the Constitution of the United States. I told you, it has become a big story."

"I remember habeas corpus; we studied it in school. That is when a person is in jail, and is kept there illegally. Do you know who Standing Bear is suing?"

I guess he would sue General Crook, since he is the one who arrested him. But ask your father, he is hauling a load of wood to Mr. Webster today. If he talked to anyone there, he probably heard more than I did, at the school luncheon.

That evening when they sat down to eat the leftovers his mother had carried home from the luncheon, Randolph asked his father, Did you hear about the trial tomorrow, the one for Standing Bear?

His father nodded and waited for Randolph to ask his next question, which he was sure to ask. "What did