embarrassment quickly turned to anger.
“Lott, this ain’t none of yore bus’ness, and I’ll be damned if’n I ever tell you what happened to me,” Jake said, as he stalked toward the house.
“You don’t have to tell me anything Jake, and why are you mad at me? I’ve been worried about ya, but you do look kind of funny. I didn’t know you did have such a white backend,” Lott said, as he followed Jake to the house, trying to conceal his laughter.
“See what I mean. All you doin’ is makin’ fun of me. Hell, you don’t understand at all,” Jake said. “You can laugh all ya want, but tomorrow, I’m leavin I’ve had enough. And by the way, see this big ole white ass.” Jake slapped his backsides. “You can kiss it goodbye.”
“Jake, how can I understand? You won’t tell me what happened. I ain’t laughin’ at ya either,” replied Lott. “Not too much, anyway.”
That evening, the brothers were silent. Each stayed in his own room, not knowing how to handle the awkward situation.
Hours later, right before daybreak, Lott heard a commotion near the barn site. Something was disturbing the livestock.
“Jake! get your rifle. Sump’ns out there botherm’ the horses and cows. We can’t lose them animals,” whispered Lott.
“I’ll be right with ya,” answered Jake.
They eased the door open and sneaked down the hall quietly as possible. When they reached the front porch, they noticed a small bundle on the top step.
“What do you think it is, Jake?” Lott said, as he picked it up to examine more closely.
“Jake, these look like yore clothes! What in heck is they doin’ here?”
Before Jake could answer, five Choctaw men moved slowly from the woods near where the horses were secured and approached the house.
Lott and Jake raised their rifles hoping a show of force would discourage the Indians if they intended to start trouble.
“All right, that’s close enough. You can stop right there,” Lott said, praying they would understand.
The Indians stopped and raised their hands to show they were not armed and motioned to talk to Jake. Once again, it was the Choctaw with the scar that seemed to be in charge.
“Homa Chitto pist okla laya,” [We have come to see Big Red,] the Choctaw said, pointing toward Jake.
He stepped forward and presented Jake with a large bundle of furs and then handed Jake his empty jug.
“Trade furs for spirits, Homa Chitto. Want more,” the Choctaw said.
“How do you know English?” Lott asked, surprised with his ability to communicate.
“Jesus, Mary School teach us English,” he answered, still pushing the jug toward Jake.
“Jake, I’ve heard that Catholic missionaries have been workin’ here with them Choctaws. I believe it now,” Lott said. “Come up on the porch. We’ll talk”,
Conversation was difficult since the Choctaws could speak only a few English phrases. At one point, Jake went under the house to get a jug of brew, but not before he received a lecture from Lott about how the government would not approve of his trading liquor to the Indians.
Lott and Jake soon realized the Choctaws had been observing them without their knowledge since the first day they had arrived. They knew much about them, even their names. They preferred to call Jake, Homa Chitto, which means Big Red in Choctaw language.
The Indians were fascinated with Jake. They had never seen a redheaded white man, especially one with such size and strength. At the same time, they did not understand why he acted as he did. They had observed how Jake appeared afraid of the forest, but yet, had wandered off into the woods by himself and like a crazy man, leaped into the creek amidst the women. They weren’t sure Jake was sane.
As the days and weeks of autumn crept by, the Choctaws visited the Wilsons almost every day. Often in the early morning when Lott opened the front door, they would be sitting quietly on the front porch steps waiting.
It was always Jake the Indians wanted to see and, in turn, Jake was outwardly pleased at the attention he was receiving. He looked forward to their visits and after several weeks, gained enough confidence to go with them into the forest.
Winter finally arrived and Lott was relieved that the house and barn had been completed, but Lott was concerned about the relationship Jake had developed with the Choctaws.
“Jake, you going to help me get some firewood up today or you going to go off with them Choctaws again?” questioned Lott feeling jealous that his brother preferred their company to his. Lott was spending more and more time by himself, and loneliness was beginning to take its toll.
“Sure, IT1 help ya. I always do, don’t I?” answered Jake, as he pulled up his suspenders and put his heavy coat on. “But I’m s’posed to go with Hatak Minsa [Birth Scar] huntin’ rabbits this afternoon. You know Lott, they hunt them damn things with sticks.”
“How in the devil do they kill them with a stick?” questioned Lott. “And tell me more about Hatak Minsa and you.”
“Well, I just call him Minsa, and he’s the man I first met in the woods. I thought he had a scar down the side of his face, but it turned out to be a birthmark. That’s how he got his name. I never told ya that story about the woods, did I?”
“No ya didn’t, Jake, and I think you haven’t told me a lot of things you been doin’ lately. I just hope you is not gettin’ into some kind of trouble out there. And what about that huntin’?”
“Lott, a bunch of us get together and surround a thicket or briar-patch and then start closin’ in makin’ all kind of racket, really raisin’ some kind of hell, and when them rabbits start runnin’, we start throwin’ our clubs at them. Damn! if’n it ain’t fun. We kill them by the dozens,” bragged Jake. “You want to go with us?”
“Might as well, little brother. I’m gettin’ tired of stayin’ here by myself, and I want to see some of that stick huntin’,” answered Lott, chuckling as if he thought Jake was making a joke with him. “You get the saw, Jake. I’m going to get the splittin’ ax. I’ll meet ya at the barn. We got wood to get up ‘fore we go.”
After an afternoon with the Choctaws, Lott understood why Jake spent time with the Indians. They were a lot like Jake: free-spirited, humorous, and excellent hunters. Well, Jake was not really that good of a hunter, not yet anyway.
The sun was going down when the hunting party finally decided to quit. Minsa handed Lott two big cane cutter rabbits which Lott eagerly accepted since he and Jake had not been able to make a kill with their borrowed sticks.
“Onakma owata kiliachin, Homa Chitto? [We hunt tomorrow, Big Red?]” asked Minsa. “You too, Lott.”
“We probably will,” answered Lott. “We’ll see ya later.”
It was dusk as the Wilsons found their way home through the forest trails barely able to identify landmarks in the darkness.
“Jake,
