and she’s some kind of a looker. You know what, Lott? She’s Minsa’s sister.”
“Then ya better behave yoreself around her or you might get some of them holes shot in ya like you always talkin’ about,” laughed Lott.
The two boys finally got the rabbits cleaned and settled themselves in front of their fireplace to reflect on the day’s activities.
“You know, Jake, we better enjoy this quiet livin’. It’s going to change you know, and it won’t be long,” remarked Lott.
“What ya mean by that?” answered Jake, as he got up to put another log on the fire.
“Come the first of the year, settlers will be in here by the droves to take this land,” explained Lott. “And Jake, most of them Choctaws will be leavin’ for land across the Miss’sippi. You going to like that?”
“Hell no! I ain’t going to like it,” replied Jake angrily. “These is good people. They don’t harm nobody, and they mind their own bus’ness. When the white people come in here, all they going to do is cause trouble and rape mother nature of these woods and animals. I might just go with the Indians.”
“Jake, when you talk about white folks, you know ya talkin’ about yore own kind, don’t ya?”
“I guess so, Lott, but I don’t feel like white folk. Them Choctaws taught me a new feelin’.”
“I feel the same way, Jake. I don’t look forward to what the New Year’s going to bring,” Lott said. “I’m ready to turn in. How about you?”
“See ya in the morning,” answered Jake.
Several days later, Jake saddled up his big buckskin and left at daybreak, not telling Lott where he was going nor when to expect him back. Since Lott didn’t worry about him as much as he used to, he went about splitting white oak shingles for the barn knowing Jake would probably be back before sundown.
About mid-morning, Lott stopped his work and looked up when the sound of a galloping horse caught his attention. In a few seconds, the horse bounded from a clearing in the woods two hundred yards south of his work site, and Lott could clearly distinguish Jake’s red hair and massive body astride his big buckskin. Looking closer, he detected a rider sitting behind him holding on for dear life. In a matter of seconds, Jake brought his horse to such an abrupt stop that it threw dirt and grass all over Lott.
“Dadburn it, Jake, I thought you was going to let that horse run over me. You gone crazy?” exclaimed Lott, as he brushed the debris from his clothing and shook the dirt out of his hair.
“Damn it, brother. Can’t ya be a little more socialable?” laughed Jake. I’ve got somebody I want ya to meet.”
Lott, looking up, saw the most beautiful woman he had seen in years. She had black shiny hair that flowed below her waist and dark brown eyes that returned his stare and curiosity. She wore a buckskin dress that had worked itself up to where all of her legs plus a hint of her buttocks were exposed. Her legs were long and muscular, almost as long as Jake’s. She wore buckskin moccasins characteristic of the Choctaws. Lott could also see she had an ample upper body. Lott stood speechless.
“Lott, you can shut yore mouth now. I told ya she was a looker, didn’t I?” bragged Jake sitting tall in the saddle and reaching back to pull the young woman closer to him.
“This here is Ohoyo Hatta, which means Pale Woman. You can call her Hatta. She’s the one I’ve been talkin’ about.”
“Chi pinsa li ka achukma [Good to meet you], Lott. Homa Chitta speak good of you,” Hatta said, reaching her hand down.
Lott finally reached to return the greeting and muttered, “Nice to meet you too.”
“Well, help her down, big brother. We plan to visit a spell.”
Lott grasped her around the waist and slowly helped her off the big stallion. Lott momentarily held her close to him feeling the warmth of her body and admiring the beauty of her face which was only inches from his. His heart began to beat rapidly and he felt that the blood veins in his neck and face were going to burst. Lott realized this woman had excited him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He was inwardly embarrassed at what he was feeling and the thoughts entering his mind.
“Jake! This is some kind of woman you’re runnin’ around with. Where did ya meet her?” questioned Lott, letting go of Hatta and easing her toward Jake.
“She was one of them women that was bathin’ in the Rock Hole when I jumped in a while back.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about that, Jake. That’s one you’ve kept to yourself.”
The three spent the rest of the morning and most of the early afternoon talking. Lott learned that Hatta was the daughter of a Choctaw woman and a white missionary. Her father had come into the Choctaw lands to convert the Indians to Catholicism and teach them something about the French and English languages. Even though Hatta spoke mostly Choctaw, she still was fairly fluent in English. Lott quickly realized that not only was she beautiful, but intelligent as well.
Hatta told Lott about how her father had died, and later her mother took another man for her husband. This time, it was a Choctaw and the father of Minsa. She was his older sister.
During the weeks to follow, Jake spent more and more time with Hatta. He would often stay overnight with the Choctaws who were still camped south of the Wilson property.
In early January of 1834, Jake had been gone for almost a week, and Lott began to worry once again that something had happened to him. He decided to ride down to the village called Bissa Aisha [Blackberry Place], but found it almost deserted, and the Choctaws who were left could not speak enough English for him to find out about Jake. A feeling of despair crept over Lott as he realized that Jake might have gone with the Choctaws to Oklahoma.
The short ride home seemed like an eternity as he recalled all he and Jake had been through and how he truly missed and loved his brother.
’Ill just have to learn to live without him, because I can’t live his life for him,” thought Lott, riding his horse up the creek and finally mounting the bank on the opposite side that led to the trail that would carry him home.
Lott was still in bed the next morning when he heard shouting and singing. “What in the world is goin’ on?” thought Lott, as he quickly rose and ran onto the front porch.
Coming down the path was Jake and some of his Choctaw friends. As they approached, Lott saw that Jake was covered with skins and beads and looked as if he had been in some kind of fight. He had bruises and cuts all over his face, and even his legs had large purple marks where someone or something had hit him. Lott had never seen Jake so beat up and bruised, yet at the same time hilariously happy.
“Istaboli, Lott, istaboli, you ought to been there!” exclaimed Jake. “It was legal warfare. We made all these bets before it started, and when it did start, it was sump’n to behold!”
“What ya talkin’ about, Jake? And what’s a Istaboli?” questioned Lott racing across the yard wearing only his long-john underwear.
After a warm embrace, Jake revealed what had happened. “An Istaboli is sort of a ballgame, Lott. There was probably a hund’rd on each side, and we had to use a stick with a pouch on the end of it to throw
