By Charles H. Red Corn
At the flip of the 20 th century, the Osage Indians owned Oklahoma’s most precious oil reserves and have become participants of the world’s first filthy rich oil inhabitants. Osage childrens and grandchildren endured to admire the outdated customs and methods, yet now additionally they had lives of relaxation: paying for huge houses, dear automobiles, consuming in fancy eating places, and touring to far off locations. within the Nineteen Twenties, additionally they came across themselves immersed in a chain of murders. Charles H. pink Corn units A Pipe for February in contrast turbulent, exhilarating background.
Tracing the reviews of John Grayeagle, the story’s major personality, crimson Corn describes the Osage murders from the viewpoint of a conventional Osage. different books at the infamous crimes have excited by the greed of presidency officers and businessmen to extend their oil wealth. pink Corn specializes in the nature of the Osage humans, drawing on his personal reviews and insights as a member of the Osage Tribe.
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Extra info for A Pipe for February: A Novel (American Indian Literature and Critical Studies Series)
It was a routine that Tom and the horses knew well. I waited in the tack room for a few minutes while the horses ate the oats. The smell of leather reminds me of good and pleasant times. I carried the blankets, saddles, and bridles out to the wide main aisle of the barn where the lantern hung and we saddled the horses. Seneca is a pinto and Choctaw a big bay. Osage was the first horse Dad named after a tribe. Osage died several years ago. Tom and I started west in the early morning darkness. Tom’s black and brown hound that he calls Wolf followed.
Cloud’s full name is Jackson White Cloud, but everyone around Osage Country calls him Cloud. He is a Sioux, so that makes him a cousin of sorts to Osages. Cloud is a good cowboy who competes in rodeos when he needs the prize money. He would be a big help in moving the herd over to Roper’s place. I knew for sure he would be more help than I would be. Like many people who have made a living around horses, Cloud had broken several bones, and the bones may have mended but the ache is still there on a chilly morning.
As the sun dropped lower toward the horizon the air became very cold and I felt strong and prepared to face whatever was ahead of me. Grandfather Sun turned the sky and clouds a brilliant series of colors as he followed his winter path carrying Grandpa on his journey, and I watched as the intense orange color slowly turned a brilliant red, then he disappeared beyond the horizon. It was at that moment standing alone on that cold hilltop I said goodbye to Grandpa. CHAPTER 4 During the week following the funeral the frigid cold moved on out of the old reservation and the ice and snow began melting and soaking the ground.