Chapter 1: Explanations of the unexplainable

My father was born on the Reservation his parents were Nakota (First Nations) grew up on the Reservation then went into the Army as a Ranger then Special Forces. My mother was born in Saskatchewan Canada as a member of the Star Blanket Cree Nation. They met at a gathering of the tribes, which was the main purpose of the gathering. I am called Isinl Kat’a, (Sioux for Swift Kill). Why ‘Swift Kill’ at about 18 months a northern or boreal scorpion crawled up to me and I whacked it with my rattle until it stopped moving. My mother heard the rattle and wondered why I was making such a racket and checked on me to find the poisonous scorpion smashed dead next to me.

Once word got around it became official, much to the dislike of my mother. My father just smiled. Father was an Outfitter one of the best booked out two years, and 100% at putting the game in front of the hunter, the hunter didn’t always get the game. Mother was a history teacher, her favorites were First Nation, secondly Indians, and third North American.

So, growing up I had to learn both history and outdoors. My father taught me all about the outdoors as soon as I could walk and talk. My mother taught me how to survive indoors at school and in higher learning environments. By my 18^th birthday I had graduated high school and had an associate degree in American history. My favorite historical theme was quickdraw and gunfights. I began practicing at 9 years with cap guns. Moved up to .22cal Ruger single-six and currently was using twin Charter Arms Professional 7-shot 32 mag double action revolvers.

I had them tuned up by a gunsmith, so they fired smoothly and easily. Cross draw holsters kept them just in front of my hips and I had eight speed loaders made for their 7-shot capacity, they were all along the back of the gun-belt. I also had a Winchester in 32 magnum that I used in cowboy competitions along with a greener 12ga double barrel that carried a 45-70 under the two barrels most people didn’t notice since I kept a plug in the end. I also had a Sharps in 45-70 for long distance shooting. My father being a sniper taught me all about shooting great distances. I was almost as good as he was.

That will explain why I was driving my truck with all of my gear in the bed under a shell that locked when the strange storms hit. Yes, storms as in a lightning storm striking the ground all around me, a tornado touching down a mile or so in front of me, hail, and rain at the same time???, and an earthquake. I didn’t know how they all were happening at the same time.

There was no place to go so I tried to move away from the tornado jumping off the highway and going cross-country. A bright flash hit the hood of my truck. I felt it start to roll, then I was out cold. When I came around, my truck was in an arroyo on its side, and I had been thrown free. Never did like seatbelts. I got up and checked myself over finding bumps and bruises but nothing serious.

My truck, however, had broken in half, between the cab and bed. The shell split off the bed too. I did have all my stuff in hard totes, toolboxes, and ammo cans of different sizes. Since I was going to a cowboy contest, I had all my shooting and reloading gear along with most of my supplies for all my cowboy guns. I also had my SHTF stuff which is always in my truck. 5 cases of MREs, two 5gal water cans, four 1lb propane tanks, my propane burner, and all my western cowboy clothes, saddle, tack, and a pack saddle too.

I won the contest for the best representation of an authentic real western cowboy the last two years.

I managed to get the bed and shell back together and locked it with all my stuff back inside. I figured I had about 3 hours of daylight left and decided to scout the area around me for any possible help.

Just by the look of the surrounding area I could see for miles in just about every direction. There was not going to be any help anytime soon. Hell, the highway was gone, not torn up gone as in no sign of it ever being there gone. This scared me the most as I had heard of people being picked up by tornados and dropped miles away. I had a gut feeling that I was not in the Kansas anymore. The terrain did not look right.

I spent the night in my cab which turned out to be more comfortable than I expected. The next morning after an MRE and some coffee you have got to have coffee or so my dad aways said. Did I mention my four-cup camp percolator coffee pot? Yeah, it made just enough for my travel mug, my 2lb can of coffee was 2/3 full but I had four 1lb blocks of coffee too.

I geared up after cleaning up breakfast. On my left hip in a cross-draw that I am most comfortable with I had a Governor 6-shot 45-410 revolver, a 4-shot 3”mag 410 shell; two .45 ACP because they use a moon-clip in pairs; three .45LongColt critical defense loads. Snake being the most likely threat was why I had the 410 4-shot up first, I could cock past it if need be but a 3” mag 4-shot would stop just about anything at less than 10 feet... 45 ACP would stop two-legged trouble just as fast. And .45LC being critical defense loads would stop just about anything on the continent two or four legs.

I also had my SHTF pack which had the PMR30 and CMR30, both semiautomatic .22 magnum 30rd magazine. The bib was connected to the front of the pack straps it held 8 mags for them. The PMR was on my right thigh in a tactical holster and the CMR was clipped to a web sling on my right clavicle.

The 30-30 had 6+1 and again could stop anything on the continent easily out to 150 yards, was in my hands and could be slung over a shoulder. I had a cold steel bowie on my left outer calf. A camelback 1.7L inside the pack along with serious survival gear, I’m not going to list, if you think of it, I probably have two.

So, off toward the green I could see in the distance, North by my compass. I couldn’t find my cell phone, that is why I hadn’t called for help. I’m not stupid, just lost. I had been listening to music and using it as a GPS in a holder on the dash. It had obviously been thrown clear too.

Two hours into my walk I saw several riders coming my way. I didn’t know if they had seen me or not, so I played it safe and tried to find cover. I did manage to find a small arroyo about 2’ deep and 8’ long, I crouched almost kneeling and hear them riding by.

When they were close enough, I saw and heard them. Native American Indians, I heard a gunshot. I chanced looking up and saw one falling off his horse. The other six turned and were riding straight for the arroyo where I was. There were several more gunshots and another fell from his horse. Comanche friendly toward the Sioux, I might survive this situation. I called out in Sioux “FRIEND” and saw several riders chasing the Indians toward me.

I brought up the CMR and started firing at the far riders. They were only 300 yards or so way and coming fast toward me. I was aiming for the poor horses as they were a bigger target and hit three. There were only eleven that turned back and rode off. The three that went down with their horse were not moving and I suspected they were dead or wishing they were.

The Comanche were just looking at me and my weapons, they knew about firearms and probably recognized my 30-30, but the CMR looked more like a big pistol than any rifle they had ever seen. The fact that I spoke Sioux and were helping them kept them from attacking me. The first Indian that went down was still alive and had only been hit in the thigh which caused him to fall off his horse, hitting the ground knocked the air out of him and it took a few minutes before he was able to stand up. Then he called for help.

Two of the four jumped on their horses and rode out to help him. The other two began asking me who I was, where I had come from, where I was going, what my gun was, I smiled and told them my name. Isinl Kat’a. They both started laughing and after I thought about it so did I. Swift Kill and I had just done that to three men. Then one asked where my horse was. I said I didn’t have one. The other looked at me, then asked why I didn’t have a horse. I thought for a minute and said, “the spirits threw me here from far away and my wagon was broken, and my horses did not travel with me.”

Where was my wagon was the next question and I pointed south and said two hours walking. The three Indians rode up with the fourth over his horse he had been hit in the back and was dead. He had a through and through along the outer thigh which would get infected if not cleaned out well. I explained that we should cut the skin to open the wound and clean it out then sew it closed and bandage it.

The leader I guessed by the number of feathers he had (6) and the fact the others kept looking at him. Asked if I was a medicine man, I said I was just a healer and asked his name. Grey Fox he said, then pointed to the dead Indian and said Blue River, the wounded was Standing Silent, the others were Running Deer, Two Bears, and Swift Runner. I said my name again and they all laughed.

They had brought everything worth taking from the three dead men. Two Spencer repeaters and a Henry repeater. Three single action army revolvers all in .44 caliber. Two boxes of .44 with about 20 cartridges in each box and a bandoleer with 25 cartridges.

I rode behind Standing Silent to help keep him on his horse. We made it back to my stuff just before dark. I stretched a tarp between the cab and bed to give some cover. I took out my med pack and explained what needed to happen. Grey Fox looked at Standing Silent, he nodded and looked at me. I cleaned the skin with soap and water, then used some Lidocaine between the two bullet holes. Then scalpel to cut between them carefully. It began to bleed but not a lot. Scrubbing the long wound hurt but Standing Silent did just that. Then I closed the wound and stitched it up, 17 stitches not bad.