'The Great Spirit cut the twine holding the bundle together. The wheat fell apart and the stalk of corn sprang back up to health. Before my eyes a thousand stalks of corn sprang up out of the earth and then a thousand more, all grown to full height. They were packed together tight enough for me to walk across the tops of the corn.
The Great Spirit joined me and, as we walked, He told me that he was going to bring a plague to the white man and wipe him from our lands. I was to raise up a nation of Native Americans in their place. A United Tribal Nation in which all tribes were equal and worked together to reclaim our rightful place on the hunting grounds.'
Hiamovi paused for a moment to take a drink of water from his flask. His throat was dry from so much talking. The only sound was the crackle of burning wood and the wind in the distance. The whole audience waited eagerly for him to speak again.
'I came to on the floor of my cell. I've no idea how much later that was. I couldn't hear a thing. No Sheriff shouting abuse. No activity in the other cells. Nothing.
'I sat for hours in my cell without doing a thing. When I got too hungry I tried calling out. That didn't help me any. No-one answered.
'After a night of hunger pangs, wondering if this was all some head-fuck on the Sheriff's part, I finally heard some activity in the front office. I started hollering as loud as I could. When I stopped and listened I heard a man cussing. Then he stopped swearing and broke down in tears. It was one of the Sheriff's men. I recognised his voice from when he had been stomping on my head.
'He burst into corridor outside my cell and pulled his gun on me. He seemed crazy with grief. 'You,' he said. 'You brought this to town, I don't know how, but you did.' His arms shook as he took aim. Before he could squeeze the trigger he started to retch. He put his hand up to his mouth and blood and bile spilled out between his fingers.
'He dropped down on all fours in front of my cell and threw up all over the floor. Again and again, unable to stop himself. Gallons of blood spilled from his mouth. He broke wind and the back of his pants were stained red.
'He died right there in front of me. When the son-of-a-bitch had been beating on me I had wished him dead a hundred times over. Then I watched it happen and I vomited. I half expected to see blood. But it was just liquid and whatever was left of the last cheeseburger I ate.
'I didn't know what was happening but I saw a chance to escape. I knotted the sheet from my bunk and used it to drag the Marshal's corpse over to my cell. I frisked his pockets for keys but didn't find any. So I took his gun and shot off the lock. It took five bullets, and I nearly lost a toe when one ricocheted but eventually I forced the door open.
'I walked out of that place with one bullet in the Marshal's gun. I looked around the town and there were corpses everywhere. The whole town looked as though it had just dropped where it stood. People had been out posting mail, jogging or walking the dog when it had hit them. Some of the pets were now feeding off their dead owners. All around me was living, or rather dead, proof of what the Great Spirit had told me. His first promise had come to pass.
'I took the Sheriff's car and drove into Billings. What I saw there was the same as every town I passed through. Nothing but white folk lying dead. The course that the rest of my life would take became clear to me in that moment. I'd met the Great Spirit, and He'd made good on His word.
'I made my way back to the reservation where I was raised and rejoiced to see so many of my kinsmen alive and well. I realised it was time to accept my destiny. I began preaching the Great Spirit's wisdom. I was living proof that He had come to redeem His people. I accepted the mantle of Chief and I took the name Hiamovi, a traditional Cheyenne name.
'From these seeds the United Tribal Nation was born. Today our membership includes citizens from every tribe of this land. We have built a network that ships supplies from one side of the continent to the other. We have greatly expanded the territories enjoyed by the Native American and we have made them safe from looters.
'We respect the autonomy and the individual customs of each tribe we help. We seek only to offer you the strength and security that comes from allying yourself to our cause. Your problems become our problems and our might becomes your might, if you join with us.
'Our ambassadors have already visited you with supplies, medicine and other necessities. These are gifts. Tomorrow I will leave you to discuss our offer. My men will return in three moons to hear your decision.'
Hiamovi stepped forward and lowered his voice. He was going for the clincher. His audience craned their necks.
'I am of mixed parentage. My great grandfather was a Chief of the Crow tribe. His name was Plenty Coups. He lived in a time when we still carried the coup-stick. And when he threw his stick into the soil it meant that he, and those who stood with him, would fight to the death to protect the territory it staked out. It was a line you didn't dare cross.
'Now is the time to plant our coup-sticks once again. To fight to the death to reclaim what is rightfully ours. To sweep the white man from these shores and redress the wrong done to our forefathers. To build a truly great future for our children with the blessing and protection of the Great Spirit!'
Hiamovi's men let out a fierce war cry and leapt to their feet. All the young braves and most of the young squaws followed suit. Many of them danced on the spot, their voices raised in defiance of the white man and in praise of the Great Spirit. Even those among the Crow who came from the white man's world. They now identified so heavily with their adopted culture that they too railed against the injustice of how their new brothers and sisters had been once been treated.
No-one else saw it, but the clouds of dusk parted over Hiamovi and the pure, bright light that was the Great Spirit spilled down on to the Crow tribe that danced to his words.
Two days later Hiamovi sat cross-legged on the floor of a lodge near Yellowstone. Sitting with him, in a circle, were the other five members of the United Tribal Nation's inner council. A brave stood guard by the door.
'We have tremendous support among the young and the recruits,' said Cheveyo. By 'recruits' he meant those survivors who had been taken in by the tribes after The Cull. 'Our numbers grow with every day that passes.'
Cheveyo was a Hopi chief of the Bear clan. As was now customary in the UTN, he had adopted a name that was traditional to his tribe. He was a cautious idealist whose counsel Hiamovi had come to respect. Cheveyo was ten years Hiamovi's senior and there was no greater devotee to the cause of the UTN.
'Yes,' said Hinto, a Dakota chief responsible for liaison and coordination of the North West tribes. 'But rebellious youths and disaffected white men aren't going to win us the support of the whole tribal community. We need to sway the Elders to our cause. They're the key to the tribal councils. Without the tribal councils we don't have the endorsement and the support we need from any of the tribes.'
'It's the Elders that are causing us the most problems,' said Amitola. A prominent Sioux, Amitola had proven his organisational skills running the UTN's supplies and communication network. 'They're the most resistant to our agenda. They lived too long in the old world, when the white man ran things. They don't realise the extent of the change. They're scared of losing the power they have and they're scared of what the white man might do.'
'The white man's just as scared of what we might do,' said Huyana, she was the daughter of the head matriarch of the Miwok. Huyana ran all the intelligence and information networks within the UTN. 'That's what makes him dangerous. That's why the Elders need to join us and organise against the threat they pose.'
'The white man lives among us,' said Onatah, an Iroquois Matriarch by birthright, she spoke on behalf of the women of the UTN. 'We're all likely to have one as a grandchild if the Great Spirit sees fit to grant us a long enough life. This isn't a racial matter anymore. It comes down to lifestyle and belief. That's what matters to the tribes now.'
'That's why we have to emphasise our grass-roots campaign,' said Cheveyo. 'We're winning the hearts and the minds of the tribes. The Elders won't be able to hold out against the popular pressure of their own people. Sooner of later they'll be forced to ally themselves with us. Our greatest asset is our message and the man who delivers it.' Cheveyo indicated Hiamovi, who nodded graciously. Cheveyo always looked to strengthen Hiamovi's position in these meetings and Hiamovi was appreciative of this.
'We need to get Hiamovi to speak to more tribal gatherings,' Cheveyo went on. 'If they believe in him they believe in all of us. No one can fault him as a leader when he speaks. No one is a better embodiment of the principles of the UTN. And it's the principles we're founded on that will eventually inspire all the tribes to come together under one banner.'
