Ain't found a way to kill me yet

Eyes burn with stinging sweat

Seems every path leads me to nowhere

Wife and kids, household pet

Army green was no safe bet

The bullets scream to me from somewhere

Yeah they come to snuff the rooster

Yeah here come the rooster, yeah

You know he ain't gonna die

-Jerry Cantrell Jr.

Well, that took some balls - to walk into my camp and present himself as the ‘Cock of the Walk.' To tell you the truth, I didn’t much appreciate it. His sub-chiefs stood up and he was fully announced; it was an annoying series of titles in my mind and it took far too long. At that point, my patience ran short and it was time to set the table.

I looked over at Sheriff and quietly said, “It’s time show them what we got, bro.” With that, I set Brin to ‘Protect’ and both Sheriff and I rose to our feet and our full heights. Sheriff easily had a foot on each of them and probably a hundred pounds or so, also. I wasn’t far behind.

You could see the look in their eyes change instantly. Giants apparently did walk the land and now so did fear.

I slowly walked around behind them as they stood stock still. I stopped immediately behind them and then slowly and menacingly said in my deepest and angriest voice, “I am the Narrator!”

A deep baritone from the massive black man in front of them said, “I am the Sheriff.” Brin, as his input, merely gave us a menacing growl, reflecting his desire to either compete or just to be ‘one of the guys.’

It took me a moment to calculate my next move - not a minute, but just a moment. I was behind them and they couldn’t see me, so I noisily slid my knife out of its sheath, it was an unmistakable sound in the silence following our pronouncements. I then walked back around them and casually took my original seat again. Sheriff followed my example.

All eyes were upon me as I casually picked up my whetting stone and began sharpening my knife.

I took the center stage by doing almost nothing after a tiny show of rudimentary physical force, I had exhibited grace and was rewarded with pompous grandstanding. How did they really expect me to react? I hadn’t started this fight. Everything here was their doing and they couldn’t even claim to have announced or negotiated before the battle.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

So I simply sat and sharpened my knife, Sheriff did the same, but damn that dude had chosen a huge blade; it looked more like a short sword. He wasn’t a knife fighter, though it did have an incredible visual effect due to his sheer size. Maybe we should see if we had any research material back home and tribal him up a little more in the future, just a little special effects to add to his already frightening demeanor. Not a bad asset to have with you when you deal with the tribal types; not that we all aren’t tribal types, but hell, most of us can’t even remember the names our own early family tribes.

Sheriff followed my lead and we simply honed our knives, remaining silent and still as we outwaited them. I was beginning to think that killing was a serious option, when they finally sat and started to speak.

The head of the tribe spoke and he spoke humbly. It was translated by the younger chief, which I personally didn’t mind. The Kansa didn’t speak a new language but they had an accent that took them far beyond my extremely limited knowledge of that tongue, so we were stuck with his translator.

“Many warriors fight today.” This was going to be a challenging conversation.

“Many warriors die.

“Many warriors wounded.

“You have great victory.” And that was where they went silent. Hell that wasn’t a bad admission of defeat, so I just needed to state my terms. I didn’t hate the Kansa the way the Pawnee did. I had no wish to be part of the destruction that would rain down upon them from every angle.

I asked Amos to bring me a piece of parchment, ink, and pen and then I drew a map. I started with the Missouri river as the base of the map and then drew in the Kansa river to show where we were. With those landmarks agreed upon, I pushed forward. Next came the Platte river to show the upper boundary of the map and then the all-important Nemaha to show my southern territory boundary. That was it, pretty rudimentary and entirely effective. I added a dot to show where we currently were.

I passed the parchment around and everyone agreed that we all understood where ‘here’ was in relation to the larger scheme of things. With that out of the way, I put a big ‘ZEN’ symbol above the Nemaha river and told them that was my territory. Yes, one of my many nicknames because of my initials was Zen; so the symbol was a simple circle. Of course, you had to draw it correctly, almost like a snake chasing its tail, but it was simple and it worked.

Next came the discussion about staying away from my land and anything bearing my symbol. Not an easy discussion to have, with the translation being so weak, but we got there. In the end, I got them to concede that they'd avoid my land and anything bearing my symbol. That was our treaty. We got free passage on this small bit of Kansa land at the cost of only a few ordinary lives.

Isn’t that the joke of the ages? Always and forever it’s been “a few ordinary lives" won us this! I’m pretty sure I could have worked out a better deal had they just confronted me in a civil manner. There are easier ways to pay a road toll than with blood.

We smoked and shared a cup of tea. After that, I simply dismissed them. We needed to lick our wounds and be ready to move tomorrow morning.