2 July - Little Pomp's Game

Our decent into the valley was made most spectacular as the sun came to rest and the lights of the township burst through the night, appearing as stars shining from below.

We rested beneath a bridge where we found other weary travelers sleeping, their belongings packed in a cart beside them as ours were in our wagon.

The next morn, our exploration of the valley continued.  The nature and beauty I had come to expect in  the valleys of the Rocky Mountains, was certainly a challenge to discover here.  It was only from time to time in which we would see a small oasis of trees and grass.  Finally, Clark decided to stop to water the horses.  

Although no rivers nor ponds could be found, what we did discover amidst the oasis was a group of children playing a game.  It appeared that two teams (differentiated by colors) were attempting to move a ball into large nets at either end of the playing field.  Sacagawea recognized the game immediately as something the Hidatsa children were playing while we were camped with them.  I will admit, the game was quite similar.  Two teams wearing different colors (in the Hidatsa's case headbands), and an attempt to wrap a "double ball," if you will, around a spike at either end of the playing field.

Sacagawea's boy, Little Pomp, at five years of age, was desperately pulling away from his mother's hand.  He wished to join the other children!  Sacagawea was concerned, but Jean Baptise said the boy needed to run.  Sacagawea gave her permission and Little Pomp happily hurried to participate. 

We stood beside other adults who were invested in the game.  We all smiled and tipped our hats as we turned to watch the activity.  However, just as Little Pomp had come onto the playing field, the adults began hissing.  The children stopped playing, all of them focused on Little Pomp.  Seeing no child moving, Little Pomp found his way to the ball and kicked it.  A strong boy, his kick sent the ball sailing well past the trees.  

Then a man with a tiny tin whistle came running out to Little Pomp.  I cannot say what he told the boy, only that Little Pomp ran back to us with a flaming temper.  Before the lad returned, Clark was out on the playing field raging as only a man with Scottish blood can.  The adults which we had shared a friendly exchange with only a few moments earlier, were shouting and pointing at Little Pomp as he shouted back in Lemhi Shoshone, his mother's tongue.  Not having any of it, I had to hold back Jean Baptise as he lunged at the opposing men.  Quickly we turned to discover Clark was amidst a brawl with the tin whistle man.  The other men had discovered it as well, and were all descending upon Clark.  

Carrying for our own, Jean Baptise and I pulled Clark from his locked grip upon the whistle man.  The other men were shouting at Clark while their children wailed tears about them.  Amidst the mayhem I heard the whistle man say that Little Pomp was not "authorized" to engage in the game and demanded we leave.

The five of us stormed back to the wagon, bothered by the crude behavior of these people.  Clark told Sacagawea if he were close enough to the wagon, he would surely have retrieved his gun, but the episode was over too quickly.  Sacagawea quietly shook her head as Jean Baptise squeezed his arm about her shoulder.  She was only disappointed that Little Pomp has not had the opportunity to play with children.  

I knelt down beside the boy and told him how phenomenal he was and surely the other children could not have performed well against his strength.  I was speaking the truth in these words.  Indeed, the other children were certainly of greater age than Little Pomp, but they broke down into tears when the adults began arguing.  Where Little Pomp stood his ground, giving back to the adults what they dished out to him.  I must say, although the game ended harshly, I had never been so proud before of Little Pomp.

Our horses still needed water, so we headed out again to find a river.

Until tomorrow, my friends.