The Diary of Jerrod Bently by J.W. Osborn (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

died when I was ten,” Sam answered .
“Yes, and I sent you and Brian from Fort Dodge to your Aunt Lille back East.” He said sadly. “It was best for you both. “
”Who is that woman?,” Sam asked, “That Pawnee Squaw?”
“Once, she was one of the most beautiful women in our village,” Scrub Pot replied “Many braves wanted her. But she was the most annoying, selfish, miserable women I have ever met and I almost got to be her husband.”
“Did you love her, Grandfather?” , she asked.
“No!,” Scrub Pot spit bitterly “I did not even like her, but her father chose me to be her husband. He was the medicine chief and no one dared to cross him. I was already married to your grandmother in secret.. After my father died, my older brother became chief. He knew that Bird That Squawks was not a good choice for a bride. I refused to wed her. No one could stand her because there was no peace when she was around. She talked ALL the time. My brother married her off to our half brother Skulking Dog, who was Pawnee. I went away to be with your grandmother and forgot all about “Bird That Squawks.”
“She sounds like a very annoying person.,” Sam said
“She was then and probably still is,” Scrub Pot said “I think that if she is not with a husband, she will be looking for me.”
Sam laughed out loud at his remark. “So that is why you ran away when you saw them coming,” she said.
“On the day she left our village,” he said worriedly “She swore she would have me.”
“Grandfather, that was a very long time ago,” Sam stated “I am sure she has forgotten all about you .”
“Don’t count on it, Sam,” Scrub Pot answered.
“She can’t be that bad,” Sam commented as she climbed down the side of the rock and waited there for her grandfather.
“No, Sam,” Scrub Pot stated, “She is worse.”
By the time they headed back to the encampment, the evening meal was over and the drovers were sitting by the fire listening to Ely Jack play his guitar. However, their enjoyment of his music was severely impaired by the constant jabbering of the Pawnee woman. The Indians had eaten and disappeared into the woods, but that big squaw had taken up a vigil next to the chuck wagon. Yes, Bird that Talks, or Squawks was awake and waiting. Since the passing of her fourth husband, all she thought about was Scrub Pot and his life with the long knives, training their many horses and going to the white-man’s seminary. She had also heard that his wife had died some years back and that he had never remarried. Bird that Talks planned to take full advantage of this and hopefully claim her fifth husband.
Sam led her horse away as Scrub Pot slid off his paint. Gently he ran his hand over that familiar pink velvety nose.. “Stay near “Wakeeze”, he said in his native Blackfoot tongue. After all their years together Wakeeze, understood and walked off to graze behind the wagon. He knew Sam would be coming in for the night soon and would pet him and give him attention before she retired. It was quite dark now and Scrub Pot could see the flickering light of the campfire. He heard the guitar music, but it was distorted by someone’s raucous voice. Sickeningly , he realized who it was. Scrub Pot might as well get it over with. He knew why Bird That Talks had shown up and he was not going to be part of her plans. He wasn’t all those years ago and he would not be now. Alice had been the love of his life, the mother of his only son and after her death he had returned to the reservation and lived there alone until Sam came back into his life. He was carefully watching his step in the darkness as he headed toward his wagon when he collided with what felt like a buffalo and he nearly went down.
She spoke his real name in their native Blackfoot language. The name, He Who Walks With Horses, was one that Scrub Pot had not heard in many years. His eyes focused on the large shape in the darkness in front of him. “Buffalo that stomps,” he thought to himself. No longer was she young or beautiful. She was rather portly to put it lightly. Gone was any trace of the alluring young woman she had once been. Her chatter filled the air and that told the old man all he needed to know. Bird That Talks had literally rolled back into his life and he was not pleased. “Hello,” he said politely as he offered her his hand. She never heard him because she was too busy talking to acknowledge his greeting. From inside the chuck wagon, Scrub Pot heard Diamond start to growl. At this point he would have welcomed the return of that mountain lion if it meant he could get away from this unappealing and annoying female. “Big as buffalo” he said in his thoughts, “Smells like one too.” The squaw chattered on. Suddenly her chubby hand grabbed his arm and she waddled up beside him. “It has been too long,” she said “My husband, Skulking Dog is dead.. I have eight children. Some of them are his others are my second and third husbands’. I have thought of you so often and missed you so much. Why I said to my friend just yesterday that I would love to see you again. I am sorry about your wife. After all these years I think I am still in love with you...” Scrub Pot cringed. Surely the Great Spirit would come to his rescue.
He turned away from her in disgust and climbed into the front of his wagon. “I know you must be surprised to see me, “ Bird That Talks rattled on as she attempted to follow “But I had heard you left the reservation and......”
“Go away!”, he ordered from inside the wagon “You upset my dog!”
“I will sleep out here tonight, “ she chattered “We can talk in the morning and catch up. There have been many things in my life and...”
“Can you not stop the flow of words, woman!”, he shouted “Go back to your people.”


The shuffling he heard seconds later told him that she was beating as hasty a retreat as possible. Obviously she remembered his temper. He petted Diamond on her fuzzy head. Then his dark eyes turned to the little trunk he kept locked and safely stashed under the narrow bunk he had built and kept vacant for Sam. He reached into the open collar of his red shirt and grabbed the raw hide string that held the key. “He had not tasted whiskey in many years, but tonight just might be the night he gave in. His hand shook as he unlocked the trunk and pulled open the lid. There was the unopened bottle lying there as it has for many years. His mind raced taking him back to the past and the night his son was killed. The raid, the fire, the screaming all of them drunk and he was too late. “No.” He heard his wife’s voice speak firmly “You do not need it.” Then it was gone. With shaking hands he closed the lid and inserted the key. It clicked as Sam was climbing into the back of the wagon. She was shocked to see him. “Grandfather?”, she hissed “What are you doing?”
He looked up at her. “Thanking God that I had the strength to say no,” he replied. As he dropped the key back into its hiding place. It was obvious he did not want to talk about it. “Good night , Granddaughter,” he said stoically as he turned and climbed out of the wagon. Once outside, he lay down on his blankets. Diamond, sensed she was needed and whined from the wagon seat. “Come on then,” he said and a second later the dog was curled up beside him.


It was still dark when Scrub Pot awakened to Diamond’s sniffing the air and growling low. The old man sat up reaching for the shot gun he always kept handy and looked around, seeing nothing but shadows. Diamond jumped up onto the wagon seat and sniffed at something there. Scrub Pot rose to his feet, clutching the shot gun in his right hand as he surveyed the front of his wagon. His concern was for his grand daughter who was sleeping inside. Seeing no danger, he glanced down at the seat to see a bundle of herbs tied with a strand of colorful Indian beads. He cursed. Bird That Talks had left him a gift. He picked up the herbs and held them to his nose. “Hmm,” he said to himself, instead of throwing them as far as he could “Good for cooking deer meat.” He’d seen plenty of signs of game as they had traveled on the day before. Such were his thoughts as he climbed up into the seat of the wagon. “Sam!”, he hissed. She stirred and pulled the quilts over her head. “Sam!”, Scrub Pot hissed again “It is time to get up. “
”Yes, Grandfather,” came her sleepy reply.
Scrub Pot revived his cooking fire from the coals of the night before and set about preparing breakfast for the men. He silently prayed and called on all his patience and training as a Methodist Minister to put his anger over the arrival of Bird That Talks out of his thoughts. He focused on Sam. He would see her succeed and realize her dreams. The Flying S Ranch could be repaired and