My Old Indian Friend

My old Indian Friend, Nelson Birdbear, just stopped by. Nelson just finished telling me an interesting story about how his friend got killed in Vietnam. Nelson's Army group thought they had encountered some enemy soldiers, so gunships were called in to cover them from the air. Nelson was making their fox hole bigger and decided to rest for a moment. Nelson jumped out of the hole, and his friend jumped in. All of a sudden Nelson said he felt like he was at the edge of a cliff, Nelson told his friend to get out of the hole, and Nelson jumped back in and started digging. Within seconds the American gunship came over. It was night and the gunship had already made a few runs in front of them. The gunship came to close and shot his friend dead. Had Nelson not had the premonition, he would have been sitting there instead of his friend. Nelson wants to visit his friends grave in Vancouver, Washington. I tried to do some research, but if anyone knows how to look up the cemetery directory for Vancouver, Washing, let me know.

Nelson and I used to work at the Glenharold Mine together. I always liked him, he was fun to joke with. Once he told me he was being given crap about being an Indian by some of the less intelligent miners, and he was tired of it. I made sure the people who were hassling him knew they would be fired if it ever happened again, I think he appreciated it.

Nelson is distressed with all the corruption on the reservation, and when he brings his wife to town for medical treatment, he visits, and we try to figure ways to bring some justice to the crooks. Like every Indian reservation the one north of us has ended up with riches under it. It seems like every time the white man tries to give the Indians the worst possible land, oil, coal, or gold, ends up being underneath it. Currently it appears as though a very large pool of oil may be under Nelson's reservation. There must be some kind of justice in this world.