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<DIV><FONT size=2>Walt: I am fairly new to the mailing list.
When did you start your Aunt Charlotte notes. I would surely like to
get them all to read it is very interesting. Do I go back to the
Archives? or what.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>Dolores</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2><A
href="mailto:djbrtb@kci.net">djbrtb@kci.net</A></FONT></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
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<DIV style="FONT: 10pt arial">----- Original Message ----- </DIV>
<DIV
style="BACKGROUND: #e4e4e4; FONT: 10pt arial; font-color: black"><B>From:</B>
<A title=DAVIESW739@aol.com
href="mailto:DAVIESW739@aol.com">DAVIESW739@aol.com</A> </DIV>
<DIV style="FONT: 10pt arial"><B>To:</B> <A
title=or-roots@sosinet.sos.state.or.us
href="mailto:or-roots@sosinet.sos.state.or.us">or-roots@sosinet.sos.state.or.us</A>
</DIV>
<DIV style="FONT: 10pt arial"><B>Sent:</B> Saturday, April 23, 2005 2:22
PM</DIV>
<DIV style="FONT: 10pt arial"><B>Subject:</B> Re: [or-roots] Fort Laramie,
Wyoming (aunt Charlotte Book)</DIV>
<DIV><BR></DIV><FONT id=role_document face=Arial color=#000000 size=3>
<DIV>When we reached Fort Laramie , we saw Indian camps everywhere. Some
distance away from the fort, we children found a place where the very ground
itself, was glistening with bright colored, tiny beads. The others picked up
large quantities of them, but Mother told me to leave them alone. She
explained that it was an Indian graveyard, and that ants were bringing the
beads from the graves underneath. They were all small anyway and I did not
care very much about them, though, of course, they would have been
better than nothing.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV> Later several women took me with them when they went for a
walk. It was on this walk that I saw the string of beads that stands out
from all other beads in my memory. They were on a buck-string and hung in a
great loop through a crack in a rude platform that stood five or six
feet from the ground. They did not seem to belong to anyone in
particular. Here at last were the very beads for me. </DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV> So I caught the string in both hands and pulled with all my
might. They seemed caught on something, so I tugged this way and that
and jerked till my breath came in gasps. I was determined to have them.
I took my feet off the ground and swung with all my might on the
string, but still the thing above that held it, would not give way. So I
called for Mrs. Athey to help me. That was my undoing. She screamed at
me: "Charlotte, Charlotte, come away from there at once. Don't you know
those beads are around a dead Indian's neck? " I let go, but not because
of the Indian, I let go because she told me to, and I did it reluctantly, even
then. Oh! they were so beautiful, yellow and blue and black. Such a fine
long string too.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV> They took me back to camp at once and told Mother about it.
She scrubbed me with everything that she had. She would have boiled me,
if she had dared, and I am sure that she did not kiss me for a week
without afterwards wiping her mouth. She treated me exactly as she
treated Jasper after he had met his first skunk. </DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV> I wanted those beads, and I seem to want them even yet. I
have never owned a string of them, though I see them now on everyone. I
sometimes wear a lorgnette that hangs from a chain, fashioned to look
like tiny gold beads. I wear it, because it pleases my family, but I do not
like it. The clasp bothers me, it is very intricate and my fingers have
grown old.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT lang=0 face=Arial size=2 PTSIZE="10" FAMILY="SANSSERIF"><B>Walt
Davies<BR>Cooper Hollow Farm<BR>Monmouth, OR 97361<BR>503 623-0460
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