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AMENDMENT A1

SECTION 3, ARTICLE II - Governing Council, shall be amended to read as follows:

Article II - Governing Council:

"Section 3 - The Governing Council of the Sac and Fox Nation shall have the authority to take final action on any matter within its delegated powers at a regular or special meeting of the Governing Council. No referendum vote of the Governing Council shall be necessary."


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Pursuant to authority delegated by 209 DM 8 and 10 BIAM 3.1, I, L.W. Collier, Jr., Acting Area Director, do hereby approve the foregoing Amendment A1 to the Constitution and ByLaws of the Sac and Fox Nation of Oklahoma, which if ratified by a majority vote of the eligible tribal voters will become Amendment No. 1.

Approval Recommended:

Tribal Government Services Officer

Anadarko, Oklahoma

Date: 12/12/89

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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 Elmer Manatowa, Principal Chief Sac and Fox Nation Route 2, Box 246 Stroud, Oklahoma 74079

Dear Chief Manatowa:

This letter accompanies the following original documents; Amendment A1 to the Constitution and By-Laws of the Sac and Fox Nation of Oklahoma, and the Approval of Amendment A1 as confirmed by Mr. L. W. Collier, Jr., Acting Area Director, Anadrko Area Officer on December 12, 1989.

As you know, the Secretarial election to ratify or reject proposed Amendment A1 was held on March 17, 1990. The amendment was ratified by a vote of 165 for, 150 against, and there were 12 spoiled or mutilated ballots; 66% of the members entitled to vote cast their ballot.

These documents should be attached to the Constitution and By-Laws and retained as the originals. Copies have been provided to the appropriate Bureau offices.

On behalf of the Assistant Secretary, Area Director and myself, I commend you, your staff and the members of the Election Board for all of the excellent assistance and cooperation extended to me in conducting this Secretarial Election.

I particularly extend my thanks to the Election Board members and alternates; Ms. Glenna Carroll, Ms. Georgia Blanchard, Ms. Betty Walker, and Mr. Dan Abney for their spirit of cooperation and willingness to learn and apply federal election procedures and regulations. At all times, they conducted themselves in a highly professional and exemplary manner.

cc: Election Board members (4)


text: Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation, Amendment 1


text: Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation, Amendment 1, Approval


text: Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation, Amendment 1, Letter


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 Elmer Manatowa, Principal Chief Sac and Fox Nation Route 2, Box 246 Stroud, Oklahoma 74079

Dear Chief Manatowa:

On December 28, 1991, a Secretarial Election was conducted to let the registered voters of the Sac and Fox Nation vote to accept or reject proposed amendment 1A to its Constitution and Bylaws. The voters duly adopted the proposed amendment by a vote of 163 to 72. The certification of the results of the election were forwarded to the Anadarko Area Office on January 7, 1992.

On January 10, 1992, the Area Director approved the amendment, which has been assigned Amendment No. III. Enclosed are copies of the following:

 * 1) The original of the Area Director's approval letter,
 * 2) The original of the amendment and completed Certificate of Results of Election, and
 * 3) The original of the Certificate of Approval for Amendment III.

Previously, you were sent the original May 14, 1991, authorization letter to conduct the election. We will forward under separate cover the list of qualified voters used for the purpose of this election.

If you have any question, please contact Terry Bruner, Anadarko Area Tribal Government Services Officer, (405)247-6674 ext. 209.

Enclosures


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Page:William Muir, Thomas Hunter Weir - The Caliphate; Its Rise, Decline, and Fall (1915).djvu/316

661] believed, "My father shall yet live." "Then, Lady," replied the fanatic, "whence these tears? Listen. That sword I bought for a thousand pieces, and a thousand more it cost to poison it. None may escape its wound."

It soon became evident that the wound indeed was mortal. They asked the Caliph whether, if he died, it was his will that his son should succeed to the throne. Still true to the elective principle, ʿAlī answered: "I do not command it, neither do I forbid. See ye to it." Then he called Al-Ḥasan and Al-Ḥosein to his bedside, and counselled them to be steadfast in piety and resignation, and kind to their younger brother, the son of his Ḥanefite wife. After that he wrote his testament, and continuing to repeat the name of the Lord, so breathed his last. When they had performed the funeral obsequies, Al-Ḥasan arraigned the assassin before him. Nothing daunted, Ibn Muljam said: "I made a covenant with the Lord before the Holy House at Mecca, that I would slay both ʿAlī and Muʿāwiya. Now, if thou wilt, I shall go forth and kill the other, or perish in the attempt. If I succeed, I will return and swear allegiance unto thee." "Nay," said Al-Ḥasan, "not before thou hast tasted of the fire." He was put to death, and the body, tied up in a sack, was committed to the flames.

ʿAlī died sixty years of age. His troubled and contested reign had lasted but four years and nine months. In his youth he was one of the most distinguished heroes in the early wars of Islām. But after the Prophet's death he took no part in any of the military expeditions. In his later years he became heavy and obese, and his bald and portly figure was a subject of ridicule to his enemies. For a time he was content with a single wife, the Prophet's daughter Fāṭima, by whom he had three sons and two daughters, the progenitors of the Seiyid race—the nobility of Islām. After she died, he took many women into his harīm, both free and servile, by whom he had, in all, eleven sons and fifteen daughters. ʿAlī was a tender-hearted father. In his later years a little girl was born to him, with whose prattle he would beguile his troubles; he had her always on his knee, and doted on her with a special


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 Mr. James DeHaas, Superintendent Shawnee Agency Federal National Bank Bldg. 116 W. Bell, Suite 200 Shawnee, Oklahoma 74801

Dear Mr. DeHaas:

We have received your January 7th memorandum which transmitted the formal results of the election held December 28, 1991 for the Sac & Fox Nation. The election was called in accordance with our authorization for proposed amendment 1A.

The complete Certificate of Results of Election verify that the proposed amendment was any duly adopted by the qualified voters of the tribe.

You will note that there have been two previous amendments to the Sac & Fox Constitution. Therefore, we have assigned number III to this amendment. This is shown by the completed Statement of Numerical Designation on the enclosed originals of the amendment as required by 25 CFR 81.20(b)(3).

As evidenced by my signature on the certificate of Approval, the amendment is hereby approved pursuant to the authority of the Secretary redelegated to me by 10 BIAM 3.1. Please deliver the following to the tribe:

 * 1) The original of the May 14, 1993 authorization Letter,
 * 2) The original of this approval letter,
 * 3) The original of the amendment and completed Certificate of Results of Election,
 * 4) The original of the Certificate of Approval for Amendment III, and
 * 5) Copies of any other materials that would be appropriate for retaining in the tribal archives related to the now completed process - including a list of qualified voters.


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] emergence a transparent trail to the place where he had gone down. About the base of his mountains the water began to seep forth; entering, he came out with spirit refreshed. Taking all waters, even those covered with water plants, he dipped his hands in and made downward passes. Touching the large trees he made downward sweeps with his hands. Going to the place where he had killed Eagle he sat down looking like a ghost. A voice from the darkness asked, "Why are you here?" He answered that notwithstanding all that he had done for them the people hated him. Renewing his power four times in the east at the place where the sun rises, he blew his hot breath upon the people, which like a weight held them where they

title: Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/346


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 You are reminded that 25 CFR 81.8(b)(6)(iii) requires you to retain the ballots and other materials among official records for at least one year.


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Proposed Amendment 1A

The current Section 2 Article III - Business Committee, should be amended to read as follows:

Section 2. The Business Committee shall have authority to act on behalf of the tribe in all matters, except the Governing Council of the Sac and Fox Nation shall have the authority to take final action on any matter at a regular or special meeting of the Governing Council; the final action so taken by the Governing Council shall be binding on all elected officers and the Business Committee. No referendum vote of the Governing council shall be necessary.

Having been duly adopted and approved, Proposed Amendment 1A is hereby designated as Amendment III to the Constitution and Bylaws of the Sac and Fox Nation of Oklahoma.


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Pursuant to a Secretarial election authorized by the Area Director, Anadarko Area Office, on 7-16-91 the attached amendment of the Sac and Fox Nation of Oklahoma was submitted to the qualified voters and on 12-28- 91 was duly (ratified)) by a majority vote of 163 for and 72 against and 8 cast ballots found spoiled and mutilated in an election in which 243 of the members entitled to vote cast their ballots in accordance with 49 Stat. 1967.

Date:


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I, L. W. Collier, Jr., Area Director, Anadarko Area Office, Secretary of Interior by the Act of the authority granted to the P.L. 100-581, which was delegated to the Assistant Secretary - Indian Affairs by 209 DM 8.3 and redelegated to me by 10 BIAM 3.1, do hereby approve and foregoing amendment No. III to the constitution and Bylaws of the Sac and Fox Nation of Oklahoma. This amendment was duly adopted by a majority of the qualified voters who cast ballots in the December 28, 1991 election.

Date:


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Page:William Muir, Thomas Hunter Weir - The Caliphate; Its Rise, Decline, and Fall (1915).djvu/317

 288 love. He was the last of the four "rightly guided" Chalifs, and the first of the twelve Shīʿite Imāms.

In the character of ʿAlī there are many things to commend. Mild and beneficent, he treated Al-Baṣra, when prostrate at his feet, with a generous forbearance. Towards theocratic fanatics, who wearied his patience by incessant intrigue and insensate rebellion, he showed no vindictiveness. Excepting Muʿāwiya, the man of all others whom he ought not to have estranged, he carried the policy of conciliating his enemies to a dangerous extreme. In compromise, indeed, and in procrastination, lay the failure of his Caliphate. With greater vigour, spirit, and determination, he might have averted the schism which for a time threatened the existence of Islām, and which has since never ceased to weaken it.

ʿAlī was wise in counsel, and many an adage and sapient proverb has been attributed to him. But, like Solomon, his wisdom was for other than himself. His career must be characterised a failure. On the election of Abu Bekr, influenced by Fāṭima, who claimed and was denied a share in her father's property, he retired for a time into private life. Thereafter we find him taking part in the counsels of ʿAbu Bekr and his successors, and even performing the functions of Chief Judge. But he never asserted the leading position, which, as cousin and son-in-law of the Prophet, might have been expected of him; nor is there aught to show that this was due to other cause of than an easy and inactive temperament. One indelible blot rests on the escutcheon of ʿAlī, his flagrant breach of duty towards his sovereign ruler. He had sworn allegiance to ʿOthmān, and by him he was bound to have stood in the last extremity. Instead, he held ignobly aloof, while the Caliph fell a victim to red-handed treason. Nor can the plea avail that he was himself under pressure. Had there been a loyal will to help, there would have been a ready way. In point of fact, his attitude gave colour to the


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Ernest and the Case of Old Mudguards

RS. MARTIN enjoyed a theory common with mothers that Ernest was always obedient in school. To be sure, she knew that Ernest entertained for the master a hatred that could know no mitigation. On the other hand, she always suspected that Ernest's devouring desire to make the football team had rendered him immune from any temptation to work havoc in Mr. Ballington's discipline. This year Ernest had achieved his highest athletic honor. As captain, he had brought the football season to a triumphant close. It was December now. Mrs. Martin was placidly anticipating his graduation in the spring.

And so she betrayed a visible shock when one morning she received a note from Mr. Ballington, asking her to come up to the school at her earliest convenience, that they might talk over “Ernest's case.”

“'Ernest's case!'” Mrs. Martin repeated. “What does he mean by 'Ernest's case'? It sounds as if Ernie had been up to something.”

Phoebe stood at the mirror, bunching a long, white automobile veil into little knots above her ears. She accepted with sisterly fortitude this pessimistic translation of the dubious phrase. “I think it more than likely,” she made baleful comment as her mother paused, dumbly demanding reassurance.

“I don't know why you talk like that, Phoebe,” Mrs. Martin returned, “I'm sure it's only now and then that Ernie's report-cards”

“Ern Martin is simply the limit in school, mother,” Phoebe broke in with characteristic racy candor, “and you might as well know it. He got awfully scared that time in his freshman year when Mr. Ballington sent him home. And the rest of the term he was pretty good for him. But Molly Tate says it's something dreadful the way Ern carries on now. I don't know that I blame Ern so much,” Phoebe went on analytically. “Its that gang of his.”

Ernest's gang! The lines on Mrs. Martin's forehead deepened slightly. The problem of Ernest's gang had always been perplexing. Mrs. Martin liked each member individually but the combination

First came “Sig” Lathrop, who was christened Sigismund.

Sig inherited from his gifted Polish mother a passion for music. Ernest had made generous compact with himself to ignore this despicable, girly weakness, because Sig had inherited equally from his able American father a passion for athletics. Sig was as pretty as a girl—a slender, olive, liquid-eyed lad with a temperamental look. He seemed running over with a spasmodic nervous energy, and yet he could sit at the piano in the Martin living-room and improvise by the hour, so long as only Mrs. Martin or Phoebe were present. Ernest had trained his face so that it no longer twitched when his mother referred to Sigismund's “pretty manners.” Only Ernest knew that Sigismund was grand past master in the delicate art of harrying policemen, Chinamen, muckers, owners of fecund orchards and the itinerant merchants of small wares.

Next came Horace Tate, alias “Red.”

Horace was “Red” because he was carrot-topped. But beyond that

“My goodness!” Phoebe often said, “I would like to know what Horace Tate really looks like.”

For Red resembled nothing so much as a back-yard cat who has had to defend fence-rights. He nursed a succession of black eyes, swollen noses, puffed lips, scalp-rips and impartially distributed lamenesses. For, more than any transient pleasure this life affords, Red loved a fight. It was this passion, followed in public and in private, with or without animosity, practised on friend and on foe, on whites, blacks, Ginnies and Swedes, that proved his eligibility to Ernest's gang.

Third came “Bud” Donovan, who was christened Brian.

Bud's father had so much money that, in the Maywood phrases, he was “round-shouldered” and “hump-backed” with it. Mr. Donovan had brought up a large family, of which Bud was the youngest boy, on the theory that you could keep any child out of mischief if you gave him interesting toys. Bud had everything a boy could desire, from jackstraws to an amateur wireless station. But nothing could keep his mind permanently off his favorite pastime, which was to abet Jack Johnson, his white bull-terrier, in ridding Maywood of every member of the cat and dog species. Bud had a non-committal, freckled face—a perfect blend of Celt and Anglo-Saxon. New teachers and substitutes, whose bane he was, always mistakenly picked him out for the best boy in the room, and immediately presented him with a Position of Trust. But Bud was perfectly fair with them—he never held it longer than fifteen minutes. His father had once remarked of him, “You can put your hand on his shoulder any time, day or night, and say, 'It's all up, Bud, I'm on!' and that cagey young devil will begin to stall.”

Last there was “Dutch” Pugh, whose mother called him Adolph.

Half German, half American, Dutch was just boy—a stocky little lad with a round wooden head into whose eye-sockets two glass agates had apparently just been stuck, on to whose skull a wig of stiff yellow hair had just been glued. Dutch's specialty was doing what he was told. And once a command was planted in that solid, stolid German mind, nothing short of the police reserves could pry him from the performance thereof.

It was this quartette who tri-weekly presented itself, solemn-eyed and whispering, at the Martin door, who, after asking respectfully if Ernest were in, walked up the first flight of stairs, bounded up the second and, apparently, fell up the third flight. On striking the play-room, the quartette expanded, as if by magic, into a troop of infantry breaking ranks. Promptly at ten, the troop of infantry, diminished to a quartette again, fell down the top flight of stairs, leaped down the middle flight and tip-toed down the lower flight, departing once more solemn-eyed and whispering.

By some miracle of personality, Ernest had fused these conflicting elements, had welded them, had fashioned from the composition a machine so perfect that it was the terror of teachers. Mrs. Martin, who had an awed admiration for Sig Lathrop's natural gifts, and a profound respect for Bud Donovan's natural abilities, never deceived herself as to Ernest's inferiority in those lines. She explained her son's leadership on the principle that his smaller, straighter mind supplied the balance-wheel for much that was exotic and alien, for more that was erratic and undirected.

“Well,” Mrs. Martin said, “I'll see Ernest first and hear what he's got to say. I'll go up to the school tomorrow morning. Now, Phoebe, I don't want that you should say anything about this to your father yet. You know he's a little inclined to be severe with Ernie.”

This profound truth, so obvious to the mother of the abused one, was received with disheartening skepticism by his sister. “Oh, Ern's a terrible martyr. I guess you'll probably have to tell father in the end, though. I know that Ern's done something serious this time.”

Perhaps this was Mrs. Martin's own intuition. For though she resolutely turned the conversation to other things, her gaze, after the clock struck two, kept straying to the window. With that unconscious reading of her mother's mind which marked all their intercourse, Phoebe once said absent-mindedly, apropos of nothing, “Ern may not be home until dinner-time, mother—you know he took his skates with him.” So it proved. Mrs. Martin felt glad when Phoebe decided to make a round of calls. If was long after dark before the cheerful strains of “Villikins and His Dinah” came whistled to her from the front path.

“”Ernie,” Mrs. Martin said the moment he appeared at the living-room door, “what does this note of Mr. Ballington's mean?”

Ernest drank the letter down in one gulp. “Why, you cute Stealthy Steve, you!” he ejaculated, throwing it angrily down. “Ain't he the marvel? Thought he'd creep on me, did he? Well, he's got another guess coming to him! Why, it's about this frat business, mother.”

“What frat business?” Mrs. Martin asked in a nonplussed tone.

“Why, I belong to a frat,” Ernest explained. “A frat's a fraternity and a fraternity's a kind of secret society—a sort of club. Old Mudguards doesn't believe we boys ought to have them. But I'd like to know how it's any of his funeral! He says he's going to break it up, and I want to see him do it—that's all. Old stuffed shirt!”

For a moment, Mrs. Martin permitted herself to ignore the manner of this for the sake of the matter. “What do these fraternities do?”

“Oh, just meet,” Ernest said in an offhand way.

“Who belongs?”

“Well, that's a secret for the present. You see,” Ernest was employing the patience which a fellow may exercise with honor in the single case of mothers, “I can't tell you anything about it now, because they're kicking up such a row at school. We'll make a big noise some day,” his enthusiasm kindling. “We're only local now, but as soon as this fuss blows over, we are going to get a charter from Alpha Omicron Tau. Well,” as his mother's face continued not to clear, “it's like the Masons that father belongs to—I can't tell about it any more than he can.”

“Oh, I see.” Mrs. Martin's tone was a little dry. Even Ernest could see that his choice of illustration had been far from happy.

“It would be a fierce thing to tell all about it—honest” Ernest wriggled a little under the steady gaze of his mother's soft eyes.

“Oh, of course, I don't want to interfere with what does not concern me,” Mrs. Martin said, employing a characteristic, unconscious as it was delicate. “Perhaps Mr. Ballington will feel more free to talk.”

Mr. Ballington did.

When Mrs. Martin reached the school, the next morning, he was in the midst of a conversation with Mr. Wilbur, the head of the English department.

Mr. Ballington had been christened “Old Mudguards” by Ernest, “Mudguards” because of a preponderance of side-whisker, “Old” because he was obviously young. Young in years, that is to say, for Mr. Ballington was one of those men who begin to grow old once adolescence is passed. As a matter of fact, he was about thirty-five or thirty-six.

Mr. Wilbur, on the other hand, although he was well over fifty, and already gray and wrinkled, would never succeed in achieving a respectable age. Everybody in the school called him “Sammy,” and Sammy he would always be.

“I intend to stamp out this fraternity business in the beginning,” Old Mudguards was saying, in the tones which everybody who knew him recognized as his I'll-fight-it-out-on-these-lines-if-it-takes-all-summer state of mind. “I had it out with the School Board Friday night, and at last they've given me written permission to take what measures I choose. What do you think they've been doing in the West? Why, one fraternity has actually hired clubrooms. They go there nights. It was discovered that they spent the last meeting drinking and smoking.”

“One box of cigarettes for the crowd and a bowl of pale pink punch,” Mr. Wilbur suggested. “Shades of Tiberius! Nero must have turned in his grave. I suppose,” he went on musingly, “that in a way I can sympathize with the youngsters. When you come down to it, there's nothing so romantic as the secret organization.”

Mr. Ballington's lips set until his mouth was horizontal with determination. “These boys will be up to all kinds of monkey capers before we know it,” he continued. “Besides, it interferes with the discipline of the school. No, by the end of the month, I intend to have stamped it all out. Martin is the toughest customer to handle, but if I break him I get Donovan, Tate, Lathrop and Pugh. They're the ringleaders.”

And just then Mrs. Martin entered. For an hour she remained closeted with Mr. Ballington. Her face was grave when she left the office. Ernest studied that look furtively all through dinner. He hung about the house for half the evening. Then, guessing that nothing would break, after all, he dashed jubilantly outdoors.

But something broke within five minutes of his exit. Mrs. Martin turned to her husband.

“Edward,” she began, relentlessly, dragging him from the maw of his favorite muckraker, “Ernie's in trouble at school. I went up to-day and saw Mr. Ballington about it. You see, he wrote me a note yesterday, but I didn't say anything about it to you last night—because—because”'

“because you hoped to settle it out of court,” Mr. Martin translated his wife to herself. “Well, fire away, mother! I think I may be able to stand the shock. You know I have never entirely shared your theory that Ernest was eligible to the angel throng.”

“They don't say one word against Ernie's scholarship.” Mrs. Martin plunged to her son's defense along the only line open.

“Well, I have examined his report-cards and I must say he deserves credit”—Mr. Martin had a meretricious effect of agreeing with his wife—“for the way he manages to just slide through with the narrowest possible margin.”

“Edward, I wish you wouldn't take that sarcastic tone about Ernie. I guess he studies just about as much as any other boy. And, besides, I'd rather most anything would happen than that he would strain his eyes. But about this fraternity business. This is serious, Edward—you must listen. It seems that all over the country the boys have been forming themselves into secret societies—'frats,' they call them. They're simply dreadful for the discipline of the school, and, besides, the boys get together and sometimes,” Mrs. Martin's voice lowered a little, “they hire rooms and go there to drink and smoke.”

She stopped expectantly. The film of horror which she anticipated had not descended on Mr. Martin's face.

“And—and—and,” she went on, playing her trump-card, “Mr. Ballington hinted”—Mrs. Martin blushed slightly—“that sometimes they had women there” Mrs. Martin stopped.

“Well,” Mr. Martin said after a pause. His tone was that of a man trying vainly to sympathize with a feminine perplexity. “I've told Ernest that when he wants to smoke, he can, and when he wants to drink, he can—provided he'll drink his first drinks with me. When it comes to this woman-proposition—well, now frankly, mother, do you think that gold could bribe or wild horses drive Ernest into the presence of a painted female?”

Mrs. Martin laughed in spite of herself. “Well, of course he hates girls. But I guess if you were that boy's mother, maybe you'd worry about some things.”

“Perhaps I would,” Mr. Martin answered. “But also I think I'd reflect that there were some things I'd leave to him. He's no longer a boy.”

Mrs. Martin considered this easy masculine view, a thimbled finger on her lip. “Well, anyway,” she came futilely out of her meditations, “I agree with Mr. Ballington that this fraternity business ought to be stopped. And I'm going to help him. What do you think Ernie did, Edward?”

“What?” Mr. Martin asked, his eye seeking his magazine.

“When Ernie was suggested for captain of the football team, Mr. Ballington asked him to sign a paper that he didn't belong to any frat. Ernest signed it willingly enough, and he was elected captain. Mr. Ballington was perfectly delighted, because everything looked all right. But the master of another school told him the trick those boys were playing. This is what they do. The day before they were elected, Ernest resigned from the frat. The day after he was elected, he joined it again. What do you think of that?”

What Mr. Martin thoughts was evident. He laughed.

Mrs. Martin contemplated him for a disapproving second. “Edward Martin,” she said and she tapped every word out with an emphasizing thimble on the table, “sometimes I think men haven't any moral sense.”

“I'm sure they haven't,” Mr. Martin admitted equably.

“Mr. Ballington is going to make every boy sign a paper that he will not belong to any frat while he's in school. I'm going to back him in this matter, and I expect you to stand behind me, Edward.”

“Go as far as you like, mother!” Mr. Martin gave his whole attention to his magazine.

Mrs. Martin was a natural disciplinarian. Under her gentleness lurked a keen perception of values, an unexpected firmness. And yet she was a diplomat, a strategician. She ruled by love; and above all things she hated noise or violence. Her instinct was to temporize, to let things take their course. In the present tangle, she left everything to Mr. Ballington. No immediate word came from him, and she rested serene, convinced that the matter had been settled. But three days later, the mail rendered her this terse message.

“Ernest refuses absolutely to sign the paper I have prepared. I am sorry to say that, in those circumstances, I cannot allow him to play on the basket-ball team.”

“Ernie,” she said that night, “I have just heard from Mr. Ballington. I shouldn't think you'd want to give up playing basket-ball.”

“I don't care enough about it to sign that paper,” Ernest said hotly. “I've talked it over with Sig and Red and Bud and Dutch, and they all feel the same way.”

“Well, of course, if you're willing to pay the price” Mrs. Martin said after a moment's reflection. She dropped the subject.

There it rested. Mrs. Martin's peace of mind came back and stayed two days. Another letter shattered it rudely on the third.

“I regret to say that Ernest seems to be ringleader in this business of the fraternities. He must choose between his fraternity and his diploma. I am sorry to seem severe, but I have talked with every member of the School Board and they uphold me to a man.”

“Ernie,” Mrs. Martin began the instant the door opened on her son—and it was indicative of her excited condition that she started a conversation leading to the rebuke of Ernest in the presence of Phoebe—“Ernie, Mr. Ballington has written me again. Now I've said nothing, as long as the punishment for such disobedience fell on yourself. But when it comes back on your father and me— Now don't let me hear any more of this foolishness. Mr. Ballington has had bother enough.”

“Well, I guess he'll be pickled in bother before he gets through,” Ernest prophesied wrathfully. “Mother, I don't intend to sign that paper and I might as well tell you so now.”

Mrs. Martin did not speak for a moment. And that moment was a quiet one. Ernest sat rigidly, moveless. Phoebe had stopped an interminable letter to Sylvia Gordon, and was listening. With uncompromising cheerfulness, the clock sentenced second after second to eternity. When Mrs. Martin spoke, her voice did not deepen or shake. Neither Phoebe nor Ernest guessed that she had made one of those inevitable maternal adjustments, bloodless however revolutionary, which sometimes make mothers young and sometimes old.

The Ernest of now was the Ernest of a moment ago, strong-looking, sulkily handsome. And yet he had said, “I might as well tell you so now!” One half of her leaped with a thrill to welcome the man. The other half grieved for the boy that was dead.

“Ernie, it's your duty to sign that paper,” Mrs. Martin said at last. But, by some psychological twist, connected with that bloodless maternal adjustment, she could not for the life of her put conviction into her voice.

“Duty or no duty, I'm not a-going to sign it,” Ernest persisted doggedly.

No fitting rebuke presented itself to his mother. Instead, “Will you tell me why you won't?” she asked patiently.

“No, mother,” Ernest replied with the superior air native ever to masculinity when hard-pressed by femininity. “I can't explain it to you. This is something a woman couldn't understand.”

“Well, can you beat that?” Phoebe inquired, in the tones of pure exasperation. “Do you mean to tell me that you're going to stand for that, mother? Why, if when I get married and I have a son, and he grows up, and he joins a frat, and he tells me there's anything about him that I can't understand, I'll—I'll—I'll have him arrested!”

“Well, probably your sweet little Percy will be too busy playing bean-bag with baby-sister to know anything about frats,” Ernest suggested.

“Phoebe, leave the room,” Mrs. Martin ordered.

But, “Well, Ern Martin needn't think he can tell you, in my presence, that you can't understand a kid frat,” Phoebe got in before she swept upstairs.

And, “Oh, you Mrs. Pankhurst!” Ernest slipped in before the bang of Phoebe's door could shut it out.

Mrs. Martin wrote Mr. Ballington that she was finding Ernest far from amenable, but that her opinion in regard to the fraternities had not changed. She would continue to give him her cordial support. She felt sure that after the coming interview with Mr. Ballington, Ernest would give in.

Perhaps Mr. Ballington distrusted so gentle-seeming an ally. Perhaps he felt that he could not afford to await the results of so long-distance a system. At any rate, “Bertha, what does this mean?” Mr. Martin said after dinner, a day or two later. He tossed a letter into her lap. “I thought that business had been settled long ago.”

Mr. Ballington had written Mr. Martin fully and firmly in regard to Ernest. He closed with the statement that every boy in school had been brought into line except Horace Tate, Brian Donovan, Sigismund Lathrop, Adolph Pugh and Ernest. He was sorry to have to say that Ernest was influencing the other boys not to yield. In conclusion, Ernest must sign that paper or suffer suspension. Suspension might end in expulsion.

“Where is Ernest?” Mr. Martin concluded. “I want to see him at once.”

“Now, Edward,” Mrs. Martin said a little tremulously, “I don't want that you should be hard on Ernie. Ernie's a child you can't drive. He's as sweet as honey up to a certain point. He'll go just so far and no farther. I'm sure he'll ”

“Bertha,” Mr. Martin said, with a slight acrimony, “I think you can trust our offspring alone with me. I have no intention of putting him to the torture. In fact, I rather admire his spunk. But I guess I'll have to put a stop to this business now.”

Mrs. Martin said nothing more. But in her eyes shone the pathetic envy which the sex that must always wheedle holds for the sex that need only command.

“You ought not to have let this run on so long, Bertha,” Mr. Martin reproached her later when they were alone together. “I had the worst time bringing Ernest to terms! He's got an idea he's doing an individual Boston tea-party stunt. But I'm glad it hasn't gone any further”

“Ernie's going to sign that paper then?” Mrs. Martin broke in eagerly.

“Of course he's going to sign it,” Mr. Martin answered querulously. “How you talk, Bertha! I told him that his allowance stopped and the auto stayed in the barn until he obeyed Mr. Ballington's orders.”

“Did he say that he would sign that paper?” Mrs. Martin interrupted again.

“Do you suppose I asked him what he intended to do? I just told him what he'd got to do.”.

Mrs. Martin contemplated her husband for a second. And in her manner lay that exasperation that only wives may know. But she managed to hold her peace by keeping it back of her clenched teeth.

Three days later Mr. Martin came home early. His wife's first glance discovered in him all the symptoms of incipient storm. “Where's Ernest?” he asked without preliminary. And his voice reinforced his look.

“Skating,” Mrs. Martin said with a catch of her breath.

“I've had another letter from Mr. Ballington. Ernest hasn't signed that paper yet. He'll sign it to-morrow, or I'll know the reason why.”

Mrs. Martin waited until Mr. Martin went upstairs. Then she threw on her things and stole out of the house. A little way up the street, she met her son.

“Ernie,” she said, “your father's come home mad. Mr. Ballington has sent him another letter. Oh, Ernie-boy, why can't you be good?”

“Mother,” Ernest said in an insulted tone, “this hasn't anything to do with being good, and you know it.”

For over a week, Mrs. Martin had been dangling before her own eyes a temptation so luscious that she wondered how she resisted it. Now she fell, as perhaps from the beginning it was predestined that the mothers of men would fall.

“Ernie,” she said, and her voice quavered—“if you will go back to school to-morrow and do as Mr. Ballington says, I'll get father to sell the runabout in the spring and buy you a touring-car. Not one of those biggest ones,” she added conscientiously, “but a good-sized one.”

Ernest did not hesitate a moment. “Mother,”he said nobly, “I wouldn't sign that paper for a whole garageful of automobiles. It's a matter of principle.”

And if Mrs. Martin had had the feeling of a Delilah practising her arts on an untried Samson, Ernest certainly had the look of a Cæsar refusing the crown.

They walked home in silence.

“What did he say, father?” Mrs. Martin asked. breathlessly, the instant this second interview was over.

“Say!” Mr. Martin repeated. “He didn't get a chance to say anything. I told him to come back to-morrow with a note from Ballington testifying that he'd signed that paper or I'd”

Mr. Martin took up his book. Mrs. Martin could see that he felt quite sure of the outcome.

Mrs. Martin herself was not at all sure. Her brow furrowed at intervals the rest of the evening.

When Ernest returned from school the next day his mother met him at the door. She did not speak, but her face asked her question. Ernest's look answered it. “I'm suspended, mother,” he said in a tone at once jaunty and businesslike. I thought I was going to give in—honest, mother—when I started this morning. But when I got in the office alone with Old Mudguards—I don't know how it was, but I couldn't any more have signed that paper than cut my head off. Mother, you don't know how I hate that man. Father can do anything he wants.”

Something in Ernest's attitude crushed back Mrs. Martin's last appeal. It was, “Do it for my sake, my son.” She had been leaving that to the end. She knew that she would never make that plea now. The matter had slipped past any healing by her gentle arts. It was now not even an affair between father and son. It was between man and man.

Mr. Martin heard through his wife of Ernest's decision.

“Very well,” he said, “let him stay home a day or two. He can make up his mind to go back to school at the end of the week, or he can come into the office. Hours, eight to six. Pay, three dollars per.”

Mrs. Martin translated this message into the language of mothers and bore it to her son.

Ernest smiled.

“Gee, a whole lot that frightens me,” he said scornfully to Phoebe. “I'd rather drive an ash-cart than give in to Old Mudguards.”

“And if by the end of the month, he has not gone back to school,” Mr. Martin vouchsafed, still with the lofty, unattached manner of him who holds the whip-hand, “tell him he can give up any idea of going to Harvard.”

This decree, similarly translated, was brought to Ernest's notice.

Ernest smiled.

“I'm from Missouri on that,” he confided to Phoebe. “Father'll keep me out till the end of the year. Then he'll send me to a prep-school. Anyway, I'm going to college if I have to work my way through.”

In this crisis, Phoebe developed unexpected hen-mindedness. She had a lively sense of the social glory of having a football brother in college. And yet, all that was youth in her sympathized with rebellion against teacherdom. Each of her many explosive comments left her perched high and dry on a new point of view. As:

“Ern Martin, you needn't pretend to me that this is all a matter of principle with you. If it had happened last September, you'd have signed that paper rather than not be captain of the football team—sure! And you know just as well as you know your name that if anybody offered you a position on the Harvard Varsity, you'd sign forty billion papers.”

And, “Ern Martin, if you ever give in to Henry Marcy Ballington—well, you're a quitter—that's all.”

And, “Ern Martin, when you look at Mother Martin's face, and see what she's going through, I should think you'd be so ashamed that you'd squizzle all up.”

And, “I suppose, Father Martin, that you never did anything out of the way when you were a boy. Sort of cross between smarty-cat and teacher's pet.”

And, most surprising of all, for this was rank treason in Phoebe, “”Mother Martin, if Father Martin puts Ern to work, I never will forgive him as long as I live.”

A strange quiet fell on the Martin household. Mr. Martin never addressed his son. Ernest seemed comfortably able to ignore his father. Mrs. Martin experienced all the discomforts of having an idle boy in the house all day long. In secret, she regretted the embargo laid on the automobile. At night, Ernest's gang met, but these sessions, though apparently distinguished by unanimity of opinion, seemed to have lost some of their former hilarity. But never had Mrs. Martin seen Ernest more kind, lovable—angelic, even. Some of his boisterousness went forever—his very foot on the stair seemed softer. Mrs. Martin thought he was changing even in appearance. His eyes kept the clearness that she loved, but they had a new look in them. The faint shadowing of a line appeared here and there in his face. And each day his lips seemed to lose some of their boyish contour.

Mrs. Martin brooded over the situation until it got on her nerves. Her irritation showed itself in an inhibition of her instinctive diplomacy. For instance, not perceiving its flaw in logic, she unwisely delivered one of Ernest's messages.

“Tell father,” Ernest said with an effect of scathing sarcasm, “that when he resigns from the Masons, I'll resign from my frat.”

At this, Mr. Martin achieved in its perfection an appearance of suspended animation. Then, “Well, I'll be damned!” he said, and before Mrs. Martin could stay such verbal rigors, “Well, I will be damned! Bertha, I think I can stand this about a week longer, and then I'll—I'll—Bertha, I'll take a strap to that young pup.”

“Edward Martin,” his wife said, in a voice which he had never heard from her, “don't you lay a finger on that child.” And then, irritation foaming to rage, the wrongs of long ago found vent. “You have never appreciated Ernie from his babyhood, never. You have always been partial to Phoebe. If there's any choice between the two, you've alwavs favored her. And Ernie is a good child—as good as— Now I'm going to tell you one thing—” She paused to give full breath to the horror she was revealing, “I consider that Phoebe Martin was a very troublesome baby. Furthermore, she was a very naughty little girl!” Having fired this poisoned shaft, Mrs. Martin took up a book, indicating that the hearing was over.

Mr. Martin gave her one astounded look. Then he roared so heartily and so persistently that after a minute, Mrs. Martin, perforce, began to shake.

“Of course I did not mean that about Phoebe, father,” she said humbly.

Matters stood at this domestic deadlock, when one evening Mr. Martin brought Gerris Twombly, a young and brilliant business friend, home to dinner.

It was a quiet evening that they passed. Phoebe had gone to a dance. At ten, Mrs. Martin, using a headache as a pretext, left the men to their business. Ernest curled himself up in one of the big arm-chairs, intent on “Lorna Doone,” which he read twice a year. Mr. Twombly's pleasant, smooth voice mingled with his father's deeper, abrupter tones to make an undercurrent of sound which helped rather than hindered concentration. Out of that undercurrent suddenly flashed a name that made a blank of the printed page for Ernest.

“Henry Ballington. Teaching in the High School here, isn't he? Classmate of mine at Harvard.”

Ernest's lip went scornful-wise. He had a vision of Old Mudguards at Harvard.

“Know him?” Mr. Twombly was asking.

“Oh, sure! Everybody knows everybody else in Maywood,” Mr. Martin answered.

“Like him?”

“He's a good teacher and makes a fine principal. Of course school teachers aren't much in my line”

“Ballington's a queer cuss. Played halfback. He was some player too.”

Something ran cool along Ernest's veins. Old Mudguards—football! Football—Old Mudguards! And still the heavens held. His book slipped to his lap.

“He was a wonder,” Twombly went on, between the puffs which seemed to knock off all the subjects of his verbs. “Didn't come out until his sophomore year, and developed when he was a senior. Was a cinch for the Varsity before the season was half over. One of those silent, concentrated, furious players. Mixture of dynamo and catapult. Rather forbidding on his personal side. No magnetism. Nothing whatever of what you might call charm. Something of a grind. And religious, I always suspected. But after he saw his chance he lived for but one thing—to beat Yale. Good Lord, Ed, you must remember the Ballington affair!?

 * Seems as if I do,” Mr. Martin agreed. “Question of professionalism, wasn't it?”

“Yes. I had the inside of it. Happiest beggar on earth—Ballington—when it became a certainty. It came near the end of the season—the big game was to be pulled off in Cambridge. The Yale lists had been sent to us. We protested Graham. Proved it on him that he'd held down a job as gymnasium instructor one summer.”

Mr. Twombly indulged himself in a few wordless puffs. Ernest sat motionless, waiting.

“The game's on Saturday. Tuesday comes a letter from Ballington to the Athletic Committee. 'Gentlemen, I have just recalled that I was paid once for three weeks' instruction at a gymnasium. I am handing in my suit!' Well, that was all, but Barrows, the captain, said to me once, 'My God, Twombly, you ought to have seen his face when he told me?'”

The room was quiet again except that the book slipped a little between Ernest's knees.

“You know, Ed,” Twombly went on, “men are made or marred by such curious little things. Ballington had it in him somewhere to be a John Brown or an Oliver Cromwell if the right chance offered—I mean one of those big, one-idea, humorless men who do things. But it all took the wrong twist. Queer, isn't it? The biggest thing Ballington ever did broke him. It seems that everybody who knew about that money transaction was dead. It was all up to Ballington. Of course he was very unpopular with the class for a while—boys of that age are such unthinking brutes—and the men thought— Well, Yale won, and that didn't help any, you bet. And after that Ballington just naturally closed up. Makes me think of an iron chest crammed with valuable documents. The stuff's there, but nobody's got the key. That's why he's pedagogue in this little place.”

For a long interval there was not a sound in the room. Then from Ernest's corner came a quick indrawn breath. A book crashed to the floor. Ernest made one of his quick leaps out of his chair and a dash, almost as quick, out of the house.

“What's the matter with Ernest?” Twombly asked in amazement, looking after him.

“Oh, nothing, I guess. Young pup—we're having one deuce of a time with him. He's almost worn his mother to a frazzle in the last month.”

Ernest flew to Red's house, from there to Bud's, to Sig's, to Dutch's, emitting the signal which, whistled at any hour of day or night, brought his gang to his heels. In an incredibly brief time, the five had assembled at the regular meeting-place on Maywood Common, Bud picking a delicate way from the Donovan house through a back window.

“Say, fellers,” Ernest came to the point at once, “this frat row is all off. I'm going back to school to-morrow.”

“What the” Sig began.

And, “Got cold feet?” Red took it up.

And, “See here—I was counting on being expelled,” Bud remonstrated.

And, “What for?” Dutch asked placidly.

“Aw, I'm tired of the whole business. We cut it out. See!” Ernest's command was final. The gang gazed open-mouthed after him before they fell to discussion.

Ernest, streaking home at his highest speed, still showed signs of a tremendous mental concentration. He opened the door without looking at key or key-hole. He ran up two flights of stairs to his room without pausing for breath. There, he dropped into a chair, his hands hanging limp over its sides. In his eyes dwelt a pathetic perplexity, a look almost of outrage, that look which comes to youth with its first flashlight glimpse into spiritual heroism.

“Gee!” Ernest said aloud, and again “Gee!”

title: Ernest and the Case of Old Mudguards


text:
Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/49

44 ambush into which the Pimas were lured in the Santan hills. One other Pima was killed in this engagement and many were wounded, but no injury was inflicted on the Apaches.

The Pima Kwakrsân was surrounded by the enemy, who clung to him and to his horse and sought to pull him down; but he had spurs on his feet and striking them deeply into his horse's flank he caused the animal to rear and throw the man who was holding its head, high in the air. In the confusion he escaped.

Salt River. The Apaches came one moonlight night to steal horses. Leaving their own mounts tied in the brush, they crept toward the houses near which were the Pima ponies. They were discovered and pursued to the river, where all were killed in a running fight.

Gila Crossing. The Rsânûk villagers went to Kâʼmatûk to hunt deer, They were seen coming by the Apaches, who lay in wait at the spring, and two were shot before they could reach cover.

Salt River. The Apaches came to Santan early one morning and killed four Pimas. They were chased, overtaken, and five of them killed before pursuit was abandoned.

There is no record for this year upon either calendar stick.

Gila Crossing. Three Apaches were discovered approaching the villages and a party was sent out on horseback to attack them. They fled to a hill near Tempe, where they hastily built up a wall of stone, behind which they maintained themselves until nearly sunset, when a Pima led his party inside the Apache breastwork and the enemy were killed.

Gila Crossing. The Yumas came again to attack the Maricopas. They surprised the village, killed several, and carried their property to a hill near by, where they sang and danced, saying that they were waiting for the Maricopas to bring their friends, the Pimas, to be defeated next. But they underestimated the number and valor of the Pimas, who soon put them to flight, leaving many of their dead upon the field. One of their chiefs, known to the Pimas as Vĭsaki-kitoʌaȷ(t), when he saw most of his men fallen, came back saying he did not wish to escape alone. He had but a knife in his hand and was killed with arrows.

The remnant of the party took refuge in a thicket near the Estrellas, where the pursuers rushed in upon them with horses and killed all. Many Pimas were wounded but none killed. A strand of hair was

title: Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/49


text:
Page:Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation.pdf/18

I, L. W. Collier, Jr., Area Director, Anadarko Area Office, by virtue of the authority granted to the Secretary of Interior by the act of June 26, 1936, (49 Stat. 1967), and redelegated to me by 209 DM 8.3 and redelegated to me by 10 BIAM 3.1, do hereby approve the foregoing Amendment No. III to the constitution and Bylaws of the Sac and Fox Nation of Oklahoma. This amendment was duly adopted by a majority of the qualified voters who cast ballots in the December 28, 1994 election.

Date:

1-10-1992


text:
Page:William Muir, Thomas Hunter Weir - The Caliphate; Its Rise, Decline, and Fall (1915).djvu/318

 661] charge even of collusion. And herein ʿAlī must be held accountable not only for a grave dereliction of duty, but for a fatal error which shook the stability of the Caliphate itself, as he was himself not long in finding to his cost.

Tradition, strange to say, is silent, and opinion uncertain, as to where the body of ʿAlī lies. Some believe that he was buried in the Great Mosque at Al-Kūfa, others in the palace. Certainly, his tomb was never, in early times, the object of any care or veneration. The same indifference attached to his memory throughout the realm of Islām, as had attached to his person during life, and it was not till a generation had passed away that any sentiment of special reverence or regard for the husband of the Prophet's daughter, and father of his only surviving progeny, began to show itself.

There is no trace whatever at this period of the extravagant claims of later days. On the contrary, even at Al-Kūfa, the capital that should have been proud of its Caliph, there prevailed at this time towards him and his family an utter want of enthusiasm and loyalty, amounting at times to disaffection. The fiction of the divine Imāmship was a reaction in favour of ʿAlī's descendants, arising out of the coming tragedy at Kerbalā and cruel fate of the Prophet's progeny, which, fostered by ʿAlid and ʿAbbāsid faction, soon became a powerful lever, skilfully and unscrupulously used, to overthrow the Umeiyad dynasty.


text:
Page:Works of Jules Verne - Parke - Vol 8.djvu/54

 clambering into the shrouds, while others mount to the very top of the masts.

At eleven o'clock, several loud reports are heard, caused by the bursting asunder of the partitions of the hold. Clouds of smoke issue from the front, followed by a long tongue of lambent flame that seems to encircle the mizzen-mast. The fire now reaches to the cabin of Mrs. Kear, who, shrieking wildly, is brought on deck by Miss Herbey. A moment more, and Silas Huntly makes his appearance, his face all blackened with the grimy smoke; he bows to Curtis, as he passes, and then proceeds in the calmest manner to mount the aft-shrouds, and installs himself at the very top of the mizzen.

The sight of Huntly recalls to my recollection the prisoner still below, and my first impulse is to rush to the staircase and do what I can to set him free. But the maniac has already eluded his confinement, and with singed hair and his clothes already alight, rushes upon deck. Like a salamander he passes across the burning deck with unscathed feet, and glides through the stifling smoke with unchoked breath. Not a sound escapes his lips.

Another loud report; the long-boat is shivered into fragments; the middle panel bursts the tarpaulin that covered it, and a stream of fire, free at length from the restraint that had held it, rises half-mast high.

"The picrate! the picrate!" shrieks the madman; "we shall all be blown up! the picrate will blow us all up."

And in an instant, before we can get near him, he has hurled himself, through the open hatchway, down into the fiery furnace below.

29. Night. The scene, as night came on, was terrible indeed. Notwithstanding the desperateness of our situation, however, there was not one of us so paralyzed by fear, but that we fully realized the horror of it all.

Poor Ruby, indeed, is lost and gone, but his last words were productive of serious consequences. The sailors caught his cry of " Picrate, picrate!" and being thus for the


text: Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation, Amendment 3, Letter of Approval


text: Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation, Amendment 3, Letter of Certification


text: Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation, Amendment 3


text: Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation, Amendment 3, Certification of Results


text: Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation, Amendment 3, Certification of Approval (1)


text: Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation, Amendment 3, Certification of Approval (2)


text:
Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/50

] cut from the head of each fallen Yuma, but these have since been lost or buried. There were 134 Yumas killed; their bodies were left on the field.

Gila Crossing. Two Apaches were discovered near the Maricopa village by Whyenânâvĭm, a Maricopa warrior, who killed one of them before they could escape.

The Pimas went on a campaign against the Apaches on Salt river, near where the present reservation is located, and one of their number was killed.

Blackwater. In this year the Apaches raided a Papago village near Quijotoa, called Koĭ Tatkʼ (mesquite root).

For three years the Gila Crossing calendar has nothing but the year marks on it, and the keeper could recall no event for that period.

Blackwater. At the hill shaped "like a nose," in the Santans, the Apaches ambushed a party of Pimas and Maricopas. They sent six men to the Maricopa village, near which they discovered and killed some women. The Maricopa and Pima warriors pursued the Apaches, who retreated slowly, thus luring them within reach of the arrows of the waiting Apaches, who killed four Maricopas and one Pima. The survivors retreated to their supports, who were coming up in such numbers that the Apaches withdrew. The dead were burned that day north of the Santan hills.

At about the same time the Pimas killed four Apaches south of the villages.

When the wheat was ripe [June] the Apaches were pursued north of the Santan hills and four of them killed. Three men are yet living who killed Apaches in this fight.

Blackwater. The Apaches came to steal horses and brought a live vulture with them. They were discovered and several killed.

Blackwater. The Apaches were reported by the Papagos to be stealing horses in their territory and the Pimas were requested to aid in driving the enemy out of the country. In the Rincon mountains, at Tâva Kosuwa, Turkey Neck, the horse thieves were overtaken and many of them killed. The horse's head indicates the purpose of the Apaches.

title: Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/50


text:
Page:Works of Jules Verne - Parke - Vol 8.djvu/55

 first time made aware of the true nature of their peril, they resolved at every hazard to accomplish their escape. Beside themselves with terror, they either did not, or would not, see that no boat could brave the tremendous waves that were raging around, and accordingly they made a frantic rush to-ward the yawl. Curtis again made a vigorous endeavor to prevent them, but this time all in vain; Owen urged them on, and already the tackling was loosened, so that the boat was swung over to the ship's side. For a moment it hung suspended in mid-air, and then, with a final effort from the sailors, it was quickly lowered into the sea. But scarcely had it touched the water, when it was caught by an enormous wave which, recoiling with resistless violence, dashed it to atoms against the Chancellor's side.

The men stood aghast; they were dumbfounded. Longboat and yawl both gone, there was nothing now remaining to us but a small whale-boat. Not a word was spoken; not a sound was heard but the hoarse whistling of the wind, and the mournful roaring of the flames. From the center of the ship, which was hollowed out like a furnace, there issued a column of sooty vapor that ascended to the sky. All the passengers, and several of the crew, took refuge in the aft-quarters of the poop. Mrs. Kear was lying senseless on one of the hen-coops, with Miss Herbey sitting passively at her side; M. Letourneur held his son tightly clasped to his bosom. I saw Falsten calmly consult his watch, and note down the time in his memorandum-book, but I was far from sharing his composure, for I was overcome by a nervous agitation that I could not suppress.

As far as we knew, Lieutenant Walter, the boatswain, and such of the crew as were not with us, were safe in the bow; but it was impossible to tell how they were faring, because the sheet of fire intervened like a curtain, and cut off all communication between stem and stern.

I broke the dismal silence, saying, "All over now Curtis."

"No, sir, not yet," he replied, "now that the panel is open we will set to work, and pour water with all our might down into the furnace, and may be, we shall put it out, even yet."

"But how can you work your pumps while the deck is burning? and how can you get at your men beyond that sheet of flame?"


text:
Page:Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation.pdf/19

Amendment II approved by Council on August 26, 1995.

SECTION 2. All persons of one-eighth (1/8) or more degree of total combined Sac and Fox Indian blood at least one of whose parents is a member of the Sac and Fox Nation.

SECTION 3. All person now living and eligible for membership under Article II of the Constitution and By-Laws of the Sac and Fox Nation, amended August 26, 1967.

Having been duly adopted and approved, Proposed Amendment A is hereby designated as Amendment No. II to the Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation.


text:
Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/51

46

Gila Crossing. Skââkoĭk was approached one evening by seven Apaches, who were discovered and surrounded. Six escaped in the darkness, but one was tracked into the arrow bushes, where he dropped his bow. He was soon found to have secreted himself in a hole washed deep in the sand. The Pimas could not see or reach him, so they shook live coals down upon the fugitive, which caused him to yell and suddenly leap out among them. The apparition so startled everyone that no move was made to detain him. As he was passing through their line some asked those around them, "Can we catch him?" but he was such a giant and the peculiar manner of his appearance among them so unnerved for a moment the courage of the men whose deepest instinct was to crush out the life of the Apache, that he made his escape.

Blackwater. The Apaches, whom the Pimas attacked during a raid of this year, were grinding out mesquite beans from the dry pods when the arrows began to fall into their camp. A blind Apache was killed as his companions fled.

Blackwater. The Pimas and Maricopas joined the white soldiers in a campaign against the Apaches under White Hat. Two Pimas were killed and two wounded, but no Apaches were injured. While the Pimas were on their way home still another of their party was killed. The Pimas burned their dead. Later they killed several Apaches who were raising corn on Salt river.

Salt River. About the end of the year a band of Apaches came to the Pima villages one morning. They were discovered and chased 30 miles to Tempe butte, where they were surrounded. They hid themselves at the summit of the butte, but were all killed except one, who escaped into the brush.

In the summer the Yumas came again, accompanied by the Mohaves. They sent scouts ahead, who found the Maricopa women gathering mesquite beans. They killed all the women except one, whom they kept to act as a guide. She was the sister of a well-known Maricopa warrior, and they compelled her to lead them to her brother's home. When they reached it she was killed with a club and the man was chased, but he was as good a runner as he was fighter and they could not catch him. A Yuma told him to stop and die like a man, but he answered that if they could overtake him he would show them how to die like a man. The Maricopas fled from their village and the Yumas burned it. Messengers went to all the villages that day and under cover of the night the Pimas and Maricopas gathered. They kept coming until late the next forenoon. They found the

title: Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/51


text:
Page:Works of Jules Verne - Parke - Vol 8.djvu/56

 He made no answer to my impetuous questions, and finding he had nothing more to say, I repeated that it was all over now.

After a pause, he said, "As long as a plank of the ship remains to stand on, Mr. Kazallon, I shall not give up my hope."

But the conflagration raged with redoubled fury, the sea around us was lighted with a crimson glow, and the clouds above shone with a lurid glare. Long jets of fire darted across the hatchways, and we were forced to take refuge on the taffrail at the extreme end of the poop. Mrs. Kear was laid in the whale-boat that hung from the stern, Miss Herbey persisting to the last in retaining her post by her side.

No pen could adequately portray the horrors of this fearful night. The Chancellor under bare poles, was driven, like a gigantic fire-ship with frightful velocity across the raging ocean; her very speed as it were, making common cause with the hurricane to fan the fire that was consuming her. Soon there could be no alternative between throwing ourselves into the sea, or perishing in the flames.

But where, all this time, was the picrate? Perhaps, after all, Ruby had deceived us and there was no volcano, such as we dreaded, below our feet.

At half-past eleven, when the tempest seems at its very height, there is heard a peculiar roar distinguishable even above the crash of the elements. The sailors in an instant

"Breakers to starboard!" is the cry.

recognize its import.

Curtis leaps on to the netting, casts a rapid glance at the snow-white billows, and turning to the helmsman shouts with all his might, "Starboard the helm! "

But it is too late. There is a sudden shock; the ship is caught up by an enormous wave; she rises upon her beam ends; several times she strikes the ground; the mizzen-mast snaps short off level with the deck, falls into the sea, and the Chancellor is motionless.


text: Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation, Amendment 2


text:
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night of the 29th continued. It was not yet midnight; the darkness was most profound, and we could see nothing. But was it probable that we had stranded on the coast of America?

Very shortly after the ship had thus come to a stand-still a clanking of chains was heard proceeding from her bows.

"That is well," said Curtis; "Walter and the boatswain have cast both the anchors. Let us hope they will hold."

Then, clinging to the netting, he clambered along the starboard side, on which the ship had heeled, as far as the flames would allow him. He clung to the holdfasts of the shrouds, and in spite of the heavy seas that dashed against the vessel he maintained his position for a considerable time, evidently listening to some sound that had caught his ear in the midst of the tempest. In about a quarter of an hour he returned to the poop.

"Heaven be praised!" he said, "the water is coming in, and perhaps may get the better of the fire."

"True," said I, "but what then?"

"That," he replied, "is a question for by-and-bye. We can think now only of the present."

Already I fancied that the violence of the flames was somewhat abated, and that the two opposing elements were in fierce contention. Some plank in the ship's side was evidently stove in, admitting free passage for the waves. But how, when the water had mastered the fire, should we be able to master the water? Our natural course would be to use the pumps, but these, in the very midst of the conflagration, were quite unavailable.

For three long hours, in anxious suspense, we watched, and waited. Where we were we could not tell. One thing alone was certain: the tide was ebbing beneath us, and the waves were relaxing in their violence. Once let the fire be extinguished, and then, perhaps, there would be room to hope that the next high tide would set us afloat.

Toward half-past four in the morning the curtain of fire and smoke, which had shut off communication between the two extremities of the ship, became less dense, and we could faintly distinguish that party of the crew who had taken refuge in the forecastle; and before long, although it was


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Proposed Amendment A

The current ARTICLE I - MEMBERSHIP OF TRIBE shall be amended to read:

Section 3. All persons now living and eligible for membership under Article I of the Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation, amended August 26, 1967.

Having been duly approved and ratified, Proposed Amendment A is hereby designated as Amendment No. 4 to the Constitution of the Sac and Fox Nation. 4