Thunder on the Plains by Gary Robinson Page B

Grandpa took the letter to the park ranger. Mr. Perkins was pleased that someone wanted to do something for these animals. He said yes to the request.
    Meanwhile, I began planning our rescue route. To do this, I used my laptop to access something online called the “geographic information system.” I was able to find 3-D maps of the land we would have to cross. I plotted a route over the hills and through the area from Rocky Point Reservation to where the buffalo were kept in Yellowstone. That was about two hundred miles. Any way I looked at it, I realized this wasn’t going to be easy.

Chapter 10
The Race Begins
    In the early dark hours of the next Saturday morning, our rescue team gathered. Ben, Charlene, and two other kids showed up. Each had brought a backpack filled with food and clothing for the trip. My cousins and I brought enough horses for everyone.
    Then Grandpa showed up. He had more supplies and a horse of his own. In his hand was a sack.
    â€œWhat are you doing here, Grandpa?”
    â€œYou can’t just herd buffalo around like you can herd cattle,” Grandpa explained. “They’re much too independent and willful. I know the prayers and songs to offer to the spirits of the Buffalo People to get them to cooperate. You need me.”
    I looked to the other kids. They all nodded.
    â€œI guess you’re in,” I said. “What’s in the sack?”
    â€œWar paint,” Grandpa smiled. “You can’t go on a dangerous mission like this without the proper preparation. Our ancestors painted themselves and their horses to bring courage, strength, and hope at times like these.”
    He opened the sack and spread out his paints. Then he marked each of our faces with a different design. He sang a Cheyenne prayer song for our protection.
    Finally, he painted his own face. I saw pride fill my grandfather’s eyes. When he was finished, Grandpa nodded that he was ready.
    We mounted our steeds and headed across the country. We had food and supplies to last several days.
    Uncle Robert and Aunt Amanda probably panicked when they found out we were gone. But Grandpa left a letter explaining what we were doing. The letter said everything would be all right.
    â€œThis is a journey into their own adulthood,” Grandpa wrote in the letter. “This is whattribal youth did in the old days. Please don’t let anyone try to stop us. These kids want to do this. I need to do this.”
    â€œThis is foolishness,” Robert said when he found the letter. “One old man and a bunch of kids out there alone. Someone could get seriously hurt or even killed.” He crumpled the letter and threw it on the floor. Amanda hugged him and tried to calm him down.
    â€œI think you’re overreacting,” she said. “We should talk about this.”
    He broke away from her hug.
    â€œIt’s not that simple,” he explained. “There are other factors to think about here.”
    She reached out and brought him back to her.
    â€œHave a little faith,” she urged. “You’re the one who’s always talking about staying in touch with our Indian roots and Mother Earth. Well, they believed you. Now they’re willing to put those words into action. And you have to support them in this. Otherwise, your words mean nothing.”
    He thought about what she said and calmed down.
    â€œAll right,” he said finally. “We’ll try it your way. But I need to let the other kids’ parents know what’s going on.”
    He picked up the phone to call the first set of parents.
    Meanwhile, out on the trail, it was a hard trip. We had to use everything we had learned at survival camp. We made it to Yellowstone in two days as planned. We were guided by my maps and Grandpa’s stories.
    On Sunday night, we made camp on a ridge overlooking the park headquarters. That night Grandpa told us a story he’d been saving. His story went like