interrupted by the sounds of an explosion. The music and the
dancing became mournful as a succession of funereal dances
conveyed the murderous Reign of Terror. One of the mourners,
representing Hale, wore a mask to hide his face of evil.
A subsequent scene depicted the Osage’s contributions to U.S.
military efforts: Clarence Leonard Tinker, a member of the tribe,
was the first Native American to reach the rank of major general
and died when his plane was lost during World War II. To my
surprise, a familiar figure appeared on-screen. It was Margie
Burkhart, who had a brief, non-dancing role in the ballet, as the
mother of one of the departing soldiers. She moved gracefully
across the stage, wearing a shawl around her shoulders, echoing
the way Mollie used to wear her Indian blanket.
At the conclusion of the show, many people in the audience
lingered. I didn’t see Margie in attendance, but she later told me
that when she first saw the ballet’s depiction of the Reign of
Terror, “it hit me in the stomach.” She added, “I didn’t think it
would affect me like that, but it did. There was so much emotion.”
Now, in the audience, I encountered the museum director Kathryn
Red Corn. She asked me how my research was going. When I
mentioned the likely involvement of H. G. Burt—someone who
had never been publicly linked to the killings—she showed little
surprise and told me to come see her at the museum the following
morning.
When I arrived, I found her sitting at her desk in her office,
surrounded by artifacts. “Look at this,” she said, handing me a
copy of a brittle old letter. It was written in neat script and was
dated November 27, 1931. “Look at the signature on the bottom,”
Red Corn said. The name was “W. K. Hale.”
She explained that Hale had sent the letter from prison to a
member of the tribe and that not long ago a descendant had