Barbara Wilkesincluded the details of a number of events that had occurred while he
was on the “circuit” and that had irrevocably changed his life, includ-
ing the fact that he had spent some time in jail (which I had known
before). Maurice stressed the fact that he had known “full well” what
he had been doing at the time of his offense and made no excuses for
his behavior; rather, he felt he had done so for good reasons (as that
is his story, I will not repeat it here). Finally, he made it clear to me
that he had accepted full responsibility for his actions in the Blackfoot
“way” (where the acknowledgment of personal responsibility is crit-
ical, as no absolution is possible; and, where, ultimately, failing such
acknowledgment, he would have been separated from his ancestors
in Cypress Hills, forever). However, he appeared completely at ease
about his past and the contributions he had made to it. I had no idea
what any of it had to do with my dream.
At this point, he began to tell a story about a small group of Black-
foot warriors in pursuit of enemies across the prairies in the dead of
winter. In great detail, he spoke of how the group became lost in a
blizzard and somehow ended up on the wrong side of a river not solid
enough to cross safely on horseback. One of the group volunteered to
risk his life to break the ice, swim across the river, climb out on the far
bank, locate some dry wood, and build a roaring fire before the rest of
the group could cross. His voice was filled with obvious admiration
for the bravery of the young man’s actions. Maurice spoke at length
of the qualities of sacrifice, bravery, and caring for the needs of oth-
ers, as opposed to fulfilling your own wants. The young man, he ex-
plained, was a distant ancestor who had counted many coups during
his warrior days, and thus, lived “many winters,” a Blackfoot euphe-
mism for a long and fulfilling life. In the Blackfoot way, such geneal-
ogies serve as the speaker’s bona fides, and Maurice was telling me his
history and justifying his leadership at the Sundance.
Maurice was a natural storyteller, and it was easy to be swept along
as he told a tale. As he shifted his narrative to yet another subject, I
was seized by dread. The longer he spoke, and he had been speaking
for nearly an hour, the less and less confident I was following him, or
that I had grasped the meaning of what it was he was trying to tell
me. I became confused and despondent and stopped trying to record