The Drums of Change Read Online Free PDF Page A

that promoted the transactions in illegal whiskey have been cleaned up, I fear that the effects will be with the people for years to come.
    There is also much concern regarding diseases that have come to the area with the white man. In 1837–38, two thirds of the Blackfoot Nation was wiped out in a smallpox epidemic. Since that time many others have died from various diseases, though never to that great extent again. But each year more lives are lost. We have no way to bring medicines or treatment to the people. It causes me much grief to hear of the great losses. It is little wonder that some of the chiefs are concerned regarding the great influx of settlers and trades people. Please pray that the door will not be closed even before we have a chance to influence them for Christ. Already rumblings are reaching us from south of the border, and we feel that the Canadian tribes might be greatly influenced by the unrest.
    I do covet your earnest prayers.
    In His service,
Martin D. Forbes,
Minister of Christ

    Running Fawn awoke to the beating of the drums. There was something different about the rhythm. Something strange about the intensity. Something challenging in the tone of the voices that offered the chants. She shivered in her blankets, even though the night was still warm. She stirred and moved to crowd closer to Little Brook. But the shared pallet was empty of her sister. She was alone. She called out softly in the darkness, seeking some assurance from her mother. There was no answer to her cry.
    Frightened, she pushed the blanket aside and crawled across the hard dirt floor on all fours. She felt her mother’s bed. There was no one there. Heart pounding, she crawled the rest of the way to the opening of the tent and pushed back the heavy flap. In the sky she could see the reflection of the fire. It was larger than a cooking fire would be. Even brighter than the usual communal fire. She could hear the drums plainly now, and the earth beneath her reverberated with the beating of many feet against the hard-packed ground. The voices rose and fell with a strange eeriness that made her spine tingle and her hair pull at the base of her neck. She wanted to crawl back into her blankets and bury her head, but she could not bear to be alone.
    She ran the short distance toward the fire, her heart pounding even harder within her chest. An enormous group of people spilled out over the prairie. She had never seen such a large gathering all in one place. Even the women, sitting on the sidelines with blankets wrapped around their shoulders, sang and swayed as the drums beat and the men danced and the feet continued to thump thump thump against the trembling ground.
    Running Fawn looked around the gathering with wild eyes. She would never find her mother in such a press of people.
    And then she spotted Little Brook and some of the fear left her. At least her sister was there. Her sister would know where their mother was.
    Running Fawn pushed through the cluster of young girls until she was able to reach out and tug at Little Brook’s long shawl.
    “Where is Mother?” she questioned loudly. The thundering of the drums made it hard to be heard.
    Little Brook turned. Her eyes widened as they acknowledged her younger sister, but it was clear she had not heard the girl’s words.
    “Where is Mother?” Running Fawn shouted again, fear making her voice break.
    Little Brook just gave a careless shrug of her shoulders and waved a hand toward a large group of women.
    Running Fawn’s heart again thudded with fear. She would never find her. Never. Not in the tangle of swaying bodies and waving shawls. With a look of despair she pushed herself forward until she was close to Little Brook’s side and stubbornly took her position. She reached out one small hand and gathered folds of Little Brook’s shawl in a tightened fist, determined to hang on despite whatever came. She would not find herself alone again.
    “What happened?” she asked