I’d heard that story many a time in Sunday school or church, and liked it a lot. I didn’t understand it very well, though, not until that very second when Little Jim, who had his eyes focused on Eagle Eye as he opened his Bible and also at the blue cloud of smoke, said to me in my ear, “I’ll bet the cloud was there to show the people that God loved them and was right there to look after them and take care of them.” Imagine that little guy thinking that, but it seemed like maybe he was right. Then Eagle Eye told his story, which was a different kind of story than we had expected. It was all about how his father had been such a good father until he learned to drink whiskey, and then one night he had gotten drunk and had driven his car into a telephone pole away up at the place where the highway and the sandy road meet--“You boys notice next time you’re there. There’s a cross which the Highway Commission put there, to remind people that somebody met his death there by a car accident.” Eagle Eye stopped talking a minute, and I saw him fumble under his blanket for something, and it was a handkerchief, which he used to wipe a couple of quick tears from his eyes. It was the first time I ever saw an Indian with tears in his eyes, and it gave me the queerest feeling, ’cause I realized that Indians were real people after all, and could feel sad inside, and love their parents, the same as anybody else God had made. Then my eyes swished across the circle to where Tom Till was sitting beside Big Jim, and I saw him swallow hard like there was a big lump in his throat. He was just staring into the fire like he wasn’t seeing it at all, but was seeing something or somebody very far away. I knew that if he was imagining anything about Old hook-nosed John Till, his thoughts wouldn’t have to travel very far, but only to an abandoned old cabin on a lake--only he didn’t know that. Then Eagle Eye brought something else out from under his blanket, and the minute I saw it I realized it was going to be hard for Tom to sit still and listen, but there it was--a great big whiskey bottle with pretty flowers on its very pretty label. Eagle Eye held the bottle up in the light of the fire for us all to see, and said, “This is the enemy that killed my father. I found it half empty in the car where he died. This bottle is responsible for my father’s broken neck, his crushed head, and the broken windshield that cut his face and neck beyond recognition.” Eagle Eye stopped then, and took the bottle in both of his hands, held it out and looked at it, and shook his head sadly. While everything was quiet for a jiffy, with only the sound of the crackling fire, and Little Jim’s irregular breathing beside me, I noticed that Little Tom Till over there had both of his smallish kinda dirty fists doubled up tight like he was terribly mad at something or somebody.