I had Mark pick up two pounds of ten penny nails and an all weather latch at the hardware store, while I went to the blacksmith to see if my harness was done.  While he was there he noticed a young man watching him.  The young man was dressed in buckskin and a piece of leather tied around his forehead.  He also had a handkerchief tied around his neck.  Mark went over to him.  "That sure is a swell looking knife you've got. I've never seen a knife quite like that before, said Mark." "Want some peanut brittle?" "It's real good." "What's a matter, can't you talk?"  The young man dropped the canteen he was looking at.  Mark didn't mean anything by what he had said.  He started to back away.  He then picked up his bag of nails and started to leave.  The young man motioned for Mark to go outside with him.

 The Young man pointed to a bung in a barrel.  He threw the knife and hit it dead center.  Mark ran and pulled the knife out of the barrel.  "Gee, I wish I could do that."  He handed the knife back to him.  "I almost forgot. My names Mark, what's yours?"  The young man kneeled to the ground.  "You gotta sore throat?"  Asked Mark.  He shook his head no.  Mark got down to his level.  "You.....you mean you can't talk?"  He then pulled his handkerchief down so Mark could see his scar. "I'm sorry."  The young man then started to talk to Mark using his hands.  He asked Mark if he could write.  "Sure, can you?"  He shook his head no.  "Can I.....write my.....brand?"  He shook his head no.  "Oh my name.....me write my name."  he shook his head yes.  Mark then wrote his name in the ground.  He motioned to Mark that was his name too.  He never saw his name written before.  Mark told him if he was going to be in town for a while he would teach him to write his name and in turn he could teach him to throw a knife. He agreed.  [we will call the young man, Mark C]  They agreed to meet Saturday morning.  "Mark, Mark. Come on son, we gotta get going."  I yelled.

       As we road off,  Ben MacCowan came out of the saloon.  He was looking to even the score with Mark C.  Ben had wanted to buy Mark C a drink in the saloon earlier.   Mark wouldn't let him.  Ben made fun of him.  He then tried to look at his knife.  That's when it ended in a fight.  Mark C got the better of Ben and held his knife to Ben's throat.  Mark C then backed off and hurried out of the saloon.  Ben was looking for his chance to get even.  So now Ben wanted to get back at Mark C.  He went over and grabbed Mark C from behind.  Mark C flipped him over his shoulder.  Ben then went for his gun.  Mark C was quicker.  He was ready before Ben could even get his gun out of the holster.  This made Ben mad.  Twice in one day, Mark C got the better of Ben. Ben told him to get out of town.  He told him if he didn't he'd cut him down to nothing.  Mark C then slowly approached his horse, jumped on him and road off. 

I was fixing the wheel on the wagon when Mark rode in.  He had been with his friend Mark C.  He took Mark out to the place where he camps.  He told me that Mark's C parents were killed by Indians when he was a little boy.  They took him away with them.  He told Mark he was scared.  He was so scared that he couldn't learn to talk his language.  They thought he was only being stubborn so they cut out his voice so he couldn't talk at all.  "Then he told me something else," said Mark.  "Since the knife cut out his voice, he's have to let it talk for him."  We were both touched by his story.  I told Mark to ride out and invite his friend for supper, I'd like to meet him. 

We had a nice supper together.  I could tell something was bothering Mark C.  I told him I heard what a good time he and Mark had been having out at Willows Creek.  I told him it reminded me of my younger days back in the Nations.  I told him my friends and I would go camping in the Ozarks every chance we got.  I told him that was were I learned my camping know how, from the Cherokees.  That upset Mark C.  I told him I was aware of his treatment by the Indians.  I knew he was full of bitterness and hatred, but he couldn't keep letting that knife speak for him.  I told him he could help himself by getting an education.  I told him about a special school in Denver that would be just right for him. I told him it was expensive and he could earn his way by getting a job.  I offered to help him get started.  He picked up my bow that I had setting against the fireplace and broke it in half and ran out.  Mark was upset with me.  He said I shouldn't had talked to him that way.  He thought I bawled him out.  "Well if I did it was because I was thinking of him. You see son, a lot of times people can't help doing things they know is wrong. But when they find out they can't get away with it, way down inside they feel better."  "Think I know what you mean," said Mark.  I told him I thought it to be a good idea if tomorrow morning he rode out to his friends camp.  I thought he would be wantin' to see him.

  The next morning MacCowan rode into Mark C's camp.  He came to even up the score.  He held his gun on Mark C.  He told him to throw that toad stick on the ground.  "What's a matter with you? I'm gettin' tired of talkin' and gettin' no answers. Now throw down that knife." MacCowan moved closer to Mark C.  "For the last time throw it down."  He was getting Madder.  "For the last time throw it down!"  "I'm talkin' to you, answer me."  Again MacCowan moved closer, poking his gun in Mark C's back.  "What is this? Are you a dummy or something?"   With that remark, Mark C's turn and plunged at MacCowan and they struggled.  Mark C. got the best of MacCowan and started to choke him.  Mark had just rode in.  He rushed to Mark C yelling "Mark what happened?"  "Mark let him go, please Mark, your gonna kill him! Please let go."  With that Mark pushed Mark C and his hold on  MacCowan was broken.  "What happened?" Asked Mark.  Mark C ran off.  "That's the third time he's jumped me," said MacCowan.  "He ought to be locked up or something. He's an animal."  "What did you do to make him act like that?" Asked Mark. "You must have done or said something."   MacCowan said he didn't do nothing, he wouldn't answer him when he talked to him.  He asked him if he was a dummy.  Mark explained to MacCowan that Mark C couldn't talk, that why he got so mad. 

Mark and I had gone into town.  There was a crowd gathered around the stagecoach.  It had been robbed by a man with a big knife. He had jumped on top of the stage.  They never got a look at him, he stayed behind them the whole time.  He never said a word.  He left the knife do all the talkin' for him.  He wore buckskin britches and injun shoes.  All the robber took was five hundred dollars.   MacCowan really got the crowd riled up.  He told them it sounded like the hot head that pulled into town yesterday.  He told them about Mark C holding a knife on him in the saloon and his jumping him in the street. He said he knew where he was camped.  MacCowan wanted a couple of men to go and help bring him back.  "No you won't  MacCowan, you'll stay right were you are."  "With the marshal out of town this is a matter for the city council."  "Speaking for them MacCowan, we don't want you handling our law."  I told them I knew the boy and he didn't strike me as being an outlaw.  I felt if I talked to him I could bring him in and their five hundred dollars, if I was alone.  They agreed.  I told Mark to stay here, I'd be back soon.

When I got to Mark C's camp.  His horse was there, but he was no where in sight.  I knew he was there, but where.  Suddenly he jumps from a boulder and knocks me to the ground.  He held his knife to my throat.  I told him I didn't come here to harm him.  I came as a friend.  I told him I knew why he hit that stage.  That he can't strike back at MacCowan and those Indians.  "Don't let the worse kind of people warp your judgment."  I told him not to destroy Mark's faith in him.  I told him that Mark thought of him as a fine decent person.  He then released me.  "Now let's take that money back where it belongs."            

Mike had a letter from the Denver office.  Mark C was put on probation.  He would be able to get a job to help pay for his schooling in Denver.  "Young man.....You owe a great debt of thanks to Mr. McCain."  "He doesn't have to thank me, it was his turn to get a fair break."  He looked at me.  Then he ran out to his horse.  He took an Indian that he carved with the name Mark on it and handed it to Mark.  "Thanks.....Mark."  He then got on his horse and headed for Denver.  "I'm sure glad everything worked out for him," said Mark.  "Do you think he can keep out of trouble?"  "Well now that a certain long legged doggie taught him the meaning of friendship, he oughta get along just fine son."