The brilliant sky was packed from edge to edge with pinks, magentas, and oranges that made the Badlands' mesas look even more rugged, imposing, and otherworldly. I soon heard my great-grandmother tell a story; In this free land, not so long ago. A struggle for survival took place. The wašíču came to the house early in the afternoon. After they talked to Iná (mother) and Até (father), I was told by my parents to change clothes and to go outside and wait. Mom and Dad seemed to cry as I went out the door. A loud argument started going on inside the house between my father and those men. As my parents and the wašíču (white men) came out, my mother grabbed me in a tight hug, kissed me through her tears and whispered to be strong and be brave; have courage as they will bring you back soon. I could see a cut on my father’s cheek as he held a cloth to it to stop the bleeding. “I began to cry as I realized they were taking me from home. This story is a historical narrative, fitting into the actual events of the time and told as fiction about my grandfather, John, and his younger brother, James. During the time native children were being compelled to attend off-reservation Indian boarding schools. They were both forced to attend Haskell in Lawrence, Kansas. My mother said they ran away at least twice and walked home two times.