I left readers hanging last week, with the account of the trek to Indian Hill by Sister Twisted Hair, a.k.a., MySaline.com member Yvonne Daugherty of Benton. The trek took place on the last day of February. We met in Hensley at Cook's Grocery and drove two zigs and two zags, to a driveway that began just a hair past the sign telling that you are now entering Saline County.

“Indian Hill” is what Annette Cook calls the land passed to her through a dear family friend. “Nettiebelle” is what Yvonne calls Annette – except it was "Sister Alika Shoot Straight" on this day, when all present explored the heritage of the Cherokee. This is part two of Sister Twisted Hair’s account:

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Sister Alika Shoot Straight took the lead and the Old Crones yelled, “Head ‘em up, move ‘em out!” and then whistled Rawhide. The slow procession snaked along, through the rain, and the mud puddles, and the trees, and the fields, and the cow patties. It wasn’t until we started down the first hill that I realized why Sister Alika Shoot Straight wanted me to ride with her.

“Sister Twisted Hair,” she giggled, “put your big old feet out on the ground.”

“The heck you say, I ain’t no fool.”

“But this here Tarantula don’t have no brakes,” Sister replied sweetly.

“THE HECK YOU SAY!” I yelled.

Sister I Hope the Snow Makes My Daughter’s Boyfriend Leave Cara said, “For real?”

“For real.” Sister Alika Shoot Straight said.

I put my big old feet on the ground and my boots were just a-smoking. Sister Honey and Milk was laughing and blowing smoke out her nose.

“Doggone it,” I yelled, “That’s the last time I ride in this Flintstone-mobile!”

Sister snorted under her breath, “We’ll see.” Then she drove us through a mud puddle so that I got soaked good.

Even with no brakes, I guess we fared pretty well, Sister I Hope the Snow Makes My Daughter’s Boyfriend Leave Cara, Sister Honey and Milk, and I sang the Cherokee Morning Song to the rest of the group as Brother Dave’s haul got stuck in the middle of the biggest mud hole and had to get out, tread water and mud, and walk the rest of the way to Indian Hill.

Once there, the three firemakers built us a wondrous fire. Sister I Hope the Snow Makes My Daughter’s Boyfriend Leave Cara, Sister Becky and I sang “Amazing Grace” in Cherokee. I could hear it echo out across the slough hauntingly, slow and beautiful, the first time the song had been heard back there in the native tongue in untold years. We shared stories around the fire, looked for arrowheads, and had a glorious time.

The snow started falling lightly and we gathered up to head back to the farm. As we neared the last hill, Sister Alika Shoot Straight, Sister Honey and Milk, and I sang and hollered out our war cry as a final goodbye to the land and our ancestors, and also as a promise that we will be back.

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I always enjoy Yvonne’s stories, but I was especially proud to have been a part of one. I don’t think I got an Indian name that day, unless it was one I got called while I wasn’t around to listen. Guessing, I’d say something like “Sister Needsa Warmer Coat” or “Sister Running Nose.” Now, Annette - or whatever your real name is - you can clip this one out and hang it up at Cook's Grocery to go with part one.

This column was originally published in The Benton Courier March 22, 2009. See more of Shelli's Columns.