I have a long history of telling "true storys"; my children grew up on them. My oldest daughter and I were talking the other day and I mentioned how a very few in here seemed to doubt some of my true life adventures. She got to laughing and reminded me of somethi9ng that happened to her in first grade.
Along with such true storys as the time I rescued her from the jaws of a mountain lion; ( a mountain lion had grabbed her as an infant and ran off with her. I, swinging through the trees on vines like Tarzan: caught up with the lion stuck my hand down his throat, grabbed him by the tail and plumb turned him inside out!); were many other true tales she and her brother and sisters grew up on.
Well my daughter T. grew up with such tales as my being a blood brother to Geronimo, Cochise, Danial Boone, etc. I regaled her, and her siblings, with tales of my heroics, fighting the US Calvary along side my many Indian blood brothers.
When T. was in the first grade she told her teacher of my many exploits of heroism along side of my Indian blood brothers. Well the teacher thought it best to tell T. that those stories were not true; and I was just making them up. My daughter T. came home from school in tears; telling me about her teacher. I was infuriated with the teacher; but as it was a Friday, and the teacher had broken no laws, there was nothing I could do....but man was I pissed off!
I lived in Lake Tahoe at the time; and the next day took T. up to Virginia City to see the wild mustangs. Afterwards we stopped off at the Bucket of Blood Saloon in Virginia City; a local tourist trap and a fun place to go.
Unknown to me, a friend of mine, nicknamed Tiny, was working in there on the weekends. Now Tiny was a full Apache Indian, and normally was in charge of the Bureau of Indian Affairs in Carson City. Tiny was about five foot five; weighed about 250 pounds; had hair way down to his waist or so; and had the loudest voice I have ever heard.
As T. and I entered the Bucket of Blood I heard a loud, very loud, war whoop; and someone hollered out "WOODSY". There was tiny in full Indian regalia; buckskins, warpaint, full head-dress, waving a tomahawk and charging towards me. He gave me a huge bear hug; laughing and hollering all the time. Tiny was NOT a quiet man. After he got through mauling me, I went to introduce him to my daughter who was standing there with her mouth wide open and eyes bugging out of her head...slightly scared.. Well Tiny picked her up and gave her a hug as well and put her at ease. We went over to the bar and sat T. on a barstool (legal in Virginia City). Before Tiny and I could start talking, T. told Tiny what her teacher had said about my exploits as a blood brother to various Indians. Well Tiny was a true friend.
Tiny cut a thong off his buckskins; took an eagle feather out of his war bonnet, turned T. around on the bar stool, and began braiding her hair into a ponytail; weaving the buskskin thon