This is a book that really should be written. It is a true story that happened in 1903 and 1904. Three brothers, members of the Cherokee Nation, were the subject of a manhunt by 150 federal marshalls. One of the brothers was wanted by lawmen for allegedly killing another tribal member. He was probably innocent of the charge, but the brothers did not trust the white lawmen who sought his arrest. Telling the story would provide an opportunity to describe the effects of the "allotment" of tribal lands that took place in this period. Not understanding (or not caring about) the importance of communal land to the native people, the federal government carved up the Cherokee lands in northeastern Oklahoma and "allotted" a portion to each tribal member. Doing so led to resistance by Cherokees who clung to their traditional ways and values. It is considered a dark period by native historians.

I think a book about this incident would be interesting because there are many dramatic elements to the story, including the chase of the brothers by the federal marshalls in a manner reminiscent of Butch and Sundance being chased by the posse, a closing shoot-out, and some elements of mystery, since it is possible that, in the end, the Wycliff brother who died was shot by the two other brothers in a disagreement over whether to surrender. There is also a story of a secret love between one of the brothers and a young white woman, whose parents kept the two apart.

I have started the "book" with the following text. I'd love to receive some feedback on my writing style, choice of words, and general approach to opening the story.

The Flight of the Wycliff Brothers

The Cherokee stomp dance begins late in the evening. At dusk, members of the seven clans gather around seven fires surrounding a larger fire in the center. The fires engage the spirits of the dancers throughout the night, until the dancers withdraw to their homes at dawn. The Cherokees arrive in families, carrying food for the evening and blankets on which to rest. The clans and social groupings are fluid, as adults visit and laugh with friends. Children dart about, their imaginations fueled by the interchanging light and shadow cast by the fire.

Eventually, a leader calls the tribe to the fire. Clusters of people approach from seven directions, and the crowd begins to move counter-clockwise around the focal blaze. Moving as one, the Cherokee women, known as the “shell-shakers,” begin to stomp. The women drive the stomp dance through the night. Wearing heavy leggings made of pebble-filled turtle shells, the women stomp around the fire in unison, providing a steady percussion with their rattling garments. Each song consisting of a different cadence and beat, the women provide a steady, consistent undertone to the dance, just as they provide a stable backdrop for everyday life in their villages. The men’s participation is more episodic, heroic even, reminiscent, perhaps, of the heroic deeds in hunt, games and war acted out for generations by the Cherokee men. The stomp dance began as a leader cries out with a verse “hey-ya-na-ha.” The men, in song, reply – “oh-wah-neh-yah.” Periodically, a dancer will punctuate this give and take with a shriek or yodel.

Near midnight on a Saturday in June of 1903, Redbird Smith -- leader of the Nighthawk band -- raised a lantern and called for the dance to begin. He spoke out loudly, with the same words his ancestors had used for generations, many years before the Cherokee people had been forced on a “trail of tears,” driven out of their eastern homelands into this area of northeastern Oklahoma. As the shell shakers and dancers approached the fire, the worries and burdens of this time and place – both critical to the future of this nation of people – receded from their minds, replaced by the spirit and meaning of the evening.

The location of the Cherokee stomp dance is carefully hidden not only from a dangerous white society but from a the disapproving Indian Baptists. In the seclusion of the grounds, Cherokees can remember and honor their traditional ways – and forget about the ever-enclosing white society. But on occasion, a problem imported long ago by the Europeans – alcohol – can infect the peace of the stomp dance. As a religious and spiritual tradition, the Cherokees have long prohibited any drinking at the stomp ground. When a drunken Indian stumbles into the festivities, leaders from the clans take care of their tribal brother peacefully but firmly, leading him away from the grounds, and often accompanying him all the way back to his home.

An incident at these grounds would stir the Cherokee Nation, draw the attention of the federal government and American public. On this warm evening, in this remote place near the Illinois River, near this well-hidden fire, began the flight of the Wycliffe brothers – Charles, John and Tom. Before the end of this trail of events, one of the Wycliffe brothers would lose his life. It began with a simpple misunderstanding...

Well after Redbird Smith began this night of dance, though, the peace of the evening was interrupted with violence. Walking directly into the circle of dancers, Stan Bearclaw spoke loudly, unintelligibly in his native Cherokee tongue. Struggling to maintain balance, he leaned against a few, shoved others who passed nearby. Seeing the disturbance, Charles Wycliffe, the oldest of the brothers, approached Bearlclaw from the rear.

Grabbing the man by the shoulders, Charles intended to guide him out of the immediate area before talking with him. Moreso than his borthers, Charles loved the traditional ways of his people. He looked forward to Saturday nights at the stomp grounds. And, more than most, he took offense at any disturbance of these Cherokee rituals. Resulting from his frustration, Charles grasp of his drunken acquaintance was firmer, more of a strike than he had intended.

Stan Bearclaw reacted immediately as if he had been attacked. Turning, he flailed violently at Charles. Charles backed away, to avoid a blow, then approached again, attempting to grab Bearclaw once again. Many people around them observed the incident, but did not immediately discern what was going on. As the situation clarified, onlookers saw Bearclaw pull a knife from his belt, and flail once more at Charles. As Charles reacted once more, he redirected Bearclaw’s up-to-down stabbing motion, and, with the hands of both men on the knife, momentum carried the weapon directly into Bearclaw’s gut. Suddenly, Bearclaw dropped to one knee. The wild, drunken countenance was gone instantly as he regarded the blood staining his shirt and spilling to the ground. Calming, he allowed Charles and others to attend to his wound. A deep cut, it seemed to have pierced his stomach muscles, but not to have disturbed vital organs. Some women dressed the wound. As others eventually led Bearclaw – able to walk on his own -- away from the grounds. Exhausted not by the night of dance but by the emotion of the incident, Charles sat on a stump until his brothers joined him on their own walk home.