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I came upon Runs-with-Sissors when he was but a stripling.

It was a dark and stormy night out on the Western Plains, and I saw a fire in the distance. I rode carefully towards it, for the area was full of Wild Indians of many Kinds and Tribes, all hostile to each other, and all hostile towards strangers.

So hostile were they, that many times they would attack the next row of tipis over as being strangers.

I approached very carefully, taking the last hundred yards on foot and finally on my belly.

Peering thru the tall grass at the edge of their camp, I saw a sight of such savagery as would have frightened lesser men all the way back to New York.

Tied to a pole was a young Indian lad, obviously a captive being prepared for torture. The camp was quiet, and there was no sign of any hostiles.

The moon went behind a cloud, and I made my move. I dashed to the pole and severed his bonds, motioning him to follow me.

Quickly we ran to my horse, and mounted, and rode off in a flash.

After we reached a safe place, we dismounted and I attempted to communicate with him by sign.

Who are you? I asked.

He looked incomprehendingly at me and spoke:

"Vielen dank, mein Herr! Ich bin Rennen Mit Schnitten, aus Heidelburg."

I was thunderstruck. His name was "Runs-With-Sissors," and he came from .... Heidelburg? And spoke German?

Luckily, I had been educated at the University there, and asked if he spoke English.

"Of course I do," he answered in a cultured accent,"But I preferred to speak the native tongue of my Tribe."