Hawk Dancer, the novel by Bro. Joshua Seidl, is set in the pristine wilderness of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. The time frame covers 1934 - 1978. The above drawing, by the author, depicts a scene from 1966 near Gaylord, Michigan in the northern tip of Michigan's Lower Peninsula.

This scene is a bit reminisent of the Gospel story of the Good Samaritan. The following excerpt and drawings explains the picture above:

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He was lost in his figures as he turned into a wooded park for a short cut home. He heard a mild clicking noise from the chain guard of his bicycle and looked down to see what the trouble was. A moment latter he crashed headlong into a tree trunk or an overhead limb. The earth seemed to dip down like a Ferris wheel. He saw a pedestrian jump out and stop spread eagle in front of him. In his tumble he noted another person behind the bike. The ground rose up and smacked him along his left side. He found himself lying face down in the path with his feet and hands clamped in the jaws of a bear trap, or something that felt nearly as strong. His head ached from the collision with the tree, though he couldn’t figure out which tree or limb he hit.



He hit the tree, so he thought, and instantly all creation twirlled. He felt his hands and feet were in a bear clamp-trap


He felt drawn in two opposit directions as the ground began to steady; yet held in place by a metal clamp with a spike or something like that driven in the ground to hold him in place.







The pedestrians were no longer in sight. He tried working his wrists and his ankles free from whatever held them. Randy looked down at his chest and found he was tied with a rope. He inched his legs forward and saw they were tied together at the ankles. He twisted about to confirm that his wrists were likewise tied behind him. He looked around for his bike, but it was gone. Panic seized him and he made a wild, but futile attempt to get free.

He relaxed and tried to think out his situation and options. Yelling and screaming wouldn’t do much good; whoever tied him up had the foresight to bring a strong tape for his mouth. The ropes dug deeper into his flesh each time he moved.

. . He could barely budge without pain shooting up his arms and legs.

He heard some children in the distance so he called out, but the tape only muffled the effort. He began a slow, arduous journey through the park. A child of about 10 walked by and froze. It must have been shocking to run across someone tied up in the park. The boy called to his friend. Both boys stared at Randy, then made a closer inspection of his bonds.

“What happened to you, man?” the first boy asked.

Randy muffled a request for help and turned his wrists towards them to untie.
“I think some robbers beat him up and then tied him up,” the second child said.

Again, Randy mumbled his requests for help and pantomimed his need for assistance. The boys simply watched him struggle for about a minute before they ran off. He inched-wormed his way further down the path resting frequently and trying to work through the ropes.

It was dusk when he heard another person coming up the pathway. He put his muffled cries at full blast to attract attention. He stopped suddenly when he saw the figure of Silent Sarge in the graying evening light emerge from a bend. He thought the crazed war veteran came back to continue some sort of weird torture.

The Vietnam Veteran paused when he caught up to Randy. He studied the terror stricken look on the boy’s face, then with a foot turned Randy face down. Randy visualized the mad vet knifing him in the back or shooting him. In desperation he rolled towards some bushes. The squirming 15-year-old rolled over on his back and drew his feet up to kick in defense if need be. The vet held his hands out from his side. Randy took it as a sign his assailant was mocking him, effectively telling Randy, “I’m not scared of you.”

The vet cautiously bent towards Randy. Randy kicked him in the gut and rolled away again. The veteran recovered his breath and became more aggressive in capturing Randy. Randy fought hard to break away, but the half crazed, grunting veteran quickly rustled him face down then began the difficult job of unknotting the coarse brown cords. Hemp fibers clung where they had grazed and poked into Randy’s skin leaving raw, bloodstained rope burns impressed deep into the wrists. Sarge never said a word, not even to recognize Randy’s thanks. He simply helped Randy to his feet once the blood flowed back and walked him over to the rooming house.

(Left - Randy's disorientation while waking up)
COMMING SOON: Transcripts from Sgt. T. Douglas who interviewed Randy and others from Birch Clump about this episode. Douglas, as some visitors to this site might have learned by now, is the character the author of these novels uses as a chronologist that is largley responcible for collecting the information found in the novels.