We swung north afterwards, and made one brief stop in Nebraska. The poetically-named Indian Industrial School had been turned into a museum many years before; and we made a quick sweep of the grounds, saying prayers for the children who had died there. Evidence indicates that they were buried nearby, but their bodies have never been found. An unmarked mass grave is not out of the question -- it's a practice that's been done elsewhere, and there's no sign of so much as little wooden cross anywhere.
The handful of people who run the place seemed very dedicated and personable; they're accumulated a huge quantity of research, interviews, artifacts, photographs, and the like. It's basically just sitting there, inaccessible to the world. They talked about getting a scanner, but my guess is that would turn out to be a slower process than they'd expect.
They had drinks and brownies for us after the prayers were done, which was nice. They also gave me a hat, although I didn't realize until after we'd left and didn't thank them properly. It was during this snack time that I wandered off to phone home, and first learned that Tigger was doing poorly.
That evening, he was gone.
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