WARNING: PEACE PIPE MAY BRING WAR

KENNETT, Mo. -- There is so much smoke rising from the peace talks going on between the two warring tribes in Jefferson City that sightings of the Missouri Capitol dome are shrouded by clouds from the peace-pipe powwows in recent days. This major environmental hazard stems from a fascinating tale of how the warring tribes in the state Capitol thought they had discovered a way to end the unending bloodshed between the traditional combatants.

The peace talks got under way when one of the tribes (called "Chickabushes" by the paleface community) which had long endured second-class status at the hands of the larger majority tribe (called the "Navagores") suddenly realized they were, for the first time in many moons, in greater number than their traditional oppressors -- and valiantly and magnanimously agreed to share power with their hated enemies.

The Chickabush wise men precipitated this generous act when, after long hours of star-gazing, they wisely realized that some of their tribe's bravest warriors could be dealt painful scalping in the annual winter battles, a tragedy that would place them once again in inferior status.

"Make peace with dreaded enemy," the head wise man counseled, and so the tribe sat down and smoked the peace pipe with their surprised tribal enemies, thereby assuring peace forever in the lush, green fields that had long been known as the Kingdom of the Wily Borrowcat, the site of hundreds of bloody battles that had resulted over many years in monumental casualties, not to mention huge expenditures of wampum that had been appropriated from the protesting palefaces.

When ashes from the last peace pipe had been scattered among the sacred temple of both tribes, the brave warriors of both tribes suddenly felt free and unfettered, experiencing an exhilaration that had been impossible when their lives were in danger from attacking scalpers at any time of the day or night. "Free at last," the tribesmen shouted, dancing around camp fires that had earlier been set to frighten the enemy but now were banked high with flames to roast the wild game provided by a scraggly group of nomads, sometimes referred to as the Lowly Lobbyists since they survived on anything they could barter for special favors, including the juiciest of beef steak and the freshest of lobsters from the seas.

For many moons the two tribes enjoyed unbelievable peace, and they appeared so content with their new existence that they stopped currying favor with the Lowly Lobbyists, since the best hunters could now be assigned to foraging for beef steak and fresh lobsters instead of fending off attacking warriors anxious to reoccupy the tribal temple.

"We shall have peace forever, the great spirit has declared it and so it must be so," one of the wise men announced, and his words brought untold merriment to all the brave warriors within hearing. Not to be outdone, a wise man from the other tribe announced loudly, "There is nothing that can stop us from the fruits of these peace talks, not even the promises of those who speak with forked tongue," and again the gathered warriors showed their pleasure with dancing and yelps and plenty of white lightning that had been saved from the days when the Lowly Lobbyists supplied all the wants of the tribes.

When the dancing and the shrieking had died down, a voice at the edge of the crowd asked, "Who spoke with a forked tongue?" in a tone of anger that had not been heard anywhere in the Kingdom of the Wily Borrowcat since the Great Pipe Smoking Peace Pact had been signed.

"Not I," said one wise man.

"Me neither," voiced a second one.

"Who raises this disharmonious voice in the valley of peace?" demanded another wise man.

Suddenly the group became sullen, and each one looked around for traitors as they felt their old fears returning.

"Anyone who declares that peace is impossible should be killed immediately, without trial or tribunal, without mercy or a final feast," shouted one of the tribal leaders.

"I think it was the voice of a Chickabush," one warrior ventured.

"No, it was that of a lowly, rotten Navagore," cried another warrior.

"Well, whoever it was deserves to die and the sooner the better," another tribesman shouted.

Within minutes all the warriors that had gathered for what had been billed as a friendly powwow were on their feet, each looking about for the guilty party who had suggested death for the false prophet among them.

Seeking to restore peace, the wise men from both tribes gathered together and agreed to hold another peace talk, and the wisest among them studied the stars for an opportune date to hold the session.

"I believe the stars are telling us that the next best time will be the middle of May," one wise man ventured.

"But that will occur just as all the warriors are scattering for their summer hunting season for wild boars and voters," another wise man protested. "What are you trying to do, keep us imprisoned until we are forced to leave to ravage the countryside? Your wicked tongue speaks of the Evil Spirit."

His accusation caused a stir among the tribes, and soon their voices became louder and louder, their accusations growing more and more violent.

And before long, warriors of both tribes began killing anyone within sight, just as had occurred before. Cries of pain and death were everywhere.

"Ah, just like the good old days," a Lowly Lobbyist was heard to say as he began resuming the preparation of his steaks and fresh lobster.

~Jack Stapleton is editor of Missouri News and Editorial Service.