Maybe it was the clothes they wore, or the beautiful feathers, or their glistening, smooth-as-satin skin that attracted me to them. Maybe it was the rugged outdoors, living in tepees, the Indian Chief, his  old, leathery face etched with hardship and pain. Maybe it was the young men on horses, their faces painted for battle, or the hardworking squaws they left behind. Whatever the reason, I, that little red-haired, fair-skinned, freckled-faced child of the past, wished to be an Indian. Their eyes, their wisdom and strength reached out and touched my soul. I hope my bookmarks convey to you the heritage, honor and strength of the born and bred true American!