I was suddenly aroused, all my senses acutely alert, lying on my bed in the blackness of darkness. Something was wrong. An eerie silence prevailed on this moonless night. Something had awakened me. My heart raced with an injection of adrenalin coursing through my veins. Was it just the wind blowing a small oak branch against my window as it overhung the house? Or was it the squeaky hinge on the old gate dancing with a zephyr as you entered the walk up to our porch? Didn’t matter the grease. It still acted the part of a door chime. Or was it the old bones of this house shivering in the night time breeze and cold like an arthritic old man doin’ his best to survive, a captive to a body racked with debilitating unrelenting pain. Instantly I was fully awake as I sat bolt upright my eye lids fully retracted. I realized there was no wind. No breeze in the trees. The air was deadly still. I was home alone, but now someone else was in the house.
There. Once again I recognized the first sound that had surely awakened me as Storm swooped down low just above the house making a warning peal sound. It was a high pitched cry that sounded like kwit-kwit-kwit-kwit-kee-kee-kee-kee-ker, sure to wake me. My constant companion. No one and no thing ever escaped his watchful eyes. And then I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps on stairsteps. Ever so quietly I slipped out of my covers and with pillows and clothes formed the shape of a man sleeping in bed. Peacemaker in hand I crouched behind my tallboy, gun cocked. Pausing at the door and listening, the intruder tried the knob and then burst into the room fanning flames of .44 finality, filling my bed with lead before taking a step inside with a candle held in front of him providing a dim light. He was met with the sound of .44 rounds tearing his flesh and piercing his heart and lungs. Falling forward he collapsed to the floor dead.
I then carefully entered the hall making my way to the stairs hugging the wall. Below I heard voices calling, ‘Skooter, Skooter, you ok’? Then I heard one of them shouting ‘Shanks we best git the hell out of here. This has all gone wrong’, followed by the sound of crashing and men cursing hurryin’ to get out the door. Reaching the clear view that the stairway provided, their shadowy profiles silhouetted by the night fire, I yelled for them to stop, one halfway out the door and the other turning toward me to shoot with intention. Without hesitation flame and lead spat from my gun. Two down and one to go. Racing down the stairs I grabbed my Winchester which was positioned by the door and instinctively ducked, as a bullet fired in haste hit the door mantel above my head. Sighting on the flame from the gun barrel that illuminated the darkness I fired six rounds in rapid succession spaced in a deliberate pattern in the direction of the flame. The sound of a big thump hitting the ground indicated that at least one round found it’s intended target. The assailant was down.
The two men in the house stayed dead as two sleepy eyed ranch hands, Jo being gone to her folks, drug their leaky remains into the front yard before cleaning the floor of the last of their life leaving behind a crimson stain. The third man who lost the luck of the draw while trying to ride away was still alive. but only barely. ‘Why’ I asked, ‘Who sent you’? Choking and barely audible he said, ‘we were hired by a guy named Madsen, who wanted the manuscript at any cost’. Then his head went limp and I closed the windows to his soul for the last time.
The next morning the men who remained on the ranch while the others took a herd to market helped gather these failed assassins horses and then load their bodies over their horses backs tying them down for the trip to town. There, sheriff D. Wayne Spangler kept the locals in line but did little to enforce ‘the law’ outside his jurisdiction. Selective enforcement, like a notional whim, kept the locals guessin’, a little fear to garner their compliance. Nothin’ like the law to impede justice. Before leavin’ I searched the gunnies pockets for any information. Found a map to my ranch with my name on it and a wad of $500 plus coin in each of their pockets. Sad to think that was the value of another life they were so easily persuaded to take. Ridin’ in with three bodies trailin’ my lead I caused quite a stir, even gettin’ the sheriff to haul hisself out of his chair and attempt to tuck in his shirt and adjust his holster low below his ample gravy gut.
I just sat my horse awaitin’ the arrival of his eminence. Walkin’ out on the porch with a grimace and dung brown eyes, he looked first at the bodies and then at me. ‘What kind of trouble have you brought me this time Patel’? ‘And buenos dias to you’ I said. ‘Actually I saved you some trouble. You won’t have to host these lost souls in your prison palace’. ‘Hump’! he snorted, as a crowd had gathered and he had a performance to make and a position of power to maintain. Walking down the steps he lifted their heads and looked into their faces. I saw his eyes widen with shock and surprise. ‘Wal I’ll be dammed. What you got chere are the Parsnip Brothers wanted in every state west of the Mississippi’. Givin’ a smirky smile, this would look good on my resume’ he reasoned, these critters being caught in his own county, never mind who dun it. Given’ instructions regardin’ their bodies, he said condescendingly with mock approval, ‘You best come in. Let’s see what these poster pukes are worth’, hoping for a small gratuity for his obliging assistance. Funny how money creates cooperation and changes the complexion of everything. Looks like you hit the motherlode Jace. In total’ he paused to add up the three figures, ‘you gots $3200 comin your way. I’ll have to wire Denver for the vouchers. Shouldn’t take more than three or four days.
Signing off for the reward money, Spangler said he didn’t need any accounting written down of the events. ‘They’s wanted gone. That’s all that matters.’ Convenient way to fudge the facts I thought. But I didn’t care. Didn’t need more notoriety comin’ my way. Sheriff and I tolerated each other. Truth is he feared me, and he should. I knew what kind of ship he was sailin’ and he knew that I knew and had the power to do somethin’ about it. Had a US Marshalls badge in my pocket, with authority over all the territory. Mostly retired I answered only to the governor and only on terms agreeable to me. Such was the clout I carried.
We were known as Patel’s Poison, the Keepers of Silence. In truth we were only a small group of specially gifted and trained men. No one ever heard us, no one ever saw us. No one even knew what we looked like. Even among our men we remained virtually anonymous. We could not afford to be fingered by a traitor or spy in our midst. We moved silently, phantoms in the forest. Our greatest concern were Union elitist like Berdan’s Sharpshooters. Accordingly when we set by a target often only one or two did the firing. The rest kept a cavillous vigil and web of protection over the shooters to protect them from Billy Yanks snipers. They were highly trained to recognize any movement or abnormality. Often the first to move was the first to die.
As a youth I lived on a cattle ranch along the Abajo and San Yuan mountains in Colorado. We made peace with the Utes although government intrusion often led to hostilities. We helped feed and defend them, and anytime I could I would spend time with Chief Ouray’s son, Tavi’wachi Nuuchi, just Nuuchi to me. He taught me all things Indian, i.e. stealth, silence, stillness, invisibility, bow and knife skills, existing where others would die, patience, and always putting back something for everything I took. I learned the Ute language and Nuuchi and others were taught English, math, writin’, and readin’ by my Ma, so important for their assimilation into an ever changing world. I lived with them for three years before and after my folks were taken by a Pox epidemic. Fearing for my safety they had sent me away to Chief Ouray prior to contracting the disease or showing signs of infection. A sad interim separation became a goodbye with no returns. I funneled my grief into unrelenting brutal training. In the end there was no taunting or teasing. No one remained who wanted to challenge me. I had earned the respect of all the braves. At the age of 18, ‘he who leaves no sound’ was blond, bronze, with piercing blue eyes, chiseled features, standing 6’2” and a muscular 190 primed pounds.
Winter came and there were no beautiful goodbyes. Seems nothin’ last forever, but still we always try. Sat motionless on my horse with Ouray and his braves a distance away as the preacher said a prayer, ranch hands immune to the pox sang a sad song, and then slowly lowered my folks into the ground in fresh pine overcoats. I had to stay away not takin’ any chance of infection. The loss and separation from my kin was devastating. Sometimes I cried, but it was only a fool’s lullaby. Earlier in my life it was my younger brother and sister to the fever, and now Ma and Pa to the pox. Time after thyme, an emollient applied, soothed but did not heal. I learned to live with loss, realizing just how fragile life can be. And yes, no one gets out of livin’ alive. It was later I understood that tragic gut-wrenching loss precedes either greatness or pitiable failure. I chose the high road. I would always cherish and honor their memory.
At last I was home again the danger of disease overpast. But the house was hollow and I felt so empty, adrift, and restless. Cool nights drew me outside with a ‘long nights moon’ bright and beautiful overhead, Jupiter and Venus bright diamonds in the darkness, and an occasional falling star from the Geminids meteor shower. I prayed and pondered my future. Looking at the brilliant night sky I felt so insignificant, so small. Already the Philosopher Kings had begun their military foray into the South, their nihilism requiring allegiance to the beast and their sacred pantheon….democracy and freedom. Unrelenting in their self righteousness and feigned moral compass, they were byzantine in their working, always cloaking their intentions, using freedom’s voracious appetite to devour noncompliance now characterized as sedition and rebellion. Vicious and unyielding when protecting their self interest, everyone would be condemned to be free in a world where the uninitiated and unillumined mass of profane society would be left dumb, disorganized, and defeated.
So, in a sorcery saturated society they pulled people’s patriotic puppet strings. It was simple. In stead of clear lens we looked through smoke tinted glasses. The South was the sacrificial lamb. It’s an old enmity that you might not understand.
For night’s I bundled against the cold and with steaming hot coffee and sweetner I sat outside under a brilliant cosmic canopy and communed with my creator. As the designed conflict raged in the nation, it’s principal perpetrators would be enshrined gloriously on the pages of mendacious murmurings called ‘history’. Once countrymen, now brothers were cast in the roll as the enemy. So it was I, an ancient mariner in the cross hairs of time, rode into the jaws of a firestorm, a ‘feu de joie’ of the unimaginable, and things you cannot unsee. The burden of the past, both mine and mankind’s, weighed heavily upon me. Once a millstone, now a foundation. When the recruiter, a Confederate officer came to the ranch I spoke to him about my especial training and talents and then took him to my shooting range. I had been able to obtain, rather clandestinely, a British Whitworth considered the very first sniper rifle, accurate at distances up to 2,000 yards when equipped with a 4X scope. The boys in Blue preferred a Sharps New Model 1859 outfitted with a Hi-lux Malcom scope, both able messengers of death from an assailant never seen.
My first shot was at 1,000 yards and my second at 1,500 yards. New recruits came riding back with targets excitedly handing the results to the Major, both center shots in a six inch target. ‘That’s sum fine shootin’ Son’, he said. ‘In fact, I’ve never seen the like’. ‘Come with me sir’, I politely entreated as we sat the porch and enjoyed some fresh enhanced coffee. Respectfully I shared my proposition for enlistment. Without hesitation he agreed and then paused. ‘This is not a war we will win Son, but a battle we should fight’.
In a few weeks I was notified and Patel’s Poison was formed. Only after rigorous training, which I conducted with the augmentation of specialties taught by more than capable men, we were ready to try our wings. My primary goal was not to kill but to disable and demoralize. Foremost was the disabling of artillery, the ancillary targets being men and munitions. Some of my shots were legendary and not sumpin’ you could prevent the men from talkin’ about, despite my desire for anonymity. Around the night fires both boys in blue and gray spoke in hushed and revered whispers of my exploits. There was no escaping it.
Three years of my young life was spent in oscillating time and space where battles were often fought in only a day fulfilling their allotment in time. The carnage however would last forever burned deeply into generational strands revived anew at each birthing. These battles would never appear again, validated only in history books and remembered in your mind. They were never recurring like the dawn or the setting sun, a full moon in all it’s night time glory, and the changing seasons that will come and go, and the seasons that will forget. And I wonder. If every thing has it’s own, singular to itself, time, season, and purpose and we had just circumnavigated that day, would the battle have ever happened? In the book of Joshua an event described as a day when the Lord listened to a man’s voice, the sun and moon stopped. Add Hezekiah’s request for the sundial to move backward, and you will find a whole day is missin’ in the chronology of time. Apparently time and events can be altered. Anywho, I was secreted away at the end of the war before everything was confiscated by Atilla’s evil twin with my horse Stryder, a beautiful black Mustang full of speed and stamina, and a capable gelding packing all my acquired arsenal, and the rank of a Captain. My years of exceptional gallantry and service were rewarded with a generous stipend courtesy of the peoples government. Always remember, you get exactly what you deserve.
Arriving home accompanied by two soldiers, now brothers in arms, I sighed deeply as I topped a knoll overlookin’ the ranch stopping and inhaling deeply of its fragrance and beauty, the afternoon sun painting the sky. Then with radiant faces we rode down and I had a joyous reunion. Late that night storm clouds moved in and I walked out and lifted my face to Heaven with an avalanche of tears and profound gratitude. With my arms stretched out I allowed the rain to wash over my body and soul. Rain, rain, let it rain on me. Help cleanse me from blood guiltiness.
I found the ranch the way I left it, in faithful capable hands. My two comrades, Elijah and Tennessee took to cattle and ranchin’ in a pair of fast minutes, like grease on the griddle. Me, I enjoyed runnin’ the ranch and checkin’ on my Ute friends Ouray and Nuuchi. I brought a cow and some genuine Bardstown Kentucky bourbon to the reunion party. We pow-wowed late into the night, and then woke grimacin’ and holding our heads dodging the sun’s early light. Thankfully I remembered coffee for the mornin’ after, and lots of it. And just for a moment, I was able to set aside all the horrors that my young life had already experienced.
Wasn’t long before the Rangers came a callin’, up south from Texas. Knew the Captain from the war and he knew me. His appeal was to my avant-garde and superior military tactics and mine to a moral imperative and noble aspiration. The innocent must be defended and protected. The evil must be subdued, paying the price for their disregard for human life. They would kill just for the thrill. I took life in order to save life. I would agree to ride with the Rangers if allowed to shoot and kill taking these bad boys out….not to jail. I was a superior tracker and hunter with stealth and a cloak of invisibility. But, I was a legend with my long rifle. Agree to my terms or watch my ass sit saddle and ride into the sunset. They agreed. But first……….
Upon returning home from the war, many mornings I would saddle Stryder and we would ride at the first blush of dawn enjoying the time alone and welcoming the discovery of a brand new day and the events unique to that dawn to dark and no other. Riding west with the warmth of the morning sun on my back I lifted my gaze as morning rays gathered on majestic mountain peaks above me before lilting on the valley floor below and resting in a dreamy lavender haze. Hearing screams, animal screams, Stryder and I quickened our pace of inquiry. We arrived to a prominent rock face to observe an eagle gallantly protecting her nest from a mortal enemy and merchant of death, a stalker unparalleled in the mountain…..a lion. Immediately acting to respond I reached for my rifle but was halted when the mother with a backwards kick of desperation launched her little one over the side and into space. It valiantly flapped its wings in an attempt to decelerate when it hit the face of a smooth piece of rock outcropping shaped like a spoon which catapulted it into the air and away from the jagged talus face. It landed rather unceremoniously with a plop in some high prairie grass but beyond the rocky chards waiting to claim its life. Riding up I dismounted and found the fledgling stunned and trembling after a rather flinty, feather jarring, first flight. I found blood and a broken wing, but eyes still open.
Overhead the mother circled and pealed with approval as I gently picked up the bird and snuggled it inside my vest, close to my heart. Then I rode for town and Doc Haven hoping he could help or direct me otherwise. The trip to town was uneventful, but as I arrived dark ominous clouds blocked the sunlight. Thunder growled and the wind whispered sonnets as lightning rent the vail from heaven to earth. Knock knock knocking on Haven’s door Doc finally answered and looking at me pleasantly surprised said, ‘Jace, it’s so good to see you’. Then focusing on my hand over my heart he asked, ‘what ya got there’? Carefully pulling the eaglet from my vest he stared. ‘I know this is a little off your range Doc’ I said, ‘but is there anything you can do’? ‘Well’, he said, ‘let me see. I can splint that broken wing. First time. Never splinted an actual wing on anyone before, but a couple of times I felt the breath of heaven’.
Then running back to my horse, Doc yelled ‘use the stable in the back. There’s room’. Settling Stryder in with some fresh hay, I hurriedly stripped off his gear promising a good rub down later. I then scampered to Doc’s back door just as big drops began to plop. Inside I held the little guy who became anxious with all this human attention, while Doc splinted his wing and dressed his wounds. ‘What are you going to call him’? Doc asked. Pausing to consider, the house shook as the ruckus raced overhead. ‘I reckon I’ll just call him Storm’, I said. Doc smiled his approval. Placing him in a vacated bird cage Doc instructed me to go down the street to an Apothecary recently opened and find the help I needed to care for my new friend.
The summer storm left puddles to dodge, the only memory left of its animate passage. Walking the block and a half I approached the glass store front with a brilliant sun behind my back. Shielding my eyes and ducking my head with my Stetson ‘boss of the plains’ broad billed Knudsen hat, I stepped inside dressed in buckskins and calf high moccasins, two days of dark stubble on my face, long blond hair, and always an arsenal of weapons, only to be blindsided and held captive by two giggling Ute maidens lashed to my waste like a lasso over a steer. Chipeta and Shawsheen pulled me down and kissed every inch of my face. I did not resist. They laughed and talked excitedly in Ute and I responded in return savoring the moment. ‘Girls’ I said laughingly, ‘I need to speak to Jolene’.
Releasing their grip with grins and flirtatious faces I finally looked up and into eyes the color of sky blue skies and into the face of a noble patrician beauty, ‘sans pareil’. Her unassuming comely countenance captivated me and it was a few moments before I found my feet. Walking up, her eyes remained riveted on mine. ’You are the one’ I said, inexplicably grasping her hand that was resting on the counter. Then correcting myself, ‘you are Jolene’. ‘Yes’ she spoke. never attempting to remove her hand from mine. And while holding my gaze she asked, ‘and you are’? ‘Jace, Jace Patel’. I felt a small tremble, but she maintained her poise, never removing her hand. ‘Then you are, you are the ‘legend’ spoken of by many names. The girls have talked of you often’. Bowing my head slightly I said, ‘Yes, I am the one. Does it frighten you like the other young ladies when I make their acquaintance’? Speaking truthfully she said, ‘only for a moment’.
The door bell chimed and I loosened my grip and explained my mission. ‘Why not ask the girls’ she said as she excused herself to help the other customer. They were there to earn and learn while teaching in return. They had many helpful suggestions having lived in the wild, and agreed, with Jolene’s permission, to keep the young eagle for a few days using Doc’s bird cage to see what he responded to best. Returning with the bird in cage I handed Jolene five $20 gold eagles. Flushed she said, ‘Oh my, that’s much too much’. ‘It does come with a price’ I said grinnin’. Stealing my heart from the start, she cocked her head slightly looking at me curiously with a smile and said, ‘and what might that be’? ‘Dinner’ I answered, ‘and an evening with me when I return in a few days to check on my young fledgling friend’. Beaming she said, ‘that’s a price I’d pay any day’.
Four days later we dined at the Rutz Imperial, a hotel with a rather elegant dining room, built during the boom. Purdy fancy for a boot licker backwater town like ours. Whispering to the Maître d’ I asked for and was seated at a quiet table providing privacy for intimate conversation, followed by wine and crystal glasses filled ceremoniously by our waiter. Jolene’s eyes flashed exuding warmth and wonder. Slightly embarrassed she said, ‘It’s just that I don’t normally dine out like this. In fact, I never have’. She was dressed in simple elegance while I wore boots, dress pants and a long coat to conceal my guns. ‘I hope I am dressed appropriately’ she demurred. Reaching out to clasp her hand I spoke with a big grin, ‘I can assure you ma’am I am the envy of every man in this room. You look positively lovely’. ‘Thankyou for the comment’ she said blushing, ‘and thankyou for putting me at ease’.
The meal was delicious followed by coffee and creme brulee which we shared. But it was the honesty and openness in our conversation that we delighted in most. She asked about me, and I asked about her, neither needing to extol ourselves or laud our accomplishments in front of the other. She shared growing up in a modest loving home with three sisters and no brothers. It was her mother’s love of gardens and herbs that planted the seed for her present aspirations. She was able to attend a private school and graduate with a degree in herbs and botanical biology. With her parents active support and encouragement she rented the building here and set up shop. Like Storm she was testing her wings. There was resistance and ignorance at first fueled by old wife’s tales, superstition, and fable. But Doc Haven, her most ardent supporter, sent many of his patients her way paving the road to acceptance. Still, business was operated on a very tight budget, Storm now providing the major part of her income.
Loud voices and broken china interrupted the ambiance enjoyed by everyone. Two surly boys were creating quite a ruckus and threatening the waiter. I looked at Jolene and excused myself. Getting up I walked up behind them to their table and asked the waiter what the problem was. Before he could answer one of the beef headed malodorous hawgs yelled, ‘this ain’t your mix boy, so you best get the hell out’! I then stepped to the front of the table my hand restin’ on the hilt of my gun and my Texas Rangers badge in full view. ‘Hell’ he shouted ‘you ain’t got no’ before he was cut off by his partner Quirt with a constipated look just a grabbin’ his shoulder and shakin’. ‘Oh God Virge look what ya dun. Do you know who this is!! Looking up, I now had his full attention. His eyes expanded to the size of silver dollars as he stood and removed his hat holding it in front of him with both hands mumbling and bowing slightly ‘So sorry cap, ranger, sir, er Mr. Patel. It’s all a mistake. We’s surely sorry. It twon’t never happen again’, his face twisted in anguish. ‘Pay the man for the damages’ I spoke menacingly. Emptying their pockets on the table of only a couple of coins, they were surely embarrassed realizin’ everone was staring at them. ‘Lookin’ at the floor they said, ‘that’s all we got Sir’. ‘Doesn’t look like you intended to pay your bill’ I said calmly. Winching their faces Virge spoke looking at the waiter, ‘our apologeeze sir. It twer the wrong thing to do’. Reachin’ in my pocket I discreetly handed Virge a twenty dollar gold piece, folding his fingers over his palm to shield his shame. ‘Wha’, he said slowly shakin’ his head, ‘ah, we can’t take this sir, we don’t deserve it’ was all he could reply. Putting up my hand I hesitated before I spoke. ‘Boys, I know yer hungry’ I said with kindness. ‘Now go down to Molly’s. She’ll feed you good and you can eat a cupple of meals on that money, leave a tip, and get a place to sleep. Don’t cause no ruckus and don’t come in here anymore until you enter a better man. Bowing their heads and ashamed they spoke, but not before straightening their backs and lookin’ me in the eye. ‘Thankyou sir. We is surely hungry. Cain’t remember when we et last. You was always good to us. You are the best’. They then saluted. Walkin’ out the door I said, ‘boys if yer lookin’ to work, not for work, ride out about ten miles on the road to Alamosa. You’ll find my ranch the diamond P. Tell the foreman Bittering I sent ya and to find a place for ya’. Then they walked out of the door down the steps and straight to Molly’s changed men, wearing a smile and feelin’ sumpin’ they hadn’t known for so long….hope.
The next morning after finding a place to rest their heads at Rachels Rooms for Rent and a hearty breakfast ‘em boys road for the ranch and we wuz glad to have ‘em. A more faithful and hardworking duo wuz not to be found, loyal to death, ridin’ for the brand. They had found a home and now life had meaning once again. It’s sad what hunger can do to a man, drivin’ him to desperation and the doin’ of things he would never consider with a full belly.
Placing a $20 gold piece in the waiters hand I winked. ‘This should cover the damage. The remainder is for you and for your patience towards the men. The war was so unkind leaving many a man without a home, adrift, and penniless ’. Smilin’ he said, ‘but not you sir’. ‘Well, let’s just say I think I finally found a place to set my anchor’. The dining room that had become as quiet as a church offerin’ watchin’ the drama unfold, then exploded in conversation and excitement. ‘That’s Jace Patel. Isn’t he the Legend’? Walking back to Jolene, men got up to shake my hand and thank me, the women deep sea fishin’ leaving lascivious looks to lure, hoping to be unnoticed by their husbands and suitors.
Sitting down at our table I barely beat the waiter carrying a bucket with iced champagne. ‘It’s on the house sir’ he spoke. And when the cork popped the whole place broke into cheers and applause. Jolene jumped in her seat when the champagne was released and sat stunned, her beautiful full lips parted, just staring at me. ‘Ah’ she finally said, ‘Jace Patel! I’m speechless. What manner of man are you’? I just stared at this angelic apparition with a big smile. ‘I saw’ she said, ‘those admirin’ wanton looks from the ladies. They should be ashamed’. ‘Ah’ I said, ‘but none from you’? Now coquettish with a playful grin she answered, ‘another time my boy, another time’.
Sipping champagne she eventually spoke. ‘I feel like a school girl at her first dance, light headed and almost swooning when her life long crush signs her dance card’. Then pausing and taking breath before speaking she asked, ‘are you the boy of my dreams or do I look for another’? Tears began to flow and she quickly found a hanky to dab her cheeks and nose. Taking her free hand in mine I paused looking deep into her eyes before answering. ‘I certainly hope so. Because I’m thinkin’ you are the girl I’ve dreamed of for all of my life, waking up the sleeping part of me’. Now, their was no holding back the flood tide of tears restrained for so many years. And my tears fell too gathered by my hankie before we were able to stem the flow.
Motioning for the waiter to bring my bill he declined by saying, ‘There were multiple offers including the house to cover your bill. My sincere salutations sir. It has been a pleasure’. Leaving a generous tip, we strolled on the boardwalk on a silky summer evening, found an empty bench, and talked some more. It was a time of discovery and honest open inquiry, two hearts melding as one.
Next mornin’ I was greeted warmly by the Ute ladies eager to show me Storm’s improvement. Jolene fairly radiated. Leavin’ a $20 gold piece Jolene did not protest. She realized it was an act of commitment and desire. Giving instructions to the girls we stepped outside and arm in arm took a short stroll to Molly’s and breakfast. We placed our orders and sat with fresh Joe. Looking intently at me Jolene spoke, ‘so, you are a Ranger’. ‘Yep’ I replied. ‘ I pledged an oath but I haven’t officially rode with them yet’. I explained my commitment was made conditionally with a lot of flexibility on my part. Not only do I have a ranch to run, but now I have an eagle to nurture and a beautiful lady to spoon’. Basically I come and go on my terms’. ‘And they agreed to that’? she asked incredulously. ‘Yep! They were delighted to have me some of the time even if it wasn’t all of the time. I wanted no pay. They could cover expenses and I would receive my share of any bounties. It’s a principle with me. Don’t muzzle the ox when he’s treadin’ down the corn’.
After a brief explanation of my duties with the Rangers, she then asked about the ranch. ‘I had no idea you owned a ranch. Is it big enough to need and support the two men you offered work to’? ‘Well’ I grinned, ‘it’s not big by Texas standards but it does have good grass and water’. ‘Now don’t tease me’ she giggled. ‘I need to know if you can provide for me and My high standard of livin’ said with a upturned nose and taunting smile. ‘Well Princess, my lady fair in waiting, will 25,000 acres, 5,000 prime angus beef, a brood of Mustang’s, Morgan’s and Quarter-horses, and gold in them thar hills be enough to sustain the standard of living you are accustomed to and allow me to hire two more men to add to the twenty two I already have on the payroll. Spitting her coffee out before covering her mouth she stared incredulously. ‘You’re serious aren’t you’. Grinning from ear to ear I nodded in consent. And then gathering herself her face flush and suddenly shy she said, ‘please forgive my forwardness and impertinence. It was never been about money with me. It was always about the man’.
Retrieving Storm I returned to the ranch. We became constant companions. I played the roll of a surrogate and Storm as he grew and matured the roll of a protector.
Seven weeks passed spending as much time as possible with Jolene. Now it was time to lay all my cards on the table. Today I escorted her to the ranch. I stopped and let her gaze on rolling meadow, sparkling river water, majestic mountain peak and cattle grazin’ as far as the eye could see. Jolene looked out over this scene speechless and in awe, astonished with tears gently caressing her cheeks. Leaning her head on my shoulder and holding me tight she whispered, ‘My love, if it all falls away and we have nothing, I would still have everything, for I would still have you. Show me a man who knows his own heart. To him I will belong to forever. I want a brave love, one that makes me feel weak in the knees and undone at the seams. And all those unbelievers who would whittle love down to the ground, let the pathways destroy them hushing any sound. Let the world fall into it’s sleep. We shall be spared. We will be left standing. Facing what’s left we will dance and kiss the flame’.
Content to be silent, our thoughts intertwined like a delicate mosaic, I at last spoke. ‘That was so beautiful…..Thankyou. Sometimes I feel I am just staggering through life watching it unfold, feeling it’s pain…….so much pain. Standing in deep water I fear I’m drowning, bailing myself out with a straw and wondering why. And I think, does it always have to be like this? But when I see you now I can’t help but try. I can’t let you walk away. You are the beauty that frames my mind, the loveliness that drapes my purest thoughts. My life would be nothing without your love’.
Somehow we managed to twaddle down the hill and towards the hoose. I pointed out things along the way, noticing riders incoming. Word had gotten out. Jo was ah comin’. I had left instructions regarding the house, outlying buildings and yard. The boys went right to it doin’ paintin’ and repairs. Hired a housekeeper and was pleasantly surprised with Virgil and Quirt who loved to get their hands in the dirt i.e. flowers, field, grass and garden. The place shined like moissanite or sapphire. Pullin’ up to the front, Tennessee delighted in grabbing Jo’s waste, lifting her high and then gently to the ground. He then bowed and doffed his hat introducin’ hisself with a flair and a three by nine smile. Virgil grabbed the reigns leading the horse and buggy away. Once done, there was an avalanche off the porch, including some local ladies that some of my cowhands hoped to lasso. Dressed in a brand new dress, eyes burning bright, Jo was radiant and thoroughly enjoying the moment. I found a place on the porch, higher ground, just to watch her impact on everone. All of the cowboys were polite, introducing themselves and were in a word, ‘thunderstruck’. I knew exactly how they felt. Elijah made his way over with a big grin. ‘Well boss, I caint figur’ what she’s sees in you. Who knows a woman’s mind? But I surely see what you see in her’. Then putting his hand on my shoulder while gazing down at Jo he said, ‘I ain’t never seen a woman more delicate and beautiful. I am truly proud fer ya. No one is more deservin’.
After a delicious dinner for all punctuated with lotsa laughter, smiles, and endless barbs, I excused myself and sat the porch with sum of the boys enjoying strong coffee with just a sprinkle of flavorin’, while Jolene held court in the great room, the subject of every ones curiosity and interest . After a while I stepped back inside getting Jolene’s attention and nodded with my head out of doors. Her eyes enlarged slightly with a smile and shake of her head. Ringing a bell I announced, ‘Lords and ladies please allow a divergence from your diligent inquiry. The princess has consented to a stroll with her suitor at large, namely me, her prince charming. Laughter ensued as I approached her and bowed pinching my hat cowboy style, offering my arm. We then strolled out the door, opened for us with a flourish, and I escorted her down the steps and into the open air as the sun began to set on the peaks of the highest mountains. The azure blue sky and clouds painted with the single stroke of an artist’s brush began to emanate a profusion of color.
‘Seems maybe’ I said, ‘you were being held hostage, howbeit by gentle jailors. Thought you could use a break’. ‘Thankyou’. ‘It is so beautiful outside I wouldn’t want to miss any of this’. Enjoying the stillness we walked arm and arm down the road leading from the house and then into a field with flowering clover, black-eyed Susan’s, and purple cone flowers. Turning I faced her and looked into her eyes burning bright, and took her hands. ‘Up until you’ I spoke, ‘I never knew if I would ever have the chance to find a woman to love and a family to make. And I wondered if life would deny me the pleasure of the way I’m feeling, right now, right here, with you. But from the moment our eyes first met their was a spark which in a short time ignited into flame. Now it is a fire that threatens to consume me. Dreams’ I continued, ‘can take detours but still find their way home’. Then getting down on one knee I looked up into the eyes of Paradise, a piece of heaven. ‘Will you do me the supreme honor and grant my deepest desire by marrying me and becoming my wife’? With her eyes fixed on mine I stood as she reached with her hands to cradle my face and I lifted her off the ground. She then kissed me with all the intensity and passion her heart possessed. Then quietly crying she put her head on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, ‘as long as it is forever’.
Walking back to the house, hand in hand, we were so focused on each other that I didn’t really realize how quiet it had become. Standing on the porch I said quizzically, ‘Where is everyone’? Then a well spring of well wishers flowed out from the door, surrounding us with hurrahs and handshakes, hugs and kisses with congratulations all around. Found out, they had spies. Then O’Conner pulled out his fiddle, Ramsay added food to the griddle and Jeremiah built a bonfire in the middle. The night was still young.
Three weeks later we were married. Got to meet Jolene’s Ma and Pa and her three sisters, lovely ladies one and all. Her folks fretted about Jolene’s choice, rumors and suspicion abounding. But staying at the ranch, much to the other cowboys delight, and helpin’ with the preparation for the weddin’, gave them time to take their measure of the man. They still had a few concerns, but were none the less very supportive and fell in love with Jolene’s new home.
Storm could be seen soaring above seeming to maintain a vigil over the property and especially me. Holding my arm out he would fly down and rest, always receptive to a treat, most always a piece of meat. Now a dark color. It wasn’t until somewhere around the age of five that the dark head feathers would be fully replaced by white, the signature color of a bald eagle. An eagle possesses eyesight up to eight times greater than man with sharp focus, a 340 degree wide field of view, binocular and ultraviolet vision, and excellent depth perception. They can spot a rabbit at two miles, and another eagle at fifty. That was the nature of the eyes that watched from above, a witness of God’s enduring love, a canopy in the clouds, a guardian in the skies.
It was time to ride. Jolene’s sisters came to stay in my absence, and like precious cargo four Rangers escorted me to the Comancheria, an area that had at one time extended north to Colorado and Kansas, west to New Mexico, east to Kansas, and south deep into Texas. It was the Comanche raiding range now shared with Comancheros and Confederate castoff’s. Folks seeking refuge from the war and a new start, were lured by the prospect of free land and wide open spaces. Tweren’t told about the savage beasts that roamed the land. The results were heart breakin’, even after all that we had experienced during the war. How can a person harden their heart when ridin’ up to the scene of desecration and mutilation of entire families, the women splayed and staked naked to the ground. The daughters of any age fairing no better. Silent rage was barely contained.
Modern day Paladin’s, Ranger companies as large as twenty five men rode deep into mountain fortresses, remote and heavily protected. These ‘hijos de satanas’ had eyes and spies everywhere, extending like a spiders web and creating a matrix of entrapment long before anyone could get close enough to breach their defenses. Involuntary compliance was obtained from small farmers, villagers, towns, and even in large cities. In order to gain cooperation a farmer was threatened or forced to watch the repeated rape of his ten year old daughter, the castration of his son, or the mutilation of his wife. Forced to comply, anything of uncertainty was reported by encoded messages sometimes through a progression of couriers, their citadel of power kept safe and impregnable. Until now.
Ranger’s rode into towns and villages, most often one or two at a time, and into the country, where dirt poor farmers tried to gain cooperation from dry, barren, and unyielding soil. Dressed so as to blend and deflect suspicion the Rangers would carefully seek for information and ferret out any collaborators. Gradually we were making inroads and through stealth and diversion gain access to the foothills and then into their mountain fortresses. Focusing on a larger group used as a decoy, the watchers were distracted while a select group of men covertly made their way to their elusive prey. Traveling at night with the help of Felipe, a local sheep herder we began to eliminate the guardians, killing them silently and propping them up to allay any suspicion. Felipe was forced to watch his daughter’s violation and forced abduction. Secretly he had vowed retribution and he and others like him became allies in our quest to destroy the evil that marched unremitting through the land. Like raging waves of the sea foaming out their violence and shame, they are wandering stars to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness forever.
Having penetrated their last layer of eyes, we arrived and overlooked their compound. I laid quietly and scrutinized the area through my rifle scope. I had my trusted Whitworth rifle as well as a Sharps breach loader with a higher rate of fire. Below where the Valdez-Solomon brothers, vile trees without fruit, twice dead, plucked up from the roots. The Ranger beside me and I would orchestrate our rifle exchange allowing me to fire rapidly from a distance far beyond their muzzle’s reach. Others were positioned safely and much closer. At a given signal they would open fire with a fusillade of bullets fired from multiple round Spencer and Henry rifles. This procedure worked well, eliminating threats from long range and limiting exposure to the other Rangers. Out of all the Ranger companies, ours consistently had the lowest number of fatalities.
Patience was the key to achieving our missions goal. I laid still scoping the camp with Buster and Bronco on each side of me when Buster said, ‘there…..look, comin’ out the door. The brothers Valdez and the brothers Solomon’. ‘Ah’, I said, first we cut off the four heads of Hydra. The rest will fall like over-ripe figs. We watched as captive women were forced to cook, wash, and answer to their beckon and call. They would be used as slaves or possibly sold to some rich man’s harem. Either way their young life’s had become a living hell, without hope, without vindication. They were fed the bread of tears, and like a filthy rag they would be discarded at the whim of their captures and left to die.
I opened the party with a salvo of rounds ventilating the Valdez brothers before they were able to react and realize what was happening. The Solomon brothers jumped up and sought for an unseen assassin firing into the unknown along with around 30 of their own men. My comrades followed their movement with additional scopes and helped direct me to their locations. They never saw the messenger of death comin’ until announced by a crimson bloom on their chests. The deafening roar of guns in the Comanchero camp fired wildly by cursing men at unseen assailants hid the sound of their horses running spooked and galloping scared. I continued to fire with maximum speed and attrition, while other Ranger rifles entered the fray. All exits were blocked. There was no escape. Carefully closing the net on the camp any survivors were soon dead. We commandeered a wagon and a couple of recalcitrant mules to haul all the poster boys to town for their bounties. We stripped the remainder of the men of their weapons and any valuable possessions. We contributed the remainder of the bodies to the inhabitants of the high lonesome, a welcome buffet, feasting on the carrion of the defiled dead.
In another wagon the captives of the camp, mostly women and a few children, were made as comfortable as possible using additional mules to transport them off the mountain and unto safety. Their tears flowed freely. Their suffering hard for most to conceive. They wept until they had no more power to weep, their innocence stolen, their gentle life destroyed by the vile reprehensible acts of evil men. Numbly in silence they gathered any personal belongings. Sitting with others crowded together like stacks of lumber, they could hardly breath. There was no space. The assault upon their dignity so great, it felt like a crushing weight upon their fractured souls. Their bodies forced to bear hideous transgressions, possibly with child, certainly with disease. What will my family think? you muse. Am I still welcome?
‘And if I am with child, I will love this child. Through no fault of his own he comes into this world. But I ask, are any truly innocent? Must my child be made to bare the sins of his father’?
When the remaining twenty desperados in the Valdez-Solomon gang returned from their taking without regard, without mercy, a total now of over fifty men, they were met with a coup de main and sudden death syndrome that left them all dead. This chapter in Ranger history closed with only three wounded and one dead. It was estimated my long rifles alone, were responsible for the death of two dozen men. Without exception each Ranger thanked me personally often with tears in their eyes.
All are taught, some never learn. Some earn a reputation they weren’t hunting. Some hunted one they would never earn. Most men did what they had to do to stay alive. Walking a thin line of integrity after a while would become the color gray and the line between right and wrong became obscured. Often they would find themselves on the hoot-owl trail chasin’ and bein’ chased by demons. Clouds without rain they have gone the way of Cain. Some men are like putrid smelling pus filled abscesses with a viperous forked tongue and venom seeping from their veins. Walking after their lusts, their mouth speaking great swelling words having men’s persons in admiration because of advantage. We called them presidents, heads of state and business, preachers, pundits, Your Honor, and outlaws. These filthy dreamers defile the flesh hiding behind philanthrope; after all everyone will line up for a free meal, and the covenant of ‘their law’ craftily conceived with justice for ‘just-us’. Instead of a barrier from this failed parentage of derelicts what protection does the common man have against anarchy and the promise of civility apart from a higher law written on the hearts of man.
Ah, enter the wild wild west where for thousands of miles the face of law is hard to be found. Maybe only here a just and brave man can execute judgment and find justice for himself or for the inhabitants of the land. Thus the Rangers rode. This time we hunted jackals and primitive beasts, confederate exiles having lost all, and now rabid dogs that had to be put down. They perfected the tactics of guerilla warfare, hit and run, only to disappear again. Their raids appeared random, striking like lightning with no discernable pattern, utterly unpredictable. They attacked up and down eastern Texas over to Lousyana and the gulf coast and as far away as Shreveport north and Pasadena and Baytown on the eastern side of Houston. And yet they were meticulous and resourceful in their planning. Before any strike was implemented they might spend weeks scoping out every contingency and securing local eyes and ears, willing sympathizers, the Colonel and his boys hailed as saviors and hero’s in the eyes of the people. ‘This’, Cap said, ‘will be the hardest assignment we’ve ever had. If we survive against monumental odds, it is only by God’s grace that we triumph and find success’.
Led by Confederate Colonel Atticus Grayson Hayes in the character of Robin Hood and Jesse James, they took from the rich man and shared with the poor and downtrodden of the earth. Federal banks and payrolls, carpetbaggers and union sympathizers were most often their prey. Not pro slavery, as blacks rode with them, but certainly anti-government. While I might sympathize with their cause, not with their tactics. Many innocent, including women and children, were caught in the bloody fray that often ensued when they rode to play. In a moment, for a minute, the life of the guiltless and naive hung in the balance, life and death being weighed. But you were there at that precise time, at that very moment. And all that remains are the faces and names of the husband’s and wife’s, the son’s and daughter’s. Wanton cowardly acts of aggression took them in the summer of their life’s. And I wonder…where did the love of God go?
I searched for a clue examining all the evidence before me. ‘Cap’ I said, ‘look at this’. Like a wheel hub center to their activity, was an area untouched. ‘This I said, ‘is where everything originates from, this is their home base. They won’t attack here’…...Beaumont Texas, and the gateway to the Big Thicket and Piney Woods Region of Texas about 41 miles from the gulf. This was home to Beaumont gator country, swamps. bayous, seeps, and ox-bow lakes along the Neches River. It’s understood if you disagreed with the Colonel and his gentile persuasion you were taken to the swamp. No one returned. Rangers, Marshalls, and boys in blue were never seen again. And the swamp eaters in their muculent water mansions were mellow, fat, and satisfied. And life was good.
‘No one must know we’re here’, I said. ‘Through fear, intimidation, and gratuity, all of the locals are bound to allegiance and silence. They would be of no help’. And then we caught a break. A small caravan of outcasts travelling from ‘Bamie to the hill country of Texas riding in a high grass clearing about three miles west of Beaumont on the highway to Houston, saw a group of about two dozen riders disappear into the Big Thicket. They were led by a plumed rider wearing a feathered hat about a half mile south of the road. An old structure now a few feet into the forest marked the site.
We had arrived in the port city of Houston entering over a period of two days, one or two at a time, using multiple accesses, our badges in our pockets not on our chests. We looked road weary, tired and hungry, and that we were. Cap and I were the only two that went to the Ranger headquarters, entering at different times, through different doors. No one ever met in public together, nor was any recognition given if we found ourselves in close proximity to each other. We were split into four groups and one man would be the messenger for the others. He would wear a red handkerchief readily seen in public, when it was time to gather at a predetermined location away from prying eyes. Meantime we were on the prowl for information from known sources of scuttlebutt i.e. liveries, barbershops, saloons, working ladies, and cafes. Mostly we listened, careful to ask questions and raise any suspicions.
Word on the street was that soon some needy folk out Lufkin way was gunna get sum manna from Heaven. It was time to move. We had eyes on the suspected gateway they used to their compound, swallowed by the forest. From a distance we had maintained a constant vigil scoping out the area and noticing movement inside the canopy of trees that guarded the entrance most anytime night or day. Anyone who tried to gain access to their encampment confronted swamps, bayous, a forest entanglement, critters, creatures, and ghostly apparitions of the night. No one who went in, ever came out. It was a suicidal death wish. And so we waited for them to come to us. In all likelihood they would be going North and in the stillness that precedes the dawn we positioned ourselves. We were ready.
At dawns early light they rode. After the entire column cleared the forest I fired the first volley, a .451 caliber long and skinny hex shaped six-sided bullet travelling at 1200 feet per second knocking Colonel Peacock airborne out of the saddle. It took less than two seconds to pull the trigger and kill the man. The bullet pierced his lungs and shattered his dark heart into disintegrated bits and pieces. Weighing in at a scant nine pounds, my Whitworth rifle had unparalleled superior accuracy. Surrounded on either side by Buster and Bronco we utilized the same procedure as before. I would site and fire using a well rehearsed exchange, fired weapon passed low, loaded weapon passed high. While Bronco reloaded, Buster on my left kept a constant scope on the killing fields, directing my attention as needed. This combination was unsurpassed in its lethal long range liquidation. First it was the head of the snake and then his lieutenants. Afterword all chaos erupted and within minutes to a man they were all on the ground. This was not a time to collect poster boys and souvenirs. Confirming they all stayed dead we road hard with the sun on our backs. Let the faithful that followed them like beggars, always with their hands out asking for alms do the dirt work. Their free lunch was over.
As we rode a deep sorrow invaded my soul. Not long ago I stood with these same men, fightin’ for our homeland and a common cause against a hostile domestic invader. Now I just killed them like cattle to the slaughter. Bile rose to my throat as cries rose up all along the Big Thicket and the Neches River region. weeping and wailing as for an only son. And I wonder will the earth’s thirst for blood ever be quenched? Will its hunger for flesh ever be sated? One day will it say, ‘enough’? For now, we keep givin’ and the earth keeps takin’.
Finally the dark morose fog lifted, and out of a gray radiance I felt the presence of God. Oh God! I prayed, this is a world of contradictions, soft beautiful and all together feminine contrasted with blood and brutal suffering. Then these words were spoken softly in my ear. ‘I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and of some compassion making a difference. Some I will save with fear pulling them out of the fire. For others I come to execute judgement to convince them of all their ungodly deeds. My judgment is just, my vengeance severe’.
A garrison of Federal soldiers immediately filled the void left at Beaumont. And with them the heavy vindictive harsh hand of oppressive totalitarian government and policies of reconstruction and their own rule of law. Land, food, businesses, personal property, rights, and privileges were all subject to confiscation, including the women. Harsh repercussions and death followed any resistance and lack of compliance, even if only suspected and not proven.
It didn’t take long. Early in the dark hours of a Sunday morning, while most of the soldiers slept off a whiskey infused evening of reveling and lecherous behavior, the garrison was overrun and all the men tied down and taken captive. With hoods over their heads they were forced into wagons and taken to the swamp. Stripped naked they were taken into the water and tied to a Bald Cypress tree, the Methuselah of the marsh, or an unsinkable Swamp Tupelo. Any man who had violated a woman was first castrated before entering the water, as a bloody flux surrounded him, the smell an enticing elixir to the creatures of the swamp. Then in unison their hoods were removed. Screams of paralyzing terror and abject fear as well as cries for mercy went unheeded. They cried, begged, and pleaded, with tears and snot running down their faces. Then they watched in horror as the surface of the water rippled and the denizens of the dark acrid smellin’ glade drew nearer and nearer to feast on their flesh.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, the garrison, women tidied and cleaned removing any evidence of a struggle. Beds were made, dishes were gathered and a spot of coffee sat on the stove. Outside, wagon tracks were covered, horses and tack removed. Like the colony at Roanoke, the men had simply disappeared. When questioned a rehearsed answer was often given. ‘Don’t know where they’s gone. Don’t rightly care. One day they wuz here, the next day they wuz gone’. ‘Mebbee’ an old timer said, ‘they’s left out early like afor the dawn. The garrison is situated on the west end of town ya know. They cudda left out with no one a knowing it. Don’t really care. They were curly bastards each one of ‘em’ And so the story goes on……
Do know though that the next attachment at the garrison in Beaumont came with a much more conciliatory and cooperative state of mind.
Homecoming and reunions are wonderful. Almost worth the price of being away. But after two years with the Rangers, they knew and I knew that I was too long gone. Jo had a baby in the basket and I had a ranch to run. This time the U.S. Marshall’s came a courtin’ and we had a deal and I had an out. Sayin’ goodbye wasn’t easy, in fact it was emotional. We had a goin’ away celebration and I got up with the chant of speech, speech. I thanked them for their friendship and the privilege of ridin’ with the saltiest men I had ever known. ‘Each of you is right to ride the river with’ I said, ‘with more sand than the Mississippi Delta. When the time comes, and only you can know that, and yer find yerself a starin’ at the elephant, well maybe it’s time to hang up yer spurs. Don’t be a lookin’ back. You ain’t a headin’ that away. It will be better than OK if you sauntered up my way. There’ll always be room at the table for ya. Won’t have to do nothin’ cept sit the porch, drink spiced coffee, and enjoy the view. Now don’t leave me lonely boys. Ya just might take a shine to my neck of the woods’.
The Marshall’s were based out of Van Buren Arkansas until 1871 when they moved to Ft. Smith. In 1868 there was only one U.S. Marshall for the whole Colorado Territory, Alexander Cameron Hunt. Tweren’t much he could ever accomplish……one man and thousands of square miles. Heck, onced he’d arrived at the site of sum altercation it twas all but fergotten. Enter the ‘legend’, ‘he who walks with no noise’. I agreed to pursue the hard cases, and at my discretion. Also I wanted the authority to deputize at least two deputy marshals to accompany me. I was given four badges. These were not lone wolf missions. We would be paid expenses and the bounties on the heads of these bad boys. My area was roughly from Colorado Springs south and west to Montrose. But at all times I carried a badge and authority with jurisdiction any where I went, including over all local badge toters. Also it was understood I wasn’t likely to be a bringin’ these bad boys back for a trial. They needed to be stopped if good folks was ever gunna get on their feet again.
My returns to the ranch were always highlighted by my interaction with Storm. Now that I was home most of the time, he went with me everywhere. On this particular day a lowering sky hung like a morning mist delicate and ethereal. Ghostly apparitions whisked by close to the ground chased by the morning sun. Always letting the ranch know where I was ah goin’, I explored a narrow draw on the mountain side of my property. The sun now owned the day, everything bright and beautiful. Looking bout midway up a rocky slope, I noticed Storm hovering over a what appeared as a small entrance almost totally obscured by trees and brush clinging to the rocky slopes. His peal demanded my attention. Working my way as far as I could on Stryder, I then dismounted and carefully walked to the entrance that appeared like a small cave. At one time a rock had protected the entrance, but now laid fragmented by an avalanche some years ago. Clearing the entrance I peered in. I could only see a few feet into the hollow, when suddenly chills rippled up and down my spine. Something or someone dwelt there.
Retreating, I returned the next day with twine, rock pick, a small lantern and can of fuel. Standing at the entrance I noticed Storm watching attentively on the branch of a nearby tree. Securing the twine at the base of a small sapling, it unraveled as I went, a safety precaution to guarantee safe passage back to the entrance. Lighting the lantern I bent low at the entrance and then stood in a ten foot high antechamber. It was rather nondescript, but as my eyes followed the shadows illumined by my lantern I detected a smaller opening perhaps five feet tall and two and a half feet wide. I bent low and preceded through the eye of the needle careful not to encounter any critters. After about thirty feet it opened into a grand room with a domed ceiling measuring about twenty five feet in diameter and twenty feet high.
While it did not rival Michelangelo’s magnificent Dome of the Vatican Basilica finished in the year 1590 or his famous frescoes at the Sistine Chapel, it was nevertheless stunning and breath taking. I stood in wonder, mouth agape, without realizing I was holding my breath. I turned round in the center of the room lantern held high unable to fully grasp what I was seeing. It appeared ancient. The paintings depicted a time antediluvian and I think long before the Genesis creation. The ceiling of the dome painted the night sky, not as it presently is, but how it was. Still I recognized some of the planets and noticed one in orbit between the earth and mars, as well many of the constellations; the big dipper, Orion the hunter, Sagittarius, and Capricornus. Many things had changed from the way the luminaries appeared in the present sky. It was an old sky. A very very old sky.
Returning the next day after a sleepless night, my mind euphoric from what I had seen, I was careful to suggest where I was going so as not to arouse suspicion. Returning I looked hard at the vertical face, about eight feet in height. There appeared to be a beginning an and end. Scenes that replicated John the revelator’s vision on Patmos with a throne, angels, and elders, also pictured creations dawn long before this present earth and the creation of the Adamic race. There were also giants and great fire, a cleansing and rebirth. The earth in a series of paintings appeared suspended in space by invisible forces. It’s complexity changed with large land masses and continents joined like South America and Africa. Other continents like the fabled Lemuria and Atlantis appeared and disappeared dipping below the oceans depths as the equation changed, now 2/3rds water and 1/3rd land.
The last genesis of failed beginnings, the former inhabitants never rising high enough to prevent their tragic ending, showed a dark sinister power operating in the lower heavens and controlling the earth with dark webbed tenacles through their elite bloodlines, willing vassals on the earths stage. It was truly a prison planet. The next scene showed the glorious triumphal coming of the divine one in the clouds. His head and hair were white as wool, his eyes like a flame of fire. His voice was as the sound of many waters, and out of his mouth went a two-edged sword. His countenance was as the sun shining in its strength initiating a new beginning and hope for failing mankind.
I cannot speak of all I have seen. It will remain hidden until an appointed time. But in my thorough search of the wall a strange hollow appeared as if from nowhere. I reached inside and drew out an ancient manuscript that was meant to be found. Exhausting all my personal avenues of inquiry, I appealed to a retired professor of antiquities and archaeology who happened to retire in our area hoping to experience the spirit of the west before he and it were long gone, remembered only in the pages of history and the dormant chapters of our minds. With withered hands he studied the text and held the manuscript shaking. ‘Never have I dreamed of holding a document so timeless and revealing. It’s antiquity bridges time. It precedes the Sumerian dynasty and the cuneiform text. It antecedes the Genesis account of present creation. ‘It’ he paused to say with tears in his eyes, ‘preexists time and creation as we know it’.
For hours and days we sought for a clue in the document to unravel the mystery of its origin and message. There was nothing in antiquity to compare to it. And yet I knew it was left in order to be found. While the old professor was delighted he was also perplexed. Weeks had passed since my discovery. Ignoring most everything else, I petitioned heaven for answers. While wizards and magicians sought the sorcerers stone and the ancient secrets of alchemy for access to gold and the elixir of life, the professor and I where given understanding to numbers, sequences, sacred geometry, and the number that unlocked the secret of the universe.
The day came when the professor reverently rolled up the scroll and wrapped it carefully in the protective covering it was found in and handed it back to me. ‘Return it son to the cavern where you found it’, his eyes unable to contain the tears that began to drop onto his kindly aged face. ‘The earth and its inhabitants are not yet ready for such disclosure. You, your wife and I are the only privileged witnesses that it exists. But ultimately who are we, he sighed? Maybe no more than grains of sand on endless ocean shore, or just a faint luminescence in the infinite heavens, our light already extinguished but now appearing ex post facto in the earth’s night sky’. Then with a huge smile he said, ‘thankyou, thankyou for the opportunity of a lifetime’.
The professor was too old to make the trip up the mountain and Jolene too pregnant. They were the only two I ever spoke to about my findings. Yet someone else knew or thought they knew. The mystery unraveled of its own when whiskey loosened the tongue of one of my wranglers. He had inadvertently seen me go to the cave and back again thinkin’ maybe I had discovered something valuable, maybe the legendary gold of Coronado from the fabled cities of Cibola. His loose lips almost sunk my ship as the rumor took flight to Denver and to an antiques dealer and diviner by the name of Madsen who became obsessed with the thought that I possessed a map that led to this hidden treasure. A visit to Madsen secured his penal participation for the remainder of his life.
I returned the scroll reluctant to visit the cave again, until one day with Storms insistence he led the way and I was inexorably drawn to the cave once more. Intuitively I had brought a lantern for light and stepped once again into its glorious presence. As I rested against the wall filled with the emanating presence of the divine I felt it move. Startled I jumped back but turned around and observed a fissure the shape of a door, an opening about five feet high. Exerting pressure it began to open ever so slowly. Sitting on the ground I pushed with my legs and then with my lantern I peered inside. Involuntarily I sucked in my breath as my dilated eyes looked with astonishment and surprise, my mind trying to comprehend the sight I was seeing. There before me were mounds and mounds of pounds of pure gold in a granular form. Gold, prized throughout the earth, mined and desired from visiting entities and coveted from creations dawn.
And four rivers flowed out from the garden and gold was found there. It was good gold, the gold of Havilah.
And the number to the secret of the universe is 7129/6105195
Adios amigos