beauitful wonders of summer

Perhaps to some readers they have found I left my blog unattended for several days or weeks. Summer is demading, at least for me and so I began much needed work around the place. The most difficult job has  been scraping and painting one of our buildings. It was once a home, but now sits quietly as a storage place. I returned it to its original color of deep red. It is now fresh and beauitful and brightens the town. Another house will  be repainted in the autumn to its original yellow. I have mamaged to complete two other paintings of which I will post sometime.The above photos are some of the beautifl wonders of summer. The hollyhock has just began to bloom along with the roses. both are truly wonders of summer. I caught the above blacksnake napping in the sun several days ago. He decided to flee under the house but I managed to get a photo. The crusty old snapping turtle was crossing the road and fearing it might be run over, I hurried it along, although he did not fully mind his manners and tried repeatedly to bite me. I left it  in the grass and as soon as I was out of sight he hurried up the bank, heading for an old pond over the hill.  Good morning on this beauiful but stormy morning. Fathers Day marks this day and many will honor their fathers, grandfathers and great grand fathers. I am blessed with all three titles.  The gun contrroversy has left its mark with many wanting to severely restrict gun to all citizens. I fear it is only a ploy to weaken our right to bear arms and I do not agree. Humans have been killing one another since the begining of time wtih whatever weapon that is current. The bow and arrow is capable of killing many people and was once used to do just that. A hundred men in single file formation  can and have brought down as many men filling the sky with a rain of terror. Knives spears, and broad axes have been responsable for the death of many men, women and children.  Members of family have and will continue to to falll victim to a family member. Friends kill friends and  ofcourse there are those who for no apprent reason kill. Take away all guns and people will still die by the hands of another person. All law abiding people in this country have the right to bear arms and to take away their arms is a terrible mistake. If we would only enforce the writtn law, there would be less of these dreadful murders. My guns are not for killing, but for pleasure such as target shooting,competition and collecting. Hunting is an accepted pastime and most are responsable people, a heritage that has made this country a great and free nation. Of course we can as private cotizens live without guns, but not as free men. My opinion. Adios.

Fragile spring with a hardy spirit

My painting of the Frank and Sadie Dugan Home



Old man winter and I mean old ,is still a tough fellow even if he is on one leg.  Spring however is just an an  infant at least in these parts. Still it has an enduring soul that will prevail.and bring to the land a beauty that is very difficult to describe. Bright yellows have arrived as well as many shades of purple with many more shades of color to  complete Spring's lovely dress. I have finished another painting after many weeks of delay. I have posted the painting, titled Frank and Sadie Dugan Home. They have long since passed on, but the old home place still remains on the hillside overlooking the Niangua River. The house is a special place with memories that have lasted a lifetime.Wouldn't it be a sad and barren world without memories. Adios.

A death on M M highwy

The owl lay to the left of the yellw line near the curve

No one wants to slow down on this winding road

A sad sight to behold

Several days ago while Heidi and I were walking along the road we came upon an owl lying near the center line. It was dead. There were no marks to suggest it had been shot or run over by a vehicle. I must assume it had tried to take flight and was hit by a fast moving car or truck. The poor creature was beautiful even in death. I know little about owls and can't say for certain what species of an owl it was. I picked it up and carried it to some tall grass along a fence line and laid it down. A fitting place for a once wonderful creature of the sky.

Just beyond Heaven's gate

Entering the cedar glade

A most beautiful and wild place to be

A couple of mornings ago I awakened to see a beautiful snowy landscape and so with heidie in tow I headed for Heaven's gate. Before me lay a most remarkable scene along the trail winding through the cedars heavily laden with snow. I saw many deer and rabbit tracks along with coyote tracks. It is always quite along that part of the cedar forest, but that morning was unusualy quite and awesome to say the least. two hours later most of the snow was gone, melted under the warm sun. Adios

Wandering thoughts

Dear Brother

Tomorrow they will take you away in a long black hearse.

A somber line of mourners will gather to follow you home to your resting place.

Your reckless life has brought you down to lay forever still.

All that is left is to take you to that lonely hill.

Oh I know, for a time your friends will drink to you, but alas that will end.

Dear Brother, you will remain beneath that hill to wait for eternity to begin.

I will come now and then to lay a flower at your head and recall the times of our youth and smile.

Goodbye dear Brother.

The Road Home

It is a trace where I’ve seen the dawn glowing faintly many times on the horizon, a promise of yet another day.

Where intimate memories linger along the way

It is a trace where Butterfly flowers often gather along a rusty barbwire fence in the month of May.

 A winding road, where a light beckons from a window and time to hurry

It is a trace forever familiar, beckoning from where ever you may be.

Adios

Look closely. Boo!

A fine day for ghost stories



The Hauntings 

By Ronnie Powell

Highway K quietly strays away from State Road 64 south four miles to a small village, where it unexpectedly enters the settlement, then crosses the Niangua River a mile or so on. It turns westward between Four Mile Creek and the river into hills laden with forests and deep hollows and emerges at last into Highway 32. In late spring and summer, Black Eyed Susan and Queen Anne’s Lace crowd the roadside, dreamily nodding to those who pass, and like dream catchers, spider webs glisten between strands of rusty barbed wire fence. Only a small road sign, obscured somewhat by cedar boughs marks the north boundary of the village, allowing just seconds to glimpse the community as one passes through.

The road rushes between two old store buildings, fronted by the Moon Valley Road and Highway M. The smallest building is vacant, its weathered front faded, draped with vine and shadowed by the canopy of a huge elm tree. Across the road to the East stands another general store, a large, stately structure with a high false front where faded letters proclaim its beginning in 1921.

This spacious old store has changed little in its 75 years; but its owners have changed many times. A short distance behind the store is an old tomato canning factory, a relic of the depression era. A rusty tin roof, loose in many places covers most of the weary structure. It is a lonely building, windowless and holds many secrets within its perpetual darkness. A post office and another small store are also located approximately fifty feet east of Highway K. Seven dwellings and a community building completes the cross roads settlement. Most people who pass through the village would never guess what bizarre occurrences have plagued the community and surrounding area over the years. Much of it has become legend, passed down over several generations often reluctantly – by descendants of those who have claimed they have experienced the frightful happenings. Some people scoff at the idea that supernatural entities often come at night to haunt the innocent. Others are skeptical, but some residents are uneasy and uncertain of their convictions. 

It has been speculated that desecrated graves of the Osage Indians, numerous in and around the unique village, are perhaps in part the reason for the majority of the mysterious happenings. Like other native tribes, the Osage Indians of the Niangua River Basin had sacred rituals, ceremonies and customs which demonstrated their sincere belief in a supreme being, a hereafter and also the presence of evil spirits. As exiles from their ancestral lands, the Osage people were eventually forbidden to return to the burial sites to pay homage as their custom demanded. The burial of their dead has been defiled countless times over time and skeletal remains  are often unearthed in plowed fields, hog yards and cattle lots.

It is not just the Osage who believe the spot where a person is laid to rest never forgets and the person in some ways is still there and can actually partake of a living being’s spirit and breath.

A mile or so south of the village there once stood a house besieged by unexplained events in and around it. Rocks were said to fall suddenly from the ceiling or from the trees outside. Many claimed to have witnessed the phenomenon. The owner of the house disappeared without a trace and it was believed his wife and her lover killed him and hid his body in a cave on the Niangua River.

In a house at the center of the community, across from the largest general store, a young boy was badly frightened by a loud wailing in a second story room. His parents told him it was only his imagination. The boy’s father learned that an old man had passed away in the room several years before, after suffering dreadfully from a mysterious illness. A few years later the father himself while standing on the back porch one night felt a heavy hand come to rest on his shoulder.  When he turned to see who it was, he found no one there.

In 1994 after a local woman’s untimely death, her ghostlike image appeared briefly in the above house in question. She was the picture of youth again, clear of skin with flowing raven hair to her hips and she wore a long orange dress.

The old canning factory has not being spared in the haunting of the village, for there have been claims of frightful screams and loud pounding from its shadowy interior. A man repairing a nearby fence decided to take a look inside the building. A door that had long since given up its hinges stood partly ajar near the end of the building. He carefully picked it up and placed it against a tree. Inside the only light shone through the cracks in the walls eerily distorted by the dust. Littering the floor were empty tomato crates and brown glass jugs. Dust lay heavy over all the debris, but no tracks of animals or humans was noted anywhere on the floor.

Above him the explorer could see a loft, half the width of the building and at one end a ladder ascended to the darkness above.  Still at ease and curious, he started up, but stopped abruptly when he heard what he said sounded like shuffling feet overhead.

“The noise sounded, “The said man, “as if someone was trying to creep toward the edge of the loft.” Not one to frighten easily, he scrambled up the ladder and peered around, expecting to confront somebody or some creature.

“The light was poor, the man continued, “but I could see the entire length and breadth of the loft and nothing was there, not even a track to mar the dust on the floor. I guess I lost it then,” he laughed, “for I flung myself down the ladder and ran for the doorway. But when I got there, I found the door had been placed over the opening. I tell you one thing for sure; I didn’t waste anytime busting though to the outside. And I’ve never been back since.

One Sunday morning two people observed a small tin bucket hanging on a peg in the front display room of one other store building, banging violently against the wall. It continued its erratic movement for nearly five minutes. Several times heavy footsteps have been heard in the attic above this store, along with the scraping sounds of something being moved. An aged woman living in a house next door to this store reported she was visited by small children, unfamiliar to her in the close knit community where everyone knew everyone. The children never uttered a word, but ran about pilfering her belongings. One night, she said she saw a group of men killing another on the front lawn and for many nights afterwards she saw them hiding behind trees watching the house. Most people considered her demented.

In the spring of 1992, another woman of senior years was sitting in a chair on her front lawn, directly behind the post office drinking a cup of coffee. She said a blue bird began singing in a tree above her. Delighted by the sweet sound she listened, but said, “At first the singing was that of a bird, but then there were words. It was a sad song of a lost love and I wept.”

A stranger wandered into town one morning in the spring of 1992, weary and haggard from a chilly night lost in the woods. He claimed to have no idea of where he was and wanted only to return home to Springfield. He said he had spent the night huddled beneath a huge oak tree where demons leaped from the tree and danced around him. “They taunted me,” he said, “and they stank like no other creature I have ever known.”

When I asked him if he had been drinking, the young man looked me straight in the eyes and replied, “No sir. I am a Christian. You must believe me. May God have mercy on all of you, for those creatures are everywhere.”

Another stranger passing through Windyville in late summer of 1993, said the town was disturbingly full of spirits. When asked how he knew, he said, “There is an unearthly coldness here and I can feel them.

A child walking with a parent along the south road that leads out of the village suddenly burst into a fit of tears and pointed at a vacant house near the side of the road and cried. “There are ghosts in there.” The house the little girl had so tearfully referred to has suffered the most. Occurrences there have struck terror in many of its occupants and sent them fleeing. Foot steps on the stairs in the middle of the night that finally enters a bedroom to reveal the ghost of a man who once resided in the house. Spiders by thousands suddenly invaded the house, only to disappear and be replaced by an equal number of cockroaches. Strange pale faces appeared at the windows and footsteps hurrying away leaving no tracks. The ghost of the man who once lived in the house has also been reported seen in front of one of the stores in broad daylight, entering a closed window.

For awhile after the above house in question was vacated and often in the evening about dusk a curtain would flutter part way open in a second story window. It has also been reported that an unearthly coldness often settles in around the house in late evening and would chill the bones of anyone who ventured too close. Once a stench emitted from the old structure and neighbors likened it to rotting flesh and the same scent was said to come-from the grave of the man who had once lived in the house.

In the spring of 1994, all the birds in a portion of the village disappeared and did not return until the autumn of the same year. Not even a sparrow could be seen, yet a few hundred feet outside the affected area birds flourished.

 Sometime in the year of 1934, two young women walking along a road near the Lone Rock Cemetery, a couple of miles  from the village reported a cold burst of wind swept out of the graveyard, scattering leaves and other debris across the road where they stood. Seconds later a horse and rider rose up from the cemetery to approximately fifty above the women and hovered there motionless for a few seconds. The rider raised an arm and appeared to be shouting. As quickly as it had appeared, the specter vanished. Sightings of this horse and rider had been claimed for several years prior to that of the young women. No sightings have been reported since.

As I promised, I have not identified the village location or anyone who revealed to me their stories of ghosts, spirits or otherwise unexplainable events in and around the community. This is not a unique phenomenon for there is countless other location, past and present where such events have taken place. Many though scoff and say, “There is no truth in it all.” But there are also those who do believe. I cannot honestly say I believe in ghosts or sprits, however, I will admit there have been and are many seemingly unexplainable paranormal events during the many centuries of man’s existence on Earth.  Most important to me at least, I love to write ghosts stories and they should not me taken literally. In others words my ghosts stories are as far as I am concerned fiction. Adios 

Tried and True

Both items,the old Enfield revolver and knife are my companions tried and true.

The Stetson hat I am wearing dates back to the 1890s, a fitting cover for an old man's head, tried and true. Many years ago when I was a young lad, my two brothers and I were discussing how long each of us would live. They, my two brothers decided I would be the first to go. They gave several reasons how I would die, one being thrown from a horse or drug off into the woods by a stray dog.They of course were wrong and sadly they are no longer here. There is quite a rumbling these days over guns. Much of it is a way to address the last mass shooting. I have owned guns most of life and enjoy shooting them. I don't hunt anymore, I don't need to,and so targets are used. My reason for owning guns first of all I have the right and do not fear a backround check on my behavior. Most important at least to me is to enforce the laws and keep or try to keep guns out of the hands of people who are not legal. Take the guns away from people like that and protect law-abidding citizens. Guns are not evil, nor are knives, clubs bow and arrows etc. If not for guns in part, we would not be free today. The law is our most important tool to use to insure honest folks they will hold on to the right to bear arms. these laws should not be questioned for they are tried and true. Adios

Heaven's Gate and Beyond

Heaven's Gate

The Journey begins

One of many deep depressions from lead mining

A beautiful view deep within the glade

A small meadow where wild turkey and deer can be observed The access to my blog chaged for some reason and I have been unable to post anything on it. I really don't know how but I am back. I do wish they wouldn't keep changing things.Winter again blew in for a few days with ice, snow and a bitter cold wind. I don't mind it too much, but I am always concerned about the wild critters out there trying to survive. I believe I have mentioned sometime back of a cedar forest that is situated west of my home. It lies unbroken for about two miles to Indian Creek. It is an expanse of beauty that cannot be accuratly discribed. Several days ago I decided to open up a place near K highway so Heidie and I could walk along an old road that wanders through it. I trimmed a tree or two along the road to make it more accessible and after several hours I completed the task and wow. Heidie and I now have our own personal road. I don't care for walking along the highway for most people will not slow down for anything.The road and surounding are is quite, where wild turkey and deer can often be observed. Heidie loves to track them, no further out than her leash of course. Deep depression can still be seen along the way on both sides of the road where a hundred years ago lead mining took place. Most of the depression have trees growing in them at the present. Large grey stones are scattered along each side of the road, perfect places to stop and enjoy a cup of coffee.Cedars by nature are quite, but can be heard whispering in the wind, perhaps revealing old secrets. In my opinion one should never speak aloud in respect to the multiude of cedars along the way. This place as far as I am concerned is a tresure and great care should be taken not to change one aspect of it. Adios.

Then and now

Then, 1959

And now 2012

The revolver I began with in 1959

This Colt 44 served me well for many years

Sunset over Windyville

A beautiful sunset in the above photo a few evenings ago over Windyville. Then and now is of me with an old revolver that has withstood the many years in between. I bought the British Enfield  in 1957, it was thirty years old at that time, but sadly in 1962 hard times forced me to sell it. Fifty two years later I bought it back, a most prized possession.  During those years from 1957 I began fast drawing against anyone who challanged me.When I lost the Enfield I continued on with another pistol, a Colt replica 44 precussion revolver. When at last many, many years later I was defeated after outdrawing twenty six men and one woman.  A man, the last to challenge me was the fastest. I knew it was bound to happen.Adios

Country Roads are a link to the past

An Osage dwelling that once could be seen along an Ozark trail

An old country road to McKee Ridge

The colors of Autumn along a country road

Acountry road that will take you to Windyville

Prehistory artifact found along an old country road

It seems to me that country road are more personal this time of the year. The colors of Autumn mark a new begining at the cost of losing summer.

Country Roads are links to the past.

The birth of super highways across the U.S. undoubtedly began along the narrow leaf strewn traces of the first human inhabitants long before the arrival of the Europeans. Many of these trails can be traced back to the obscurity of prehistory and perhaps if one could discern their faded and often marred existence would lead to the origin of the first Americans. It is evident to me at least that many of these ancient trails were migration routes used by animals that have long since become extinct. Many of these trails offered the first explorers passage of least resistance across a wilderness with unimaginable beauty, dangers, wealth and discoveries. Many of these traces were so narrow they afforded little room to maneuver whether on foot or horseback, but later after the arrival of the Europeans they were widened with broad axes and so began the super highways and the scarring of the land  that even at the present day continues. No part of America was spared along these once narrow traces that scaled the highest mountains, or snaked across the most formidable deserts. They were lifelines for the Indians and were defended with a vengeance, resulting in death and hardship to both the natives and invaders, as is evident by the many unmarked graves and artifact that lies hidden in the brush.

The evolution of many of the old trails ultimately linked a new nation together, brutally destroying other nations, ripping apart landscapes of great beauty. Many of the old traces were abandoned or were lost or were simply reclaimed by the land. Country roads of the early years of this country often led men to battle and later whether in defeat or victory they returned along worn torn familiar roads to set about building back that which they destroyed. Country roads united a nation, but they cut through the hearts of a people who once blazed the way.

Yet there remain many picturesque country roads in the vast rural areas of our land. Unlike the impatient highways that flow maddeningly across our land, most country roads of today offer those who travel them quite memories, tree shrouded passage to the crest of a hill where the sunset lingers beneath clouds aflame with its waning light, the fragrance of new mown hay, the song of a mourning dove or a fleeting glimpse of a wily coyote disappearing into a stand of buck brush.  Memories abound along these roads where once you shared the moonlight with the love of your life. Country roads meander past old cemeteries of both white settlers and Indians or forgotten homesteads and sagging one room school houses where leaning out houses can be seen peeking out from plum thickets or ivy vines. Country roads are a shared heritage that should not be forgotten. Adios.

A Point of View

A Path through a wondrous Creation 

As the movement of man through the ages occurred they began casting aside many of the gods along the way. Kingdoms were built and destroyed again and again in rejection of particular gods. After many years of unimaginable strife there appeared an ethnic group of great conviction, so much so they were forced into isolation for proclaiming the existence of an unseen God, the only true God, the creator of the heavens and Earth. These people wandered without homeland and often were persecuted to the brink of extinction.

Incredibly something changed the mind set of many humans and within a relatively short time numerous people became convinced that there was one God and man’s soul was eternal. The results established the beginning of fundamental values; however blood sacrifice still remained a prevailing aspect and then ended, (perhaps) with the crucifixion of Jesus. The written word of Jesus came into being and thus along with the Old Testament, changed forever the hierarchy of controlled region.

There is today a danger to those of faith and the indestructible staff of conviction must remain grasped tightly in hand. The young are the most susceptible for change is often minute, but in long term can influence or alter fundamental values.

At present the bookshelves in scores of Christian book stores and many others display numerous translations of the Old and New Testaments and slowly but surely revising these old books of the ages.

Dick and Jane is a wonderful book to read as is the King James Bible, but to reduce the scriptures to a children’s vestige will in time place it  on a dusty shelf of a museum for lack of intelligence and most important conviction to understand the true, unchangeable meaning of the written word of God.  Adios

Indian Creek Smokey- A Black and Tan Blood Hound. An old friend from long ago.

    

Good humor is of course is instilled in humans by our creator

And I believe that God also shares this trait and so with this in mind I present the story of the Noble Black and Tan Hounds.

The Sixth Day

It is said in the Good Book that God created the heavens, the Earth, the creatures of the land and finally created man in his own image. But I have often wondered which animal he created first and so I reckon after much thought on the matter, God decided between the horse and dog. I believe the dog won out, but then he faced another dilemma, which breed to create first? Was it the poodle? I think not, perhaps he considered the Rat Terrier, but failed to act and put off this project for awhile and completed every thing else including man.

The sixth day must have been a long one as he pondered over the small mound of dirt at his feet. The Collie dog came to mind and was a likely candidate, for the love and devotion was deeply inherent in this beautiful animal and truly an inspiration of God. But in the end the Collie came in a close second. God smiled at last and then gently touched the mound of dirt and watched as the first long eared, bony framed, gentle eyed Black and Tan raised its magnificent head and bawled. God liked the hound so much he quickly created a mate for the first one. It took only a few seconds to realize the hounds were without purpose and sent them running into the woods to trail the opossums, squirrels, bobcats and all the other wild critters that Black and Tans love to trail.

God was so pleased with the hounds he wanted to immediately share them with others and so he instilled in Adam the desire to be with the hounds.

God was pleased and fixed up an old shack in the center of a beautiful track of land for Adam and Eve and called it Eden. This did not set well with Eve, for she didn’t particularly care for the hounds, but was kind to them and agreed to let them sleep on the front porch of the shack.

Hunting was rather limited in Eden and it wasn’t long until the hounds were straying into the adjoining countryside. Of course Adam went with the hounds and again this did not set well with Eve.

Eve asked God what she could do to make Adam stay at home more, especially in the evenings. He smiled and said to her not to worry for Adam was a responsible man and eventually he would straighten out.

God cautioned Eve about trying to discourage Adam from running with the hounds and forbade her from tempting Adam with freshly baked apple pies.

Eve was determined to discourage Adam from spending so much with the hounds. One day while alone in the shack and with the faint bawl of the hounds ringing in her ears she proceeded to bake an apple pie. Along about sunrise Adam and the hounds returned. They were noticeable weary from the long night of hunting and in need of food and rest. Adam had become a true hound dog man and before he entered the shack he removed all the ticks from the dogs fed them a generous helping of pork rinds and turnip greens and bedded them down on the front porch.

Adam went into the shack, his overalls caked with river mud and smelling very much like the hounds.  Eve smiled with a devilish gleam in her eyes and sat before him a warm apple pie. She cut a huge portion of it and handed it to him and watched as he hungrily devoured the forbidden fruit.

 It is only fair to note that Adam wasn’t as innocent as he appeared to be, for he knew Gad did not want him indulging in apple pie. He didn’t know why but was quite aware of the rule. Like all good hound dog men after a night’s hunt he never turned down fried chicken, mashed potatoes and red eye gravy and especially Eve’s freshly baked apple pie.

After gorging himself on the meal, Adam reluctantly agreed to limit the hunts with the hounds to three nights a week, if Eve would continue baking the pies. Pleased, Eve agreed. They promised not to tell God.

But as is well known, God knows all and a few days later he sent Adam and Eve packing along with the hounds.

God informed Adam he would now have to work for a living. Adam was devastated, for he knew this would take him away from time with the hounds.

God informed Eve she would now bear Adam’s children and ironically encouraged her to continue baking apple pies. The rest of story is history, except for one little known fact. Adam and Eve made their way to Arkansas by way of the Red River, and then headed north to the Niangua River Basin where they settled. Adam split rails for a living, but on Saturday nights he always went hunting with the Black and Tan Hounds. Adios

It is a wonderful morning, a prelude to autumn. I am looking forward to this aspect of the year and to the winter or at least the first of it. The follwing story, Lady and the outlaw is fiction a product of my imagination. Lady is the most important part of it. She lived here in Windyville until her passing, a beautiful and gentle mare. The picture of her was created by my daughter Tammy. So if you are inclined to read the story I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. There may be errors for I did not take a lot of time editing it. The next post will contaian the story of the Black and Tan Hound.

A pencil drawing of Lady

Lady and the Outlaw

The Pitts Cabin located in a small valley on the north bank of the Niangua River sat nestled on a high knoll overlooking the river. A granary, chicken house and barn rested on a lower slope a fair distance down from the cabin. A split rail fence enclosed the barn where Lady, a four year old gated mare stood sleepily switching flies beneath the drooping boughs of huge Elm tree. Cattle grazed below in an adjoining pasture along with two plow horses. An old rooster of considerable size stood in the doorway of the chicken house impatiently clucking, calling in two stray hens. Night, rapidly approaching brought forth the first of many choruses of wandering coyotes. The sound reverberated against the shadowed hills and bluffs along the Missouri Ozarks Niangua River.

Nine year old Emily, the youngest of eight children of Frank and Emma Pitts waited outside the two story log house until the last chicken entered their house and then ran down the hill and closed the door. Emily stopped at the corral with a chunk of molasses bread in hand and held it out to Lady.

“Pa says I can ride you down to the river and back in the morning.,” she said. I still can’t believe he gave you to me for my birthday. I love you Lady and have to go in now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Night mist rising from the Niangua cooled the midnight air. A scent laden breeze stirring through the Elm brought forth a fluttering of birds roosting deep in the boughs of the old tree.

Whinnying softly; Lady pranced to the fence, the sleek body taunt as she searched the night air for tan elusive scent that troubled her. The scent was strong, coming from somewhere along the river. Again she whinnied, pawing the ground and began nodding. Suddenly the mare whirled and retreated under the tree and stood waiting. The scent of blood was now in the air.

A shadow figure appeared at the edge of a brush thicket not far from the corral and then began moving stealthily up the hill toward the corral. A shrill nicker burst from the mare and she moved deeper into the darkness around the tree. She watched silently the lone figure of a man duck below a top rail into the corral. 

The man removed a bridle from a fence post near the gate, turned and walked slowly toward Lady. “Easy girl, he whispered. “It’s been a long day for me and I haven’t the strength to chase you around.”

The stranger reeked of blood, but the reassuring words of the man eased somewhat the fear in Lady and she stood quietly, warily observing the intruder. The man expertly tossed the bridle reins over Lady’s neck and just as quickly the bridle was slipped over her head. It was too late for Lady to flee.

The blood soaked left arm of the stranger hung useless at his side and the face of the man was pale and drawn and glistened with sweat. Flinching, the man moved toward the gate with reluctant Lady in tow.  He stopped at the corral gate where a saddle and blanket sat astride the top rail of the fence. Mumbling incoherently he pulled the blanket down and laid it across the mare’s back and then hoisted the saddle across her back. The effort brought him to his knees and he sat for a moment blinded by the pain. Slowly he stood and with feeble strength pulled the cinch as tight as he could.  With sheer will power he placed a foot in a stirrup and arduously swung astride Lady and slumped forward clinging to her mane. Agonizing seconds passed until he nudged the mare gently with a spur and she moved toward the gate.

Fear of the law and a hangman’s noose prevailed and he found strength to pull up the latch and the gate swung wide. Lady obediently moved outside the corral and with no further prodding of the spur she walked slowly past the dark window of the cabin and beyond into the gloom of the forest. The steady beat of her hooves faded into the night.

Dawn found Lady and the outlaw at the western edge of a timbered ridge overlooking the Lebanon, Fort Scott road. Twenty miles now lay behind the pair and soon they were moving quickly along the well traveled trace toward the Kansas border and perhaps freedom for the outlaw. Fear clung like sweat to his tortured body, for somewhere ahead the law might be waiting and would not hesitate to bring him in dead.

The wounded arm was now bound to the outlaw’s gun belt and lay useless across one leg. The gaunt weathered face of the outlaw bore the mark of extreme fatigue but his eyes were alert and carefully scanned the trail ahead. The reins hung from Lady’s neck, with his hand near the Colt forty five. He watched each rider they met with eyes shadowed under the wide brim of his hat.

When at last many miles lay back along the road, the outlaw took stock of Lady and gently patted her neck. “I hope you don’t mind ol gal, but we still got a long way to go before you can rest,” he said. “I robbed a bank in Lone Rock and a posse bent on taking me dead or alive durn near got me. They killed my horse. Blood thirsty they were, but dang I got away with two thousand dollars. That’s enough to buy me a spread and some cattle and I reckon you’ll be a part of it.”

At day break the next morning Lady and the outlaw cautiously entered the front street of Hanley, Missouri. Slumped forward, with the brim of his hat pulled down, the outlaw prodded Lady past a large mercantile store, saloon, barbershop and a small two story hotel. Further on they came to a weather beaten livery stable.

“Can I help you’ll, young feller?” a man called out from a front door of the stable. “You don’t look so good.”

“I got hurt yesterday,” the outlaw replied. “I need to board the mare for a couple of hours, while I see a doctor. “Is there one in town?”

“Yep, Doc Gann,” the man answered. “He’s got an office in a room of the hotel yonder. “I’ll see to your mare.”

“Give her a good brushing and a feed of oats and hay if you would,” the outlaw said and slowly dismounted. “Later tie her to that tee over there. What do I owe you?”

“Awe, two bits will do.”

Lady was lead into a stall and the saddle, blanket and bridle gentle removed. She stood quietly as the man groomed her. When finished the man poured her a generous helping of oats and place hay in the trough. The man stood quietly at her side and watched her hungrily eat the fare.

 “I reckon there is more to your master’s injury than meets the eye,” the man said and turned to leave. “I have a feeling you don’t belong to him, but it ain’t none of my business. Do the best you can girl.”

Much later when afternoon shadows lay across the street near the old oak tree where Lady stood beneath its shade; the dappled sunlight catching the sheen of her coat. She gazed about uneasily, watching a man stagger from the saloon, haphazardly making his way toward her, cursing and yelling at nothing in particular. When it appeared he was intent on approaching her he stumbled and fell face down. Too drunk to stand he turned over and soon lay unconscious in the dust of the street.

Lady moved closer to the tree and snorted disapprovingly, patiently waiting for the return of the outlaw.

Nearing sundown the outlaw slowly made his way along the street toward Lady. Lady welcomed him with a shrill nicker pulling at the halter rope. The outlaw smiled and hurried to Lady’s side. He reeked of whiskey and appeared to be free of pain. His left arm was now heavily bandaged and secured to his gun belt.

“We got to be on our way,” he said. “It’s still a long way to Kansas.”

The following eight day were especially demanding for Lady, as they journeyed across the vast and seemingly continuous plain. The perpetual wind, dust, burning sun and sparse water bore heavily on both man and horse. Large herds of Buffalo could be seen in the distance, their scent alien to Lady. The scent of horses frequently attracted Lady, mingled with the strange smell of humans clothed in raw hide clothing. Many times during the passing of the other humans, the outlaw sought cover in the tall grass, pulling Lady to her knees, often hiding there for hours.

If not for yet another scent born on the wind, Lady would not have responded so quickly to spur and rein, for an instinctive urgency kept her moving, stirring in her a persistent restlessness. Often at night while standing hobbled, with head raised high, she searched the fleeting wind for a subtle fragrance that taunted the very essence of her being. She listened to the mysterious, elusive drumming of hooves far beyond the prairie. The high current of the wind teased her with a substance of choice more profound than she had ever known before.  Often she would call out, to stumble against the hobble and then scolded by the outlaw. The further she traveled across the unbroken land the more intense the sensation became of strength and freedom like nothing she had never known before. It awaited her somewhere ahead.

Near the twentieth day of the journey as they neared the end of the prairie, an ominous appearing thunderhead met the pair near a high rise of stone and gullies. Rumbling from with in, flashing lightning, the fast approaching storm prompted the outlaw to find a safe cover from the storm. Dust devils skipped back and forth across the trail and sent a small herd of deer fleeing in all directions.

With little choice the outlaw laid the spurs to Lady up a steep slope in among the rocks. The wind blowing at gale force drove the pair deeper into the rock outcrop and down into a ravine where a bluff stood draped in vine. Dismounting, the outlaw led Lady beneath an overhang as large chunks of wood and other debris tumbled from the sky. The tail of a twister danced past the overhang and slowly ascended into the black sky. Exhausted by the day’s ride, the outlaw sat down and held a tight rein on the mare.

“The way you’ve been acting the last several days, I’m afraid to trust you,” the outlaw said to Lady. “I’cain’t imagine what has got into you. What is it that you see or hear out there?”

The storm past and Lady and the outlaw crossed a rapid moving stream then up a steep hill onto a broad muddy trace that would take them roughly westward. Several minutes later a building came into view and then another and ahead of the travelers a town came into view along a wide deeply rutted street. Instinctively the outlaw loosened the Colt in its holster.

The street was crowded with horses, wagons and people and no one appeared to take notice of Lady and the outlaw.  But that ended abruptly when a tall man wearing a fancy black leather vest stepped out on the street. The man was armed with a pearl handled pistol stuck in the waste band of his trousers. A large nickel plated Marshal’s badge hung from the vest and glinted wickedly in the bright sunlight.

“Luke Shannon,” the man called out.

“Are you hollering at me?” The outlaw asked, pulling Lady to a halt.

“I reckon I am Luke,” the Lawman answered. “I got a wanted poster on you. Step down off the mare real easy.”

“What am I wanted for?”

“Bank robbery in Missouri,” the lawman answered.

”You got the wrong man Marshal; I ain’t never been in Missouri.”

“Get down off the mare boy. I ain’t gonna tell you again.”

Oblivious to the gathering crowd of people along the street,” the Outlaw ignored the warning and remained in the saddle staring down at the marshal. His right hand lay across his right thigh near the holstered Colt and then he drew the pistol with the speed of lightning.  The slug from the Colt struck the Marshal in the chest.

The Marshal died instantly and fell backwards to the ground.

A bearded man wearing a yellow poncho moved to the edge of the boardwalk and brought up a single shot fifty caliber rifle and fired. The bullet hit Lady creasing a flank and she screamed and fell to her knees, only to be brutally brought back up by the outlaws spurs. Lady whirled and headed back down the street, running as fast as she could.

The bearded man fired the rifle once again, hitting the outlaw in the back, nearly unseating him.  He grasped Lady’s mane and hung on swaying precariously in the saddle. 

Driven by terror of the man and his rifle, Lady ran along the street, the reins torn and ragged dangling beneath her head. At the edge of the town she headed north westward over a high plain, beyond the settlement. The man called Luke and outlaw was no longer relevant.

Exhaustion finally brought Lady to a halt at the edge of a swollen creek and she stood with head down gasping for air. Lacking the strength to dismount, the outlaw fell to the ground and rolled over on his back. He drew from his belt a sheath knife and slowly reached up and cut the girth. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t and instead reached up and grasped the tattered reins, groaning piteously, completely blind now he pulled Lady’s head down and removed the bridle. He sank back on the ground, near death.

“I’m sorry girl,” he whispered hoarsely, “go now get out of here and find what you have been looking for out there in this God forsaken land.”

Sensing the presence of death in the man lying on the ground, Lady stepped away, dislodging the saddle and blanket and moved closer to the stream and without hesitation plunged into the swift current. Long powerful stokes took her quickly to the opposite side. She stood for a time searching the wind, with ears forward listening nodding as if anticipating what lay beyond.

Drawn again westward, Lady quickened her pace, stepping higher, faster, breaking into a gallop and then stretched out into a dead run. The motion was effortless of body and mind. A victorious mane and tail flowed in the wind. Ahead on the horizon she could perceive a bluish haze, a shimmering line so distant only a courageous spirit could perceive it. Further on in the distant mountains, images of her own kind beckoned her and among them stood one of strength that bore no mark of man, the essence of freedom and rebirth.

Adios