the 37th man
I will only tell you a little of the truth dear reader, because that is all you want, all you can handle
It was known as the House of Justice or simply the Justice House. Built in the 1840’s primarily of rock and stone with wood accents, the raw materials harvested off the property and nearby quarries. It had a portico and columns with a full wrap around porch, basement, two stories, and an attic. Additional structures were added over time to adorn the 500 acres it originally sat on with gardens and a park. An eight acre lake with a dock and gazebo provided a sanctuary from the heat and a place of repose during those lazy hazy crazy days of summer.
Close by across the Potomac was the ‘Compound’ as my great, great, great, grandfather called it. This was his house and now my home. No one else in the family wanted to uproot and move here, though a trust paid the taxes and provided for repairs and improvements. Nevertheless the maintenance of the house and grounds was substantial. I was young, unattached, able to relocate with work and actually excited for the experience and the challenge. I was eager to absorb all the house had to teach. Grandfather had stipulated in his will that the house was to remain in the family at least until its great reveal. It had undergone multiple renovations and additions but the main house was essentially the same. We were hesitant to change the old layout until the mystery grandfather eluded to was solved.
I was able to access a copy of his will and other documents. An inscription was included in the will purposely vague I believed to belie its importance, an esoteric shadow hidden from unbidden wandering eyes. This is what it read……….
when the moon sets in Libra
and harmony is at its peak
the sun will cross the equator
the harvest to complete
day will equal night
the great lamp in the darkness
will guide you with her light
wait in the upper room
until Luna is at her height
So it was that I was up early on September 29th and with a cup, carafe of coffee, flashlight, and marker I stole away and ascended the stairs to the attic. I crossed the room and removed the old mottled curtain covering the attic window looking out assured no trees blocked the view that was seen 170 years ago. Everything was bright and serene as it approached the predawn and 5:58 AM when the moon would be at its height. Feeling confident I had accurately interpreted my Grandfathers simple riddle my heart beat a little faster waiting for the time of disclosure. This was my third attempt, the first two foiled either by the weather or blocked by the trees that were either saplings when this was first written or planted afterwards and too close to the house thereby blocking the light. Tree trimmers cleared the way.
Arriving at this seminal moment a very curious beam of light focused on the wall midway across the room and quickly I carefully marked the spot. In the window glass what appeared at first to be an imperfection was a small attached piece of magnifying glass that intensified the beam pinpointing an exact spot about five feet up on the wall. In thirty seconds the light was gone. Old boards covered the surface and I examined them for any clues. With my pocket knife I carefully scraped the wood exterior only to find the remnant of a carving resembling scales. Hurriedly I returned from the kitchen with a hammer and flathead screwdriver to pry the board away. Inside was a hollow and as I shined my flashlight I reached in to remove a leather bound manuscript wrapped in cloth and in good condition. Carefully opening it the title in Latin read , ‘veritem amare debes odisse malum’. ‘To love the truth you must hate evil’.
Returning to the kitchen I reverently removed the cloth and released the binding before stopping to dry the moisture from my sweaty palms and breathed deep to arrest the racing of my heart. Intuitively I knew I alone was the possessor of a script like the dead sea scrolls that revealed the hidden history of America and things unspoken from antiquity. Long ago our conscious cognition was arrested still suckling the breast, illiterate by manufactured consent. There is a trojan horse of psychic influence that prevents discovery as we robotically recite the same generational litany of our fathers that preceded us. I will now share only a small portion with you in a story form, a linear narrative of events as time is natures way of keeping everything from happening all at once. Although time appears straight you are standing on only a small part of a giant circle. Much must remain undisclosed until the arrival of a predetermined date with destiny.
Grandfather sat on the ‘Supreme Court’ as Chief Justice, an appointment for life, not subject to the whims and political preference of the current selection of actors cast in the role as servants of the people. He was contemptuous of the term ‘supreme’. ‘What balderdash and hypocrisy’ he wrote, ‘an affront to The Almighty’. He was a voracious reader with extraordinary recall, a renowned orator, and the possessor of the knowledge and wisdom that was imperative to adjudicate matters and establish precedence with unwavering allegiance to the Law of God, the Law of the Land.
Meanwhile the Eastern establishments original impersonation of Hollywood with its pomp and circumstance and partisan politics based ostensibly on boundaries and the beliefs of the local constituency was elevated to a new art form with impassioned rhetoric, skilled theatrical delivery, broad cloth, loose coats, mutton chops, and baggy trousers. But oh! its recess and time to dine on succulent beef, buttery bread, sundry sweets and copious amounts of high shelf whiskey as you plan the wit and rhetoric for the afternoon session with bipartisan politicos of the sacred brotherhood, demigods of D.C. and a few impassive observers in attendance in the gallery.
It was the year of our dissension A.D. 1869. In the East the rich and powerful untouched from the atrocities and anguish of the war still salivated over the severing of the South amputating the country midway between the waist and knees.. Sure, you can still live dependent on a wheel chair or possibly crutches and a prosthesis but you will never walk unaided again. Now you control the access to the South’s bountiful natural resources; textiles, cotton, grain, and tobacco among others. Always conjoined with the House of Rothschild and banks of ‘The city of London’ not to be confused with London the city, a one square mile sovereign state not subject to the laws of England and the financial center of the world. From there money flowed for the conquest of the South and earlier the revolutionary war. Money is the source of chains and servitude, the borrower servant to the lender. In war you can fight everything; just not the money. We were never independent from the Dragon’s control and domain situated in England. Only in the fairytale fictional accounts in your history books.
These bellicose, bombastic, bloated bastards continued to reap the spoils as carpetbaggers, innovators and every specie of predator descended on the South emboldened by the presence of Union garrisons enforcing their own rule of law. Engorged with power these gelatinous controllers of industry, commerce, and politics now controlled the raw materials too. Like sharks in a feeding frenzy they ate the forbidden fruit profiting from the carnage and suffering that war always brings. Theirs is an empire built with blood, never their own, vile perpetrators often perceived as heroes. It was never about slavery which is always rooted to economics, but about a contrived crisis of conscious, a useful tool to enflame the passions of humanitarian and religious zealots ignoring the servility in their own back yard. It was always about the burden of excessive tariffs and taxation and the individual and states rights guaranteed by the constitution. But then this country is not a republic or a democracy, at best an oligarchy. The country first founded ceased to exist long ago. The charade continues as long as it profits its controllers. And the masquerade is still played with constitution, congress, and the three branches of a dead tree representing our government and its players doing there part to create this fantasy in the theater of your mind.
In the winter of 1868-69 General Sheridan took command of the Plains Indian campaign. At the Battle of Washita in Oklahoma under the command of Lt. Colonel Armstrong Custer, Cheyenne, Arapaho and Kiowa where settled into their winter camp when the 7th calvary attacked. Many warriors were killed and women and children taken captive. This was preceded by the Battle of Sand Creek in 1864 when Colorado volunteer calvary led by Colonel John Chivington, a mason and Methodist minister attacked non-combatant Cheyenne and Arapaho despite chief Black Kettle suing for peace. Having seen unprecedented savagery and barbarism his men enflamed with the memory of what they had witnessed committed acts of atrocity against over 150 men, women, and children. This attack set back the efforts for peace for over twenty years. Then the slaughter at Little Big Horn in 1876, with over half of the 7th calvary consisting of Europeans some not even speaking English, lured by the attraction of the Western experience all meeting their demise everyone accounted for on the monuments that stand at the site of the battle on a barren Montana country side, strangely spooky, their voices calling out from the ground.
On May 10th, 1869 the symbolic golden spike was driven at Promontory Utah. The Central Pacific and the Union Pacific uniting the continent, not the nation. Soon it was possible to travel from New York to San Francisco in just one week, and on September 6th, 1869 the first transcontinental passengers arrived at the Pacific terminus at Alameda on the east side of San Francisco Bay where they were transferred to a steamer and the short ride across the ocean to ‘the city by the bay’. Twenty one thousand men brought ‘the West into the world, and the world into the West’. In the West where distances are so great, ‘time and space was annihilated’ wrote Jon Muir the famous naturalist, the railroad bringing near and far closer together.
Also in the years 1868 and 1869 Louisa May Alcott’s highly celebrated work ‘Little Women’ was first published, originally in two volumes. Written in the backdrop of a nation still reeling from the devastation and disaster of war it chronicled the March sisters, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy’s passage from childhood to womanhood. Often a visitor to Ralph Waldo Emerson’s house, a nearby neighbor, and influenced by Thoreau and Longfellow she wrote the sequel ‘Little men’ in 1871 at the Orchard House, Concord MA. Previously she wrote ‘Blood and Thunder’ using the pseudonym A.M. Barnard, the darker side of fiction as well as numerous lesser known works, written with either her right or left hand.
And finally it was in the year 1869 that 37 elite warriors known after King David’s ‘mighty men’, heroic champions chronicled in holy writ, that this story is all about. In 1869 there were 37 states with a semblance of civilization on the surface of everyday life with a thin veneer, and behind it a rattler ready to strike. There was law but little justice and out West virtually no law or order at all as the western frontier had little in common with the laws and courts in the East. There the rich man bought and used politicians to corrupt the law and pass legislation and fancy lawyers to twist legal language in order to rob, steal, and kill. The innocent would get more protection from the 37 than any court of law anywhere in the land.
The enemy was always lurking about; within…..the deceitful heart, without…..the untempered head (mind), and all about…..households and the highway, friends coming and going but enemies ever growing. If you will do good and seek justice there are always those who will love you and those who will oppose you. But it is your enemies that are the best indication of your character. Keep them close for they are the first to observe your weaknesses. Often we learn more from our enemies than our friends. Always remember that ‘our greatest foe whom we must chiefly combat is within’. Defeat the enemy within and you won’t fret the enemy without.
In this story I, the thrice removed grandson will refer to grandfather as Judge or the Judge, the 37th man as Gideon which is mentioned 37 times in scripture, and myself the narrator by the first person. .The identity of the 37 as well as the personage’s acting as accessories to this development will forever remain anonymous. The bloodlines of the elites and power brokers in 1869 still exist today and they never forgive, never forget.
At the age of two Gideon was orphaned, his parents and Judge’s younger brother tragically killed. He was readily received into the Judge’s household of four children and they instantly recognized he like Moses was no ordinary child. At an early age his tutelage began and private instruction was provided in all areas of education and physical development. As well he became an excellent horseman and marksman learning early the value of manual labor and the satisfaction of a hard days work. He attended Abingdon Male Academy before entering West Point and graduating after three years. He then travelled to China and spent several years continuing his education and training in the martial arts before being attached to the U S Embassy in 1862. He returned to the United States in 1863 experiencing the horrors of war as an officer in the Union Army. Throughout his years of development into manhood Judge spent quality time in personal instruction helping to shape and mold his character for his destined place of service.
At the onset of the conflict between the states Judge was compelled for political reasons to leave his beloved home in Virginia and take up residence on the other side of the Potomac. Immediately upon the formal cessation of hostilities he returned with his family to his estate in Arlington having left it in very capable hands and renewed former acquaintances such as Robert E. Lee until his death in 1870 at the age of 63 acting as president of Washington University, later renamed posthumously Washington and Lee University situated in Lexington Virginia. He is considered the most iconic and widely respected of all civil war commanders.
Gideon returned home to Arlington for a much needed time of reflection and rest. Wounded from the assault on his senses and sensibilities he retreated to a very private solitary place, his Gethsemane, and a time of prayer and fasting. He wrote, ‘come walk with me in the sacred enclosures floating on the calm waters of a misty isle removed from the contagion of peeping eyes and rumored speculation. Stand stone still in the empty breathing velvety darkness and walk serenely into the fire. Embrace total exposure stripped of all pretense’s, unmasked, laid bare, without any justifications. There, thoughts and memories imprisoned for millennia are released like butterflies in an intricate dance between earth and sky as a thousand thousand stars against a backdrop of darkest dark and a crescent moon cast a pale of white radiance to illuminate the way, a landmark for the trouble man is born into, free from floods and storms harsh winds drought and plague. No need to conquer but learning what makes one feel safe, a grand knowing, pure, far from the imprint of contamination and blood inbred with no memory’.
Continuing he wrote, ‘polluted seed lines prevent entrance into secret places, only a few gaining access. It is a place of light and no darkness existing before the genesis of time. How does man grasp this knowledge? The chambers are sealed and entrance forbidden to all but pre dawns selection. How can you know this depth of truth if you continue to feebly gather straw to mix with mud to make your quota of bricks everyday? It never enters your mind as you clothe yourself with ‘your truth’, perpetuating lies, darkness, and truth corrupted with falsehoods believed to deceive. And yet you remain, the sum of all your histories’.
‘There is fear and confusion of faces as once again the builders take up the gauntlet to rebuild the tower, ascend into heaven, overthrow the king, and usurp the power. The foundations are removed as you search to define right from wrong, weary and worn, your beauty so fleeting. You look in the mirror. You are much too young to be so old. Already wrinkles rob you of your once ephemeral glory’.
At this juncture in time an estimated 500,000 souls travelled by wagon suffering all manner of deprivation, disease and death, the skeletal remains of bones and belongings dotting the landscape, an endless procession all the way to the gates of the promise land. And still they came removing themselves as far away as they could from the cruel servitude and bondage of life under their government. They sought a simple life without masters to oppress them, no yoke of bondage and servitude, no covetous ambition. A place where they would reap the harvest of their honest labors for themselves and their neighbors. A world for the children to explore without war, fighting, and the specter of death, destitutions, hunger, and want. Others traveled by sea challenging such infinite power by riding on its surface in diminutive man made conveyances. And still others rode the rails, horses, stagecoaches, paddlewheels, canoes, ferries, walking and wearing out boots and britches in search of a better life sometimes with only a plow and a pistol, but never escaping the evil that was in the heart of man.
With an average of 2400 to 3500 miles coast to coast, a densely populated south and east and vast plains, deserts, and mountain steeples that characterize the west with the heartland and mid-America in the middle, approximately 3,800,000 sq. miles would soon encompass America’s continental borders. Long before the war ended and deep within the bowels of government with its puppet figure heads, Judge convened with a few absolutely trusted men in secret to create the foundation for the group of 37 and address the indomitable task of bringing justice to this grand land outside of the interference of the hierarchy and hypocrisy of elected government. Within most all governments and organizations public and private there exists a concentric labyrinth of structure and governance unknown to the other stratums of power under the same umbrella and operating with anonymity, impunity, transparency, and plausible deniability.
Financials for the 37 were obtained through off budget sources, pork barrel politics and private resources. 37 is a prime number a combination of 3 and 7, completion and perfection divisible only by itself. Operating in six groups of six, the number of imperfection and fallen man, their number was augmented by the presence of the 37th man making seven. He as Jashobeam is the commander and of the highest rank with six captains. The 37 are chosen, no one volunteers, part of the ancient Phineas priesthood given a covenant of peace and a priesthood forever. Zealous for God he stayed the plague. The very mention of his name causing his enemies to tremble.
‘Those who are fit to fight the Lord’s battles in public are those who have conquered in secret on their home ground where no eyes see but God’s. The man who knows not like David what it is to kill a lion and bear in secret, is not fit to fight in the public arena to contend with Goliath’. The Prince of this world cometh always seeking whom he may devour searching for any weakness he can find in them. When dwelling in safety they do not forget that danger may come, in security the possibility of ruin, in order the possibility of panic and being over run. Ever vigilant and watchful often against an enemy of vastly superior numbers they are protected and preserved. For what a man first seeks in himself is the bond he finds in others, a strong chord that cannot be broken.
Their actual names are never spoken and their identities unwritten in the annals of history, but they are inscribed forever in the archives of Heaven, celebrated by Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Jophiel, Ariel, and all the host of Heaven. Historians and writers of fiction recite hollow rumors and echoes written often enough to be believed often immortalizing the most contemptable and inglorious, stories of mythic proportions circulating still. Though not written in history but sometimes fictionalized in penny dreadfuls and dime novels there has been no accurate accounting of the heroic acts of valor of the 37 until now.
The men were gathered in different parts of the country aware but not known to each other with exception of the six captains and the 37th man. They were given identities alphabetically from A-F and numerically from 1-6, the captain’s with a C. This was not to denigrate their unique individuality but to protect their identity and possible repercussions to their families. A code was written for all communication and if necessary a captain could ask for and receive assistance, sometimes only a telegraph and train away.
It was truly all for one and one for all. Every month a generous endowment was paid into an account known only to them and their benefactor. The account number would be of a personal nature readily remembered and never recorded. It could be drawn upon at any time for personal and family reasons. They however were provided with everything never needing to reduce their holdings. It was hoped that after a tenure of possibly ten years they could comfortably retire. Also they would share equally with any spoils. They could marry but were asked to refrain for a season. To often in intimacy things were revealed that needed to remain unspoken, many a slip between a cup and a lip. And there was the added concern that one’s focus and total attention would be diverted.
Elevated training beyond the military tactics that all the men had already experienced was implemented at various sites secured with local cooperation and away from peeping eyes. Acting with quick strike and hit and run maneuvers they might be outnumbered and outgunned but never outsmarted. Part of their training was with Indians learning lessons of silence, stillness, and stealth, blending to be transparent and the Indians way of silently eliminating their foes. Primarily they were taught guerilla warfare not frontal assaults.
To aid in hand to hand combat Gideon enlisted the help of his Oriental Master K-toe, and his students braving the trip from China and teaching stretching, extension, and how to use every part of their body as a weapon. From the teachings of Sun Tzu, the brilliant Chinese general, strategist, and philosopher they learned: 1) how to subdue the enemy without fighting 2) if you are far appear near 3) in the midst of chaos find opportunity 4) the one who wins makes many calculations 5) put yourself beyond the possibility of defeat 6) know yourself and your enemy to be victorious 7) it is more important to out think your enemy than to out fight him. And from Confucius: 1) when faced with what is right, never leave it undone from lack of courage and resolve 2) real knowledge is to know the extent of ones ignorance 3) wisdom compassion and courage are the three universally recognized moral traits in men.
They had to act as a single entity even knowing each others thoughts. Many a man who was sustained during the war with a vision of farm, family, and fiancé returned to only find crude crosses and mounded graves, cinders on the ground where the house and barn once were found, all sold at auction. Consumed with hate and revenge, his emotions preventing good judgment he ought to have dug another grave before setting out on his journey to avenge. It was called nostalgia or homesickness not PTSD, but a loose cannon could jeopardize the entire unit.
There could be no schism, jealousy, boastful pride, prejudices that prevented them from learning, and disrespect for the chain of command. They had to be absolutely honest and act without hesitation. And to be clear we do not first warn the enemy or delay to shoot a man in the back if that’s the shot we got. These are vile perpetrators, rabid dogs that have to be put down.
The 37 who were chosen knew they were debtors and wounded of soul but they continued growing and going. Ps.37 was read daily and its instruction to: fret not, trust, delight in the Lord, commit their way, rest, wait patiently, cease from the anger of man, depart from evil, and to do good. They trusted in the promise of deliverance from their enemies, and the protection of Ps.91. Their allegiance was to God and his law and the code of conduct of a champion, not to country. It was too late for those sentiments. Theirs was a Besa, a pledge of honor: offering their word as collateral for deepest trust. An oath of loyalty made good by the moral virtue of the bearer.
It was important to establish local connections and gain accurate information. Law dogs such as the Rangers, US Marshalls, and the legendary Lighthorse of the Indian Nations were invaluable. Local sheriff’s were suspect and seldom used unless reliably vetted. Too often they were bought, pockets padded and servant to the rich and powerful, not the people.
In each group there was mutual respect, all thoughts and ideas on the table. Their’s was the noblest of causes to protect and provide for the innocent and to stand shoulder to shoulder with a man and his family who against formidable odds fought to preserve his house and home in a dance with the Devil. It is the persisting age old drama of good versus evil. Question is: who will take the lead? The tears and gratitude of the women and the smiles on the face of the children is the only reward we need, although a home cooked meal and fresh coffee are never turned down.
Often outnumbered and sometimes grossly outnumbered, the Judge surreptitiously solicited the greatest minds in arms and munitions; Colt, Remington, Smith and Wesson and Winchester among others to produce a pistol and rifle that would give the 37 an edge. Out of this brilliant thinktank came the prototype models of semi-automatic weapons with large capacity magazines using metallic cartridges. Originally created exclusively for the 37 as per agreement, they were not publicly marketed until sometime later. Advantage 37.
Also not unlike the fabled knights of the realm wearing chain mail to protect their torso, the widest part of a man and the easiest to target, protection was sought that could be comfortably worn inside their garments. Out of all the fibers available; wool, linen, cotton, and silk, silk was the unanimous choice with the highest tensile strength, which is the resistance of a material to a pulling force, like a bullet, that can break it. Vests were made of interwoven layers of silk, thick, lightweight, and no hindrance to movement and mobility. Similar to the silk under shirt worn by the Mongol armies of Genghis Khan maybe it would not stop every arrow or every bullet but it would certainly limit its penetration and aid in its extraction. As well each group had a man capable of emergency field procedures able to cleanse and close wounds set bones and in most instances keep a man alive.
Napoleon identified seven great captains of history; Alexander, Hannibal, Caesar, Gustavus Adolphus, Turenne, Eugene, and Frederick. They went forth with the face of force to conquer, kill, and subdue men and nations. To them might makes right. And I ask, what separates man from beast? At what point does a man transition to this level of defilement of his nature? At what point is he past redemption when death is not sufficient punishment? Only Hell that awaits offering that. Now an army of only 37 men go forth to overcome and subdue, greater than Rome and all its legions, Alexander and all his armies. Into the face of evil, the lair of the Lion, and the fiery breath of the Dragon they ride to deliver the abused and forsaken of this world.
There will be no mercy for him that showed no mercy. And yes blood will be shed, for without blood the land cannot be cleansed. They are the most mobile and well equipped fighting force in the world. Evil prevails when good men do nothing. And these are good men. Led by the 37th, appearing out of the smoke and mist, forged in the fire, clothed with virtue, his garments unsinged. Together they stood at the crossroads and looked, and followed the ancient path where the good way is. You do not want to mess with them. They are men of Iron.
Into the arena of our foe we rode ready to give the Devil his due. Two groups were dispatched to the South with all its problems of reconstruction and assimilation, two to the Midwest and Texas with Comancheros and Comanches, Copperheads and Jayhawkers Northern sympathizers, and bushwhackers and scalawags Southern sympathizers. It was a time of widespread lawlessness with the likes of the Clanton’s, Dalton’s, James brothers, the Youngers, Sam Bass and Wes Hardin. And in the West with its vast miles of plains and deserts sparse population starvation and dehydration a railroad president said something like this: driving the rails farther we miscalculated their influence. We believed it paralleled the advance of civilization which was rarely the case as lawlessness prevails on the Western frontier. And rather than a civilized influence we created boom towns allowing criminals to rise to greater heights than ever. There is only the rich and powerful and the law of the gun.
It was Spring 1869 and we were ready to roll. Gideon had spent time with each troop of men observing, processing, and evaluating. Captains had been chosen early on, and they were allowed to choose their two lieutenants once the final selection of men had been made, men who knew each other by an alias or nickname only. At this time Gideon made them fully aware of their mission and the necessity of total secrecy and anonymity. For some time intelligence had been gathered and the decision was made which fires to put out first leading in an orderly progression to the next. This was done to maximize our effectiveness bringing help and hope to so many in need. This could change as necessity demanded.
I will let Gideon share the events written in his own hand: ‘The A Unit was situated in the South, the term unit was used as they were to engage hostility as a single mind coordinating their efforts in a seamless orchestration an opus without flaw and hesitation. With one man scouting ahead and one man lingering behind we traveled using the trees for cover when the road was occupied. We were not dressed to draw attention, blending, with the exception of our weapons and dusters. We were headed to the Tennessee Georgia border close to Chattanooga. Union garrisons there were making life Hell for the people, murdering voices of opposition, confiscating their arms, abusing their women, and destroying their crops. They were prisoners on their own property without any representation or defense before the courts’.
‘Screams were heard and without hesitation we rode to the sound. A barefoot young woman with skirts lifted up was running in a field toward the possible protection of dense trees as two boys in blue ran her down with their horses knocking her to the ground. Exhausted and terrified she tried to rise as they laughingly dismounted their horses, hitting her hard. Dazed she attempted to resist as one straddled her spread legs and the other held her arms down. Tearing off her flannel top they began to lift her skirts when two shots as one knocked them airborne off the girl and DOA at the gates of Hell. When we first arrived on this unfolding drama two of the Units finest marksman had immediately dismounted and were prone on the ground with a tripod and unsheathed long gun, nothing having been spoken. Choosing their targets and receiving a nod from their captain they eviscerated the assailants’.
‘Riding up to the sobbing girl, stunned, shaking, and in shock she reached for her torn flannel trying to cover her nakedness as one of the men approached her with a clean shirt he had taken from one of his panniers without having to be told. Rinny, A units dog, a German Shepherd, came and sat close by the traumatized girl his presence giving comfort. After diverting our eyes the captain and I dismounted and approached her speaking soothingly as the dead men were being removed and placed in a discreet grave along with anything with US Army markings with the exception of their horses, guns, ammo and anything of personal value such as legal tender and food stuffs. Then the young woman was assisted into a saddle leading us to her house’.
‘Arriving to the house we were greeted by a defiant and emotionally distraught mother and two gaunt red rimmed hollow eyed children with a yellow paler to their skin. Without intervention their young lives would soon fill fresh graves. Dismounting the young lady, Billie Jo, ran to her mother clinging to her crying as tears flowed freely. We waited patiently before Billie Jo calmed and was able to explain to her mom that we were her rescuers. Only then did we dismount having received permission to do so. Dottie, the mother, drew close to us sniffling with tears streaking her face and expressed her heart-rending gratitude to us and to God for her daughters deliverance. Gathering herself she sought for a way to thank us apologizing she had nothing left in the house, no coffee, cornmeal or bread. ‘We can help with that’ the captain spoke as men had already began to offload provisions from our pack animals including some hard candy for the children’.
‘Upon inquiry we were told that about a year ago Pa was found dead with a bullet in his back lyin’ face down on the ground still attached to the harnesses for the mule and plow. ‘In the forest’ Billie Jo said, ‘we saw a flash of blue as two men whooped and rode away’. ‘Pa was targeted’ she continued, ‘because he would boldly speak out against the actions of the garrison. Then today’ she concluded, ‘they rode their horses in our garden trampling all our plantin’s before lightin’ after me’.
‘Slowly drawing near to the children holding a bag of candy in each hand, Tex bent at the knees smiling and looking up into their sad faces said, ‘here chilin’s I’ve got a job fer ya ta do. I needs fer ya to hep me ete this here candy befer all my teeth fall out’! With big eyes they hesitantly reached for the bags of sweets with a look of awe and mouths slightly agape unable to move or say anything. Only after encouragement from their mother did they open their bag and put a piece of candy in their mouths. It was as if Heaven had come to earth as the children closed their eyes savoring a taste seldom ever experienced beaming like the sun a radiant smile filling their face’.
‘Cookie our cook bounded into the kitchen with permission from the women, peelin’ potatoes, gratin’ carrots, preppin’ two venison roasts and tellin’ stories and fanciful tales imbedded with cowboy witticism and humor. And then we heard a sound seldom heard in this house for so long….the sound of laughter! Pent up emotions like a cavalcade of water were released with uninhibited tears of joy, giggles and guffaws, knees slapped and heads thrown back. That little cabin had been transformed. Sitting on the front porch with fresh cups of coffee Cap looked at me with a huge grin and said, ‘Cookie worked his magic again’.
‘The rest of the day the men did repairs, mending fences, fixing hinges, splitting wood, and hoeing a new garden plot. An inventory was taken and a list made for lumber and supplies. Always any work was accompanied with vigilance and a sixth sense alerting us of intruders. Rinny was often the first one to alert us of the presence of strangers, even if he played with the children as he did today. The next day, Cap and I dressed in baggy overalls, a way to disguise our unlawful fire power, and floppy hats hitched the wagon and escorted Dottie to town a distance of less than ten miles. First to the lumber mill and then to the merc, always in a group of no less than two. Always good to know someones got yer back. Walking in Cap and I separated to opposite sides of the store, eyes and ears open while Dottie approached the counter to an apologizing Mr. Greenhaw’.
‘So sorry Dottie I can’t extend any more credit. I’m on the edge of closing my doors as the army takes anything they want and never pays their bills’. On cue two boys in blue walked into the store, laughing and loud, grabbed a few things and brazenly walked out telling Greenhaw to just put it on the armies tab. Turning to Dottie he spoke quietly, ‘see what I mean. It’s not just me but it’s Doc, the saloon, cafe, and barber shop, the whole town is being held hostage’. ‘Well I’m glad to say’, Dottie spoke, ‘that I’ll be paying my bill and everything I buy today with $20 gold pieces’. An astonished Greenhaw smiled weakly and stammered out the words, ‘that, that would be wonderful’!
Upon our insistence Dottie bought shoes and clothes for everyone, personal items, ribbons and bows, books and games, a dolly, pocket knife, bags of candy and bottles of sarsasparilli along with enough food to fill their cupboards and pantry. Some boys in blue looked suspiciously on the load we were hauling but only made gestures talking among themselves. No doubt they would be paying a visit soon inquiring about Dottie’s new found wealth’.
‘Discreetly askin’ a few questions around town and listening to conversation at the bar, barber shop, and cafe where we bought Dottie lunch, an extravagance she hadn’t enjoyed in a long time, we gathered information. Out of the garrison of twenty men, now eighteen, only three men; Pickford, Blaine, and Scofield were not guilty of crimes against the people. They would be separated from the rest. The remainder of the day and the next, repairs continued and happy times were had at nightly bonfires enjoying some fresh venison one of the boys bagged. Travis broke out his fiddle to the delight of everyone with singin’, clappin’, and dancin’. All of the men patiently waited their turn to dance with the ladies and the children whose laughter filled the night sky’.
‘Late Saturday night we were prepared to leave after saying a tearful goodbye. ‘Words alone can never express the extent of our gratitude’ Dottie said, a chorus echoed by Billie Jo and the children. I left her a way to contact us if necessity warranted it, and the importance of their discretion. All anyone was to know we was just family comin’ by to check on their welfare. Returnin’ to the house a $500 bag of $20 gold pieces was left on the kitchen table with a short note signed, ‘The Kings Men’.
Early Sunday morning we arrived at the garrison wearing masks that protected our identity as the men were sleeping off another weekend of indulgence; whiskey, women, wreckage and intimidation. The lone guard, inebriated and asleep, was easily subdued. All of the men were awakened, disarmed, and gathered together in the mess hall, with the exception of the aforementioned three. Charges were brought against them having been justly substantiated. Those who were guilty of capital crimes were summarily taken out an hanged on an old oak tree on the compound grounds. Some accepted their fate while others pleaded their innocence even while being condemned by their own fellows. Still others guilty of lesser evils signed affidavits acknowledging their wrongdoings with a promise to rebuild, repay, and restore until their debt had been paid. All who remained signed a promise to protect and serve while helping bring peace, healing, and stability to the area.
Pickford, Blaine, and Scofield were saluted and praised by each of our men for standing tall in the defiance of evil suffering harassment, beatings, and time in the brig. Now they would be our eyes and ears with the ability to contact us at any time. We were not abandoning them to their own fate but with the assurance we would return if necessary to insure the men kept their promises. The three were rewarded with twenty $20 gold pieces, a small token of appreciation for the depth of their fidelity.
Six men where hung and loaded into a wagon by the remaining men at the garrison. Just outside the compound graves were dug, a few solemn words were spoken and crude crosses set, a stark reminder of the end of evil men, and an incentive to stay on the old path of right and justice, tried and true. I must now defer to a chapter In grandads manuscript entitled ‘Le recours a’ la force contre I’injustice’. It is the foundation for the actions taken by the 37 as well as a few thoughts of my own. ‘Violence in defense of what is right’ he wrote, ‘is a moral obligation’. The true nature of the world both for man and beast is savagery. Good is pitted against evil. The earth may present itself as calm waters, bubbling streams, majestic mountains, and endless sea. Blessed is the man who finds peace in the midst of chaos.
But it is not a peaceful place, never was, never will be. The truth is the world contains evil men who must be eliminated in order for the good men to survive. When they want to kill you, you can either be killed by them or defend yourself and kill them. We survive by taking the fight to our enemies. Don’t lie to yourself. Human nature hasn’t changed but has actually devolved with a diminished capacity to choose what is right’.
The term ‘noble savage’ first coined in English writings by John Dryden and the Poet Alexander Pope is an oxymoron and an opposing contradiction. Savages are not distinguished by their nobility. Their savagery distinguishes them. These men who penned this from their Victorian country side with its pomp and circumstance and feminine drivel haven’t yet had their skin fileted, their bowels ripped open, or their chestnuts roasted over an open fire. Let them first experience such noble conduct before writing such theoretical nonsense.
We must gain the high moral ground to defeat evil and savage men of all races. They mean to have you watch while they rape your wife and young daughter, castrate your son, disembowel your dog and cut your beating heart out of your chest while they hold it high in their hand as they engorge themselves on your blood and flesh with only remnants left of your butchered bodies for the buzzards to consume. And they will enjoy it! Don’t let your pacifism, denial, or lack of prepared resistance let this happen!
Some people come into this world barely skimming the surface of its filthy vulgar exhibition of whom the world is not worthy. And still others rooted in moral conduct only grovel superficially in its content. Others in varying degrees, all needing redemption for their is none righteous, no not one. Thus our salvation at the cross is rendered. Do not neglect it!
Mark the man who resists evil, standing between the bully and a defenseless foe to afraid or incapable of his or her own defense. Called before the principal at school the bully and the prince both receiving the same punishment, one who is guilty one who is not, often going home to be punished again by his parents. Salute the man who teaches his children how to fight and defend themselves and protect the innocent knowing when to stay out of other peoples business and when to pick his battles. Always remember if someone is old enough to point a gun at you, they are old enough to die. And don’t hesitate because of the gender. A feminine finger on a trigger can kill just like a man, and many a man has been killed by a dead person.
‘Leaving the garrison we rode in the darkness before the dawn so that others may see the light. Each man alone in his own thoughts looked up at a starry sky made possible only by the darkness which together with the light fashioned another day. The night was a light about us as bright as the day. In the darkness our eyes adapt, sight possible with the presence of any ambient light with the absence of pain. Sudden brilliant light however is very painful and more blinding than darkness. By degrees the deep things of darkness are revealed as everything is brought into the light, the light and darkness being alike unto Him. With such thoughts are minds were not burdened with guilt, remorse, or regrets’.
‘Somewhere in the gathering darkness and electric mist dwells a dimension that most folks don’t know exists. Life and death are of little matter there and the thin veil that separates them often tattered. We may think we understand…….we don’t. I, Gideon, as a opalescent essential entity often dwell in this shadowy realm more real I think than the one we are compelled by birth to dwell in. Out of the darkness a new genesis and in the darkness evil minions, dark matter as a hole that consumes but does not give, there is always wickedness that stalks and devours. And for a season we will deliver blow after blow to the enemy if only to delay their death march through humanity, giving others a chance and a choice to rise or be consumed’.
‘Throughout the South we rode righting wrongs where sordid injustices were as common as autonomous breath. I then travelled west to Texas and the ‘D’ unit. We situated ourselves in the Texas Big Bend Country along the Chisos Mountains and the Comanche war trail with a view of the Rio Grande and the Mexican state of Chihuahua. This was a major gateway of activity called The Grand Indian Crossing. Here the Llano Estacado and extending north out of Texas into New Mexico and Southern Colorado the terrain of the Great Plains dominated the landscape’.
‘Described as barren, hostile, and as hot as Hell, bands of Apache, Comanche, and Comancheros reigned terror all along Americas Western Front often with the backdrop of the rugged Rocky Mountains and other numerous mountain and cavernous confines easy to protect and almost impossible to detect. Into the fray rode the Texas Rangers, known as ‘men who would not be stampeded’. Led by the legendary John Coffee ‘Jack’ Hays, men like Major John B. Jones, Bill McDonald and Leander McNeely gave leadership to this ‘thin red line’ given the formidable task of routing out the rabblerousers that often eluded capture’.
‘Receiving valuable information from the Rangers, U.S. Marshalls, private sources , the Army, and my two trusted Apache scouts we wove a spiders web and waited for the prey. I personally vetted the scouts who were avowed enemies of the Comanche as well as the castoffs Geronimo and Cochise, a Chiricahua Apache Chief, who continued to do irreparable harm to their own people and the tenuous fragile peace shared with the whites. ‘The spirits’ they said, ‘were very angry and whole tribes were made to suffer’. The Comanche known as the ‘Lords of the Plains’ were considered the most brutal and vile of all the Indians, even the Apache. They were hated by the Arapaho, Pawnee, and Apache and were led by their famous chief Quanah Parker, who was caught between two worlds being the son of a white settler and a Comanche chief, and chiefs White Eagle, Iron Jacket, Ten Bears, and Big Bow among others’.
‘Now, the Comancheros were a mixed breed of desperate men; Mexican, White, and Indian. They would trade in anything and steal and kill for what they wanted before disappearing into Mexico. And there were gangs of disenfranchised men, often ex-confederates who having lost all hope and fueled with rage ceased to care blurring the lines of conscious and conduct. The ‘modus Operandi’ of all these predators was to exploit weakness, ascertain vulnerability, wait patiently, identify patterns and predictability, and strike emphatically while creating an environment of fear and physical exhaustion’.
‘We didn’t have to wait long. One of my Indian Scouts came riding in slowly so as to minimize a dust cloud and reported seeing several hundred head of cattle and a caravan of women and children who would be sold as slaves, the women bringing a high price especially if they were beautiful or unsullied. I looked through my excellent optics being mindful of ole’ Sols position in the sky so as to not cast any glare. Already the cattle were bellowing sniffing the air and smelling water. Vaqueros kept them from stampeding still a few miles out from the Rio Grande. Crossing would have to be in the morning as it was too late in the day to move that many cattle safely. I located five wagons of women and children less than a quarter mile away east and parallel to the cattle and hungry eyes’.
‘That night we executed our plan. Riding out under the cover of darkness and a waxing quarter moon high overhead we went south and crossed the Rio. Then east meeting our scouts and recrossing the river at a predetermined location, we rode north to the Comanchero camp about a quarter mile from the wagons carrying the women and children. Ground staking our horses and leaving them in the capable hands of two young ayudantes we crept silently in our moccasins only the stars and moon aware of our presence’.
‘The men of the ‘D’ unit were born and bred Texas and Western stock and tuff as the land and weather. They were hardened, not hard, honed to a razor’s edge, and revived by a new purpose. Having seen the worst possible side of men they sill embraced the idea of God’s goodness in the human soul, the majesty of the mountain, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of sage after a thunderous summer storm, sunsets splashed with color from an artist’s paintbrush and the captivating presence of a beautiful lady. They were truly men to ride the river with’.
‘High on mezcal and tequila the Comancheros where particularly jubilant with Mexico in sight. We had counted around twenty-five and most were now bleary-eyed and snoring. Unsheathing our Arkansas toothpicks and Bowie’s one of my scouts, I and another man approached the wagons and noiselessly sliced the throats of the guards and sleeping men. The other men disguised as Vaqueros quietly disposed the men guarding the remuda, the camp, and all the outliers, their locations ferreted out by my watchful Apache scouts. I then went to one of the wagons where bodies were bedded all over the ground and quietly called out ‘Ladies’.
‘A beautiful apparition approached me illuminated by the night fires. My heart skipped a beat and breath escaped before retrieving it again. For a moment we quietly stood facing one another eyes transfixed. ‘I’ve been watching your handiwork tonight’, she spoke softly. ‘Thankyou. Our prayers for deliverance have been answered’. Nodding I acknowledged her comment and turned to go saying, ‘I must go and join my men, and finish this fight. We will be back and clean up this mess by morning’.
‘Surrounding the remaining Comancheros in a mezcal induced deep sleep there was no foray of words only the stench of death and the coppery smell of blood as we eviscerated them all. A somber mood prevailed as this bloodletting was a reminder of battlefields only recently removed. ‘This’ I spoke pointing to the dead, their still forms lying grotesquely littered upon the ground, ‘happens when a man chooses to follow the evil one and his dark impulses. Tonight a great evil was eradicated and justice was done’. Pointing to the wagons I said, ‘over there are dozens of souls weeping with joy for their deliverance tonight, saved from a hideous fate. I’m proud to stand with you as one of the Kings Men’.
‘Lifted out of their momentary reflective they immediately set to gathering valuables and weapons. The bodies of ‘El Carnicero’ the butcher and his chief teniente (leiutenants) and mano derecha (right hand men) were stacked in the back of a wagon along with any other poster boys to be taken back for reward. We found bags of cash, jewelry, gold bars, army payroll, a wagon load of weapons and horses along with other valuables none as important as anyone of the lives we had saved. Adding to what we collected, returning anything possible to its rightful owner, there were bounties and rewards from the government, Wells Fargo, banks, private citizens and other sources. In total it amounted to thousands of dollars. Talking to the men they unanimously agreed to split the spoils with the women and children in the Comanchero Caravan’.
‘Before daylight the bodies of the men killed at the caravan were removed and the ground cleansed as best we could of blood and debris. The children and the women awakened to the smell of coffee and a hearty hot breakfast thanks to ‘Tater’ our cook with help from most of the young men in the unit anxious to get a fleeting glance at any of the young ladies. To say the least there was an eruption of great joy, laughter, and tears as they embraced each other lifting their heads in praise to their creator and gratitude to their ‘magnificos libertadores’. The children were especially delightful running and playing their laughter carried by the wind and echoing off the hills, their resiliency so infectious, if only momentary, rising above their circumstance’.
‘After helping sanitize the caravan encampment I walked out into the desert alone aware of eyes that followed my movement, embracing the tranquility that welcomed the dawn. Standing still basking in silent reverie I flew like a bird into this vast emptiness so grand it seemed to swallow me whole. I soared effortlessly upon wings using updrafts to carry me above the clouds to a secret place. There I received assurance and instruction, and I understood there was strength in surrender, the way forward always full of confrontation. I gave up searching for solutions that seemed impossible only to find the answers were already given’.
‘By and by I became aware of the presence of Victoria, the young lady from last night’s encounter seeming to glide effortlessly upon deep waters of a celestial stream. As I stood gazing she came up behind me with silent footfalls and stood by my side. Emersed in the moment she waited before looking up at me and asking, ‘what do you see’? At length I responded, ‘ a parallel world where violence is not required and evil is nonexistent. What had to be done last night never entering the periphery of ones mind. Knowing there exists a place beyond the dark specter that accompanies our journey here gives me the courage to face each day emboldened and refreshed in a luminal place between calm and chaos. Here, in this world, paradox is a normal part of our existence, but only a problem when logic demands an answer. This world simply does not work the way we think it should. One day the order of this present planet will cease to exist with no memory or recollection that it ever even happened’.
‘Turning and facing one another she grabbed and held my hands, her eyes intently looking into mine hesitating before she spoke, ‘wherever you go in this life and the next…..my journey is with you’. I then took her into my arms and gave her a gentle kiss before pausing and saying, ‘and mine with you’. Walking back hand in hand to the wagons I told Victoria what I could about our mission and my commitment. Before arriving she turned and faced me locking her hands behind my neck and pulling me down to give me a long lingering kiss. ‘Don’t let me grow old and cold longing for your return. Let the memory of this kiss and the fire you feel in your belly lead you safely back to me’. Looking into her mountain sky blue eyes I said, ‘this world or the next will never prevent me from coming back to you’.
‘That day after taking the cattle to water we turned them back north and home with the help of some vaqueros we hired. The women and children were restored to what was left of families or ranches, most often to relatives or friends. Before leaving I left Victoria in charge of finding homes for the women and children and Tomas and his vaqueros in charge of finding the owners of the cattle. I set up an account for Victoria. The only thing she would ever want for was my safe return back into her arms’.
‘Into the Comancheria we rode, a kind of no-man’s land, an area that once extended from New Mexico through West Texas and down to old Mexico. It was home to the Comanche whose numbers had been decimated through disease and the Caddo, Cheyenne, Wichita, Waco, Apache and others who were sometimes confederate and often hostile to each other. During the war when the army wasn’t available to protect the frontier, the Comanche and Kiowa pushed back white settlements a hundred miles along the Texas Western Front. The Comanche sought to rid the land of the evil ‘white eyes’, roaring like a wild beast and jubilantly feeding on the carcass of this interloper with bloodlust and brutal savagery in mock victory as his numbers continued to dwindle’.
‘We carry on the farce of fragile peace when all along the beast in the breast beats with venom for blood. Never take assumption as fact. Ask the early settlers. It was a quick way to an early grave. The renegade Indian was condemned. The scales of justice testified against him. It was rarely the army he attacked but the innocents and folks easily overwhelmed. This runagate Indian was a corpse that didn’t realize he was dead. Hate was an adrenal rush like an unbroken stallion with strength to spare. But like all nations that preceded them when a greater foe attacks the lesser foe and is now the possessor of ‘his land’ he has the choice to assimilate and adapt or die in resistance’.
‘The Comanche had poked the bear once to many times. The 37, represented by the ‘D’ unit, and his greatest fear was now here. Not only were the 37 acquainted with their tactic’s, and the Comanche were a legendary force on a horse, the 37 possessed the higher moral ground, superior weapons, and a keen intellect ever evolving when the Indian was trapped in a time warp his intellect caged on a running wheel living the same life he had always known. Still he was a revered fighting force never to be underestimated, his motto ‘never bring a gun to a knife fight’. Besides a knife never runs out of bullets. By stealth he continued to inflict damage to this encroaching wave of white men and their guns. This was the only life the Indian knew and some would rather die than relinquish it’.
‘We masqueraded as a small wagon train traveling to Santa Fe in the areas of Young and Jack Counties northwest out of Dallas. There the Indians relentlessly attacked ranches and farms, stages, trains, and towns. Dressed as immigrants, the ‘D’ unit accompanied by a few women for authenticity whose families had been attacked, and often left as the sole survivor, were willing to do whatever they could to save others from the same fate. Only three days after departing in the early morning they first attacked thinking to eliminate any guards and then one by one quietly kill the men so as to not arouse any defense, only to find a snare was laid and they were taken in their own craftiness. There were no survivors’.
‘Two days later about 20 braves attacked as we travelled in an open area without any natural fortification but divine protection and semi-automatic weapons eliminating all but one, who was deliberately allowed to live, leading our Apache scouts to the main encampment. That night we surrounded their camp and were compelled to kill all the braves as they refused to surrender. A few women and children were led by a couple of old men back to the ‘res’ and a place of provision and safety’.
‘Methodically we minimized the Comanche threat making inroads into their strongholds augmented by additional Apache that Tarak and Bimisi are scouts recommended. Meeting with them I felt comfortable with their presence, assuring them of recompense for their efforts. All the Comanche knew, taught from his youth, was war and hate and the great Ta Tanka (buffalo)’. There was no Plains Indians without the buffalo, and General Sheridan is quoted as saying, ‘you kill the buffalo and you destroy the Indian’s commissary’. And that’s exactly what happened. This was no Hiroshima but a way for the Indian to survive and even thrive (think of all the casino’s on Indian reservation’s where the white eyes is separated from his hard earned pay)’!
‘In 1875 Quanah Parker chose surrender over genocide. The life the Comanche chose to live was not sustainable. Afterwards given the opportunity to meet Parker he called us ‘Children of the She-Bear’ ‘a most worthy foe’ he said, known for our unpredictable tactics and our tenacious continuous assault upon the Comanche strongholds’.
‘Almost two years past since a time I simply called ‘Victoria’. We corresponded on several occasions and she patiently waited as I focused on the task at hand. I had recently sent a message to her in the small town of New Braunfels Texas situated between Austin and San Antone. It simply said, ‘I’ll be back to you soon’, Gideon. Best I could do under my circumstances. It was 1872 and I got off the end of the railroad in Austin, unloaded my horse and dog, and road the remaining 55 miles to New Braunfels and Victoria on my buckskin ‘Cody’, tall at just over 16 hands with black stockings, tail, and mane’.
‘On the second day of my journey I arrived to my destination on a mild early November afternoon. I rode down main street dressed in buckskins and a broad frontier hat on Cody my buckskin horse with ‘bandit’ a cur dog with black circles around his eyes in toll. I adopted him from an abusive owner and a more faithful and protective dog you’ll never find. Folks stopped and stared as I was an imposing figure at 6’4” and 215 lbs. of rock-hard muscle broad in the shoulders and thin in the hips. I also inherited the looks of my beautiful mother with striking blue eyes, dishwater blond wavy hair, now well past my shoulders and a strong profile. My countenance was confident and seasoned but not aggressive with a smile curling around my lips’.
‘Victoria had just stepped out of the Merc and cast a glance down the street and then in my direction as she maintained a constant vigil watching and longing for my return. Covering her eyes with her hand to block the blinding sun she paused to examine this striking rider when all at once she recognized the beautiful buckskin. Setting her purchases down on a bench she then grabbed at her throat barely able to breathe and contain her racing heart. It was her Gideon and just like he said he had returned’.
‘Lifting her skirts she vaulted the steps off the boardwalk and ran to him, tears flowing freely calling out ‘Gideon my Gideon you’ve come back to me’. Stepping down from Cody and removing his hat there was a collision of forces as two lovers met in the middle of main street Gideon’s arms open wide to receive her twirling her around with her legs bent at the knees as she kissed every inch of his face unaware of anyone or anything else but their love for each other. An applause arose from passer-byers as they finally separated after a lingering kiss. Only slightly embarrassed Gideon walked Cody and hand in hand with Victoria followed by his faithful Bandit over to the bench and her packages’.
‘Sitting breathless and beaming, staring into each others face Victoria finally spoke. ‘Gideon, you are so much more than I remembered. Even in all my dreams your visage surpasses all my expectations’. And then Gideon spoke, ‘my heart is bursting trying to contain your presence, your beautiful image, and the feel of your body next to mine’. At long last Victoria said, ‘come let me take you home to the house you provided. There is a second bedroom for you. I don’t care what the gossip mongers might say, I’m not letting you out of my sight! There is a stable just up ahead and your dog is welcome to stay at the house’.
‘After leaving Cody we arrived at a portrait of a charming country home, painted a powder blue with white shutters a picket fence and a flower garden’. ‘Drinking fresh cups of Joe, Victoria heated a delicious smelling stew with fresh biscuits as we sat at the kitchen table and shared. I spoke of my adventures drawing grimaces from her face and then said, ‘I rode the rail back East to speak with my mentor and our conversation led to you and specifically you and I’. ‘Sometimes’ he said ‘there are circumstances that supersede other objectives. You best marry that gal before you regret you lost her and ever lived’.
‘Then leaving my chair I got down before her on one knee and said, ‘Victoria you have absolutely and forever captured my heart. I cannot imagine my life without you. Will you marry me’? ‘Oh dear God yes’! she said as she practically leapt out of her chair knocking me over embracing and kissing me both of us laughing and rolling on the ground. It was a rapturous moment! The very next day the deed was done and we enjoyed the ecstasy of true wedding bliss’.
‘It was early morning and Victoria laid snuggled close to me, her breath upon my neck. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest with only slight movements in her body felt like a wave of tranquility gently rolling over me. Very few I knew experienced a union like this. All of us I mused our borne into our own unique circumstance. Whether we remain there is on us. Only a handful into wealth, power, and prestige. Some with good loving parents and others harsh and stern. Maybe orphaned or into a life of toil and drear seldom knowing what it’s like to enjoy the simple satisfaction of a full belly and a good meal. Others still like the Comanche taught from earliest memories to hate and kill. Death in battle a warriors reward whether age 13 or 30 his fate to seal’.
‘But what we do, how we live, the path we’ve chosen is the chance we’re given no matter our station at birth. It is also our gift to each other and the world. Stop living with resentment, jealousy, or contempt. Comparison is the thief of joy. Sometimes life isn’t much more than filling in the pages of a coloring book, stick figures given animated life, in a race sometimes downhill, sometimes up, that would never be lost, never be won. We are pilgrims here, just passing through. What’s important is not the judgment of man but our life seen from Heavens view’.
‘Victoria and I enjoyed four weeks together before I was off again, but not for so long. Making tentative plans held loosely in our open hands, we nevertheless embraced this grand adventure in the life we molded in tandem whether side by side or far apart always close with the very beating of our heart. The 37 continued to impact thousands of lives standing in the gap between life and death bringing hope to the hopeless. There are so many stories that need to be told. I can still hear the sound of the tread of horses hooves, the smell of leather, and the faint sight of the passing shadow of men riding In the gathering mist. Some say they’re out there still’…..
‘This question I have dear reader. Are you ready to hear them’?
pour l’instant c’est au revoir