Tears seemed to well in his eyes at the mention of her name, so he changed subjects.
“Let me tell you somethin’ interestin’ about those little premonitions of mine: They ain’t little no more. Yes sir, as I’ve grown older, I get ’em more frequent. They can come to me any time, and sometimes I can intentionally allow one to happen.
“There’s somethin’ else interestin’ ‘bout all that. My premonition skills started improvin’ the first day I set foot in Taos, and they’ve improved every year since. By damn, my senses are alive around here, and that’s one of the reasons I love livin’ hereabouts.
“Another reason I like Taos is that its folks seem to understand me. I tell them ’bout those early pictures I get of things to come, ’bout those easy answers I get to problems what at first appear beyond hope, and they understand. They don’t look at me strange and laugh, like some folks have in the past. Yes sir, they accept me for what I am, and they don’t ask questions. Of course, there’s a bunch of them down there in Taos what know a lot ’bout my past misdemeanors and they don’t rightly give a damn.
“Just like they did with those mountain men many years ago, acceptin’ ’em in their midst even though some of ’em were outlaws, they accept me. And they don’t ask a hell of a lot of questions, and that suits me just fine.”
Of course, for the last twenty-eight years, I had asked myself how he had managed to escape the shackles and chains of the would-be lynchers of Baker’s Park. At last, I was able to ask him about it face-to-face, and he was more than happy to let me in on the secret.
“I’m goin’ to tell you somethin’ and you’re goin’ to be tempted to think I’m half crazy. Just keep in mind that you asked me first, and that I’ve nothin’ to gain at this point in my life by tellin’ you somethin’ what ain’t truthful.
“If you’ll remember, I was sound asleep when you first laid eyes on me that day in Baker’s Park. I can’t begin to tell you how I fell asleep that day, what with all the fear and excitement welled up within me after bein’ marked for a hangin’. But fell asleep I did, right there on the banks of that beautiful Animas River.
“The fact is that Little Doe visited me in a dream that day. She came and I could see her so well, I felt I could reach out and touch her. Her voice was one of a beautiful angel, as was her smile. In my dream, she stood there in front of me and I asked her to please, please don’t leave. She just stood there, and with the sweetest smile on her face told me that Tickerneeskee returned my totem to me at Chisholm’s for my protection. She faded away as I woke back up to the reality of the chain and shackles.
“That’s ’bout the time you showed up. You asked if I needed a pistol, and I replied that I needed smokes, even though I’d never smoked ’em. I didn’t want you goin’ after a gun for me, as that could’ve got you and me both in more trouble than I was already in. So I said smokes instead. Fact is I didn’t need any smokes. What I needed was for you to leave me for a time whilst I tore open the totem, which I did. Inside the totem, tucked between the two pieces of sewn leather, was a little hacksaw blade. Tickerneeskee had put it there and then brought it to me at Chisholm’s. I’d been carrying it all those years and didn’t know it. Of course, I hadn’t a need for it until then. Never would I have known ’bout the little saw had Little Doe not told me. She’d said somethin’ ’bout the totem many years before at Chisholm’s, but I’d forgotten ’bout it. She just came back in a dream to remind me. It was then I remembered she said she would walk with me always.
“So, that’s how I escaped – with a simple hacksaw blade. I was some worried that I’d be heard sawin’ away in the night, but that thunderstorm rolled in and that’s just what I needed to cover the sound of my work.
“Let me tell you somethin’ else. I was also worried that I’d break that saw durin’ the night whilst workin’ it against that shackle bolt. But, here I am. I carried that metal around my ankles for almost two months before findin’ a Mexican farmer in the San Luis Valley who hammered ’em off. At first, the ol’ farmer didn’t want to oblige me with his hammer and chisel, so I had to persuade him a little.
“You know, I hear Little Doe’s voice more and more with each passin’ year. Around the time when the sun has gone down and the first shadows begin to drape the earth, she calls to me and I hear her voice. Her voice gets stronger with the years, and now when I hear her I know that my time is almost nigh, and that I will soon be rejoining her in the spirit world.
“There’s many times when I wish I couldn’t hear her. To hear her lovely singsong voice only reminds me that she is not here in the flesh beside me now. There’s nary a time my heart isn’t missin’ that beloved woman. There was never another woman on earth like Little Doe, before or since, and there will never be her like again.”
Soon, it was time for me to be on my way. The old man who had lived the life of outlaw, prospector, plainsman, and mountain man shook my hand firmly and with heartfelt happiness. We said our parting words and bade each other farewell.
Turning to begin my way down the trail, the realization struck that I had forgotten something.
Hawk Eyes, who had not left his spot by the campfire, looked up with surprise at my return.
From my pants pocket I pulled a leather pouch and handed it to the old frontiersman. He carefully opened the pouch and, from it, extracted a large lock of hair as black and beautiful as that of a raven.
At first hypnotized at the sight, and then overcome with emotion, he clutched the lock against his heart as the tears streamed down his chiseled, rock-like face.
Far away down the trail, I turned for another look at his lonely cabin in the meadow, for I had a feeling this look could very well be my last. After a moment, the old frontiersman walked out from the cabin to cast his eyes to the sky, as if to behold the blue majestic mountains that cradled his earthly home and existence. He looked upward and I knew that he was calling out to the sky and peaks and that he expected a certain answer.
I could not move. My eyes froze, transfixed on the man whose very existence came to symbolize my idea of the American West, a man whose cunning and intuition had carried him across a hostile frontier, a man who loved only one woman – a Cherokee maiden whose unbridled love she gave only to him.
His body stood motionless like a hawk perched high atop a tree while his penetrating eyes combed the high mountain skyline for secrets never yet told. On a faraway slope, the leaves of the aspens began to flitter and quake, the bows of the spruce began to sway. A light, whispering howl rang out from the unseen slope. It was the answer to his query carried on the breeze. The wind swirled and whistled its way far, far down to Hawk Eyes’ meadow and all around the statue of the man who waited for its song. It blew against his body, cooling him as night began to appear, lifting his long locks of hair, and touching his face.
It was the soft, sweet kiss of Little Doe.
THE END
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David Althouse
A Look at America’s Yesteryears
In America's Yesteryears, James A. Crutchfield takes us through the most important events that shaped America from 1492 until the start of the Civil War. Presented in short vignettes, these easy-to-read accounts cover the key events in the formation of an emerging America.
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About the Author
David Althouse is a native of Oklahoma, having spent his formative years hunting, fishing, hiking, camping, and horseback riding throughout the state’s Ouachita Mountain country. These days, David enjoys traveling across the American West, enjoying the people, places and history along the way.
“I enjoy hiking the old trails,” David says, “scaling the slopes, traversing the mountains and mesas, and encountering all of the sights, sounds, and scents of the West. I feel at home in the places of which I write. I’ve had an appreciation for the written and spoken word for as far back as I can remember. I especially love the literature that speaks of the Western frontier—its history, fiction, characters, music, natural beauty, and romance.”
A graduate of Oklahoma State University, David has worked in public affairs and journalism, and his writing has been published in magazines, newspapers and on websites. Most recently, David served eight years as senior feature writer for Distinctly Oklahoma Magazine.
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