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  After Ruff’s bath, Samuel and Ruff headed north out of town to explore the territory, wading through meadows of dried grass with a bit of green flourishing. The two frolicked about, having no concerns. Ruff could not be seen in the grass except for when his head popped up as he hopped around. Samuel could barely keep his laughter under control, the sight being the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Suddenly, they stopped playing. Samuel spotted a lake in the distance. Ruff’s nose twitched as if he smelled the water. They took off toward the valley, reaching the lake’s shore moments later.

  Samuel sat upon an old fallen tree to catch his breath; Ruff helped himself to a cool drink. Samuel gathered stones, skipping them over the calm lake as Ruff watched with excitement. Running out of flat rocks, Samuel grabbed a stick, pulled out his knife and whittled. A short time later he had a sharp spear. Grinning big he saw Ruff gazing at him, head cocked, ears erect.

  “Betcha’re wonderin’ what I’m gonna do, boy,” he said, standing. “Come on… let’s go catch us some lunch.”

  He and his friend walked along the shore. Samuel found the perfect spot under a large oak tree hanging over the water. He stood patiently at the water’s edge, waiting. Ruff, curious, sat still next to him, staring down into the clear water. Minutes later a large fish swam within striking distance. Samuel slowly raised the weapon, plunging it into the water. Ruff could not keep quiet any longer. Barking wildly at the commotion, he ran from one side of Samuel to the other, ready to pounce upon the creature within the depths. Samuel raised the spear, water splashed about—then it stopped. A large-mouth bass was stuck to the stick—it weighed 3 or 4 pounds—Ruff whimpered as the fish flopped around.

  The two returned to the old fallen tree with the fish. Samuel gutted the catch, built a fire and cooked their meal on the spear. The succulent aroma lingered as the two grew hungry. Samuel searched the area and found wild asparagus growing. He collected a few spears and returned to the fallen tree. When the fish was done he released it from the stick and pulled the meat off the bones. The two enjoyed their brunch, relaxing in the grass next to the lake.

  After eating, Samuel snapped off a blade of green grass and put it into his mouth. He reflected on his past life and the mayhem it had caused him. It was stressful having nobody to talk to or trust. He patted Ruff’s side, took a deep breath and confessed to lighten the burden on his shoulders. “Hey, boy,” he said in a calm soft voice.

  Ruff looked up at him with big, brown eyes, blinked and set his head back down between his paws.

  Samuel continued. “I can depend on you to not tell a soul what I share with you. I got things to get off my chest, not doin’ me no good holdin’ them in, just can’t take it any longer. Feels like I’m gonna burst open, go crazy—but here it is: Before I came to Wrangler I was stayin’ in them there Appalachians with an ‘Injin’ named Oconnestoto. He learned me howda fish ’n’ grow stuff—ya know—howda survive ’n’ all.” His words intensified. “Then they found me!” He stopped petting Ruff, overwhelmed with his flashback. His heart raced. His breathing quickened: He briefly forgot he got out alive. He flinched out of his mental chaos and slowed down his respiration. He returned petting his caring canine and relaxed his speech.

  Ruff set his head on Samuel’s lap.

  “But before they found me,” he explained with composure, “I told Oconnestoto everything: my name and that I was wanted for murder, but that I didn’t do nothing wrong—and he believed me. Do you believe me, boy?” he asked, looking down at Ruff, cupping Ruff’s chin in his hand and hoping for acceptance.

  Ruff licked Samuel’s palm.

  Samuel smiled. Feeling loved, he hugged Ruff then continued. “I told him about that horrible night of the death and how I remembered it happenin’. I didn’t mean for it to, it was an accident… a plain ol’ accident, Ruff.” Samuel quieted down, his emotions were mixed. Relief and sadness twisted his mind beyond comprehension. His past and future felt like one entity, not sure where one began and where the other ended. He needed for things to be okay, but he had learned people did not care about the truth, only about the past and the fascinating lies it held. He yearned to return home, to go back to when he was young before his life was stolen. But he knew that could never happen, and that ripped him apart. Distraught, he lay down and wept. Ruff curled up next to him. Ruff licked his forehead. Samuel held Ruff dearly, kissed his head then fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE APPALACHIANS

  Spring 1863

  There was a moonless sky and the stars were bright and many. The air was cool and still with the smell of smoke. The night was teeming with sounds of insects casting out their mating calls. A horse carrying an unconscious stranger wandered into the campsite of a Cherokee Indian. The stranger was hunched over with his head held low. The site’s dweller had heard the clopping of the horse’s hooves long before the animal stopped near the wigwam, so he had taken cover behind the bushes. The lone warrior came out from his hiding place, cautious of his surroundings, a tomahawk held at his side. Appearing that the stranger was a boy, the Indian decided there was no threat. He assisted the helpless youngster down from the horse, carried him to the fire and fetched water. He poured the cool fluid from a deerskin canteen into his palm and put his hand to the boy’s mouth. The boy came to, feeling the water on his lips. He opened his eyes and sipped. He almost gagged from the day’s intense heat that had parched his throat. He got two swallows down and jumped to his feet. He looked around, making eye contact with the Indian.

  “Who’re you?!” he pleaded with distress.

  “I am Oconnestoto,” spoke the Indian in a deep stern voice.

  The boy stared at the Indian’s face, watching shadows change shape on it from the flickering fire, ready to flee.

  “Katoka, sit,” said Oconnestoto, motioning with his hands. “Your fears are great, I see, but not needed here. Be one with yourself. I mean you no harm.”

  The proud warrior cared for all men who bore the spirit of integrity. He would fight for those men, and keep them safe at all costs. He followed the spirits, seeking their wisdom. They allowed him to be strong, to be one with the earth. And in his endurance, it had kept him alive, along with every man under his guidance.

  Oconnestoto sat at the fire, legs crossed. He picked up a 3 ft. long stemmed pipe with a red, stone bowl, enhanced with porcupine quills and dried feathers. He lit the bowl, puffed three times, blew out a large cloud of smoke. Offering the pipe to the boy, the boy accepted it, sitting by the crackling fire next to Oconnestoto.

  The boy noticed Oconnestoto’s attire with the linen trade shirt, matching coat, breechclout of saved list stroud, side seam leggins with silk riband and beaded ornaments and moccasins on his feet. He had a silver breastplate and bracelets on his wrists. He wore silver earrings, one on each ear. He was bald except for the hinder part of his head where long, black hair was flowing to the middle of his back.

  Putting the pipe to his lips, the boy inhaled, tasting the unfamiliar substance. After a couple more tokes, he passed back the pipe. The boy believed he could trust Oconnestoto for the moment, having nowhere else to go. His concerns faded as his body immensely relaxed. A sensation of his brain floating within his skull brought him peace. The substance he had smoked had him high and mighty. He felt happy, completely forgetting why he was miserable in the first place. A huge grin took over his face as he spoke with bravery. “Why’d you call me ‘Katoko’ or something like that?” he asked, scratching his head, trying to recall the word.

  “Katoka!” Oconnestoto corrected.

  “What’s ‘Katoka’?”

  “It is your given name. It means: ‘he is standing’. You received it because you stood.” Oconnestoto puffed and blew out thick smoke rings.

  “Noooooo, that’s silly,” laughed the boy, shaking his head, slapping his knee. “My name’s Samuel Lee Simms. Pass the peace pipe, please.
Katoka—’ he is standing’—whadda hoot!”

  “Drink first,” said Oconnestoto as he tossed the canteen to Samuel.

  Samuel grabbed it, tried to open it, but his hand’s dexterity was hindered, his pupils dilated. “Suffering succotash! Howdaya open this blasted thing?” he asked as his lips grew numb. Holding the container close to his eyes, he got it open and drank every drop.

  “Sleep well,” Oconnestoto said as he handed over the peace pipe.

  “Thank you, my good fellow.” None of Oconnestoto’s words registered in his drugged mind.

  Samuel drew in on the peace pipe, filling his lungs full of smoke. He exhaled and developed a frivolous look as he passed out and fell over onto his side. Oconnestoto covered him with a bearskin blanket and headed into his wigwam for the night.

  At sunrise, Samuel awoke to a strange sensation at his hip. He lifted his head, seeing an animal with a masklike face and a bushy black-ringed tail pillaging through his pockets. Samuel was petrified, never seeing anything like it before. Oconnestoto entered the camp with eagle eggs, fish, and berries. He made a peculiar sound with his mouth and the critter left Samuel’s side.

  “Good gad!” said Samuel as he sat and warmed his hands by the coals in the pit. “What kinda varmint was that? I thought I was a goner!”

  “Do not fret, Katoka. He is our raccoon friend. I call him Procyon Lotor.” Oconnestoto handed him a bowl of berries. “Eat! I will prepare protein for us. Drink! There is chicory in pot.” He pointed at a silver container that sat over the fire; he then tossed Samuel a cup.

  Samuel caught it, filled it with steaming-hot chicory and ate the berries. For the life of him he could not remember Oconnestoto’s name. Being sounder in mind, he begged, “Please, forgive me, sir . . . but, what is your name again?”

  “Oconnestoto!” he answered, building the fire.

  ‘“Oco . . . Oconto . . . oconstono . . . what?” he asked, trying to pronounce it.

  “Oconnestoto!” he repeated, shaking his head in disappointment.

  “What does that mean?”

  “‘The great warrior.’ I was given this name because I never lost a man in all my expeditions,” he explained as he stood tall with the honor and beat his chest once with his fist.

  THE APPALACIANS

  EARLY SPRING 1868

  Dusk was approaching on the first day of spring. A cluster of pinkish-orange clouds illuminated the western horizon, standing out against the increasingly darkening sky. The snapping sounds of the oxygen’s release from the fiery wood in the campfire occupied the silence. A wintry breeze captured a wisp of smoke, drifting the aroma of burnt cedar eastward.

  Oconnestoto had been hunting and collecting necessities all day, not surrendering till he had stockpiled the evening’s bare essentials. He was out gathering the last of the night’s fuel for the life-sustaining fire. Samuel maintained the essence of the campsite, making sure the flames stayed glowing. He had skinned two rabbits, boiling the nourishment in a large kettle with potatoes and corn received in trade for buffalo skins, making Oconnestoto’s favorite dish.

  Two strangers strolled into the camp, spooking Samuel and his bronco. Samuel leapt up, panicky of their intentions. He remained at his post, vexed at his inability to have detected their presence, braced to bolt at a moment’s warning, not clear on how to behave with the intrusion and its uncertain threat.

  Samuel’s nervous animal stirred about restlessly. The outsider bearing his rifle strapped to his back handled the horse by its bridle, muttering words as he stroked its mane, getting it to ease off. The fellow of lesser height than his partner displayed his 6-chambered revolver around his waist in a chocolate leather case. He remained next to his associate, speaking in a low muted voice, leering over his shoulder at Samuel, nodding. The men strode in unison toward Samuel with their black dusters streaming behind them in the wind, taking position next to the fire. The three men gazed upon one another, watchful through the flames. The man with the rifle tipped his hat, spoke with a deep voice. “Sorry to barge in on you like this, Mr., but it’s gettin’ dark out here.”

  “’N’ mighty cold, too,” the other man added, tugging his coat tighter around himself, warming his hands by the fire.

  Wary of their purpose, Samuel listened, watching their movements.

  “The name’s Auden, Vince Auden,” said the deep-voiced man, thrusting out his hand. “And this is my brother, Terrance.”

  “Gentleman,” said Samuel, shaking their hands. “I’m Katoka.”

  The brothers gave each other a hasty look then adjusted their eyesight on Samuel.

  “Interestin’ name,” said Terrance, tipping his hat back with one finger.

  “Have a seat, men. Warm yourselves.”

  “Thankya kindly, Mr.,” said Vince.

  “Much obliged,” said Terrance.

  All three sat upon logs lying around the fire.

  “So what brings ya fellas out here in the middle of nowhere without horses or supplies?” Samuel asked with suspicion.

  Vince breathed deep, leaning forward. He planted his elbow onto his knees, cupped his chin. “Me and my brother are takin’ a little trip, not sure where we’ll end up,” he said. “We smelled the smoke from your fire, decided to see who occupied it—friend or foe—hopin’ it’d be friend, ’cause it’s gettin’ late, dangerous ’round these parts.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Where’s your horses ’n’ supplies?”

  “Left ’em back yonder so we could scout the area in a secure manner,” said Vince.

  Terrance cut in, stroking his goatee. “I’m curious. What’s ah white-man doin’ stayin’ out here, ‘in the middle of nowhere’ as you put it, KATOKA, livin’ in ah teepee?”

  “Anyone else lodgin’ here, son?” Vince asked, staring Samuel dead in the eye then giving attention to Samuel’s horse. “Is that your ride?”

  Something about all of this did not jibe with Samuel: two men of their stature not breaking camp before the approach of darkness and the private questions they had asked were very debatable. He perceived that they were ready to pounce upon him; it just wasn’t plain to him why. If it were not for him being wise about how Oconnestoto operated, knowing that he was assuredly overseeing the mortal threat from within striking distance, he would have sprung up by now and spurt off like a bat out of hell. Samuel swallowed hard, pushed his fear deep into the pit of his gut. He leaned forward, looked Terrance then Vince in the eye. “You gentlemen ain’t welcome here no more. It’s best y’all be leavin’ now!”

  Vince cracked a smile, ran his hand over his mouth, sat straight and wagged his head. “It’s the darnedest thing,” he stated, pointing at Samuel’s bronco. “That there horse has a unique white marking next to its mane in the shape of a clover, just like the one described on a horse from back east.” His eyelids narrowed, his grin grew sour.

  Terrance took over, smirked, reached inside his overcoat’s pocket and extracted a folded paper. “Another funny thing ’bout this—you’ll get a kick out of this one, gentlemen,” he stated, glancing up at Samuel as he opened the wrinkled public notice bearing a portrait. He flattened it out, displaying it for Samuel and Vince to behold, he then viewed it himself. Conceited, he said, “This guy looks a lot like you, KATOKA, only about four years younger, no beard. Says here the name’s Samuel Lee Simms, though, and that he’s wanted for murder! Five hundred dollar reward! Dead or alive! Whaddaya think ’bout that, Samuel Lee Simms?” he asked, staring Samuel down, passing his tongue over his top front teeth. He peered over at his brother. “Whaddaya think about that, Vince?”

  “I think this’s who we’re lookin’ for, Terrance. And I think since we’re bounty collectors, we’re gonna hafta take Mr. Simms in, gather our earnings.” He raised his brow, cautiously reaching over his shoulder for his rifle.

  The three
men gazed upon one another, each inclined to make a move—then out of the thicket burst Procyon Lotor, startling the bounty collectors, swatting at them with knifelike claws, bearing his jagged teeth, producing a horrid shriek. They fell onto their backs. Samuel exploded into a surge, cloaking himself inside from which his savior arose, paralyzed with terror.

  The bounty men fired their weapons, bullets whizzed past Samuel’s head. Oconnestoto yanked Samuel down onto the dirt, hurrying them away on their hands and knees to brief safety. Oconnestoto handed his horse over to Samuel. Samuel slipped his foot into the stirrup and hoisted himself up into the saddle, his knees quivered with fright. Taking hold of the reins, Samuel was avid to obey Oconnestoto’s guidance.

  “Katoka, my brave brother,” Oconnestoto calmly but quickly instructed, gazing up into Samuel’s troubled eyes, “take shortcut to river, it leads to only crossable zone—that will buy you time. Once across, journey to cave. Take shelter. Before rise of sun, listen for train, climb aboard. Flee!”

  “What about your horse?”

  “He will find his way back. No worries.”

  Oconnestoto believed that inviting people into one’s past vastly deepened the odds of getting caught. He warned Samuel about sharing the mystery with others. He knew they would challenge the truism and bear absolute judgment, blinding them with unrealism, becoming so sure of themselves that they would not question their beliefs; the reason Samuel was on the run must be untold for now. Oconnestoto held Samuel’s hand tight. “You must remember this: tell no one of past, except entity who is ‘one’ with you,” he warned.

  “How’m I gonna know who that is?”