Chapter Prologue

Here lies the tribute to the trickiest man this side of the Mississippi, a vagrant to many, and to many more, the heart of the west.

1802-1872

‍ ‍ If you were to pack your bags, hitch a ride on one of them new locomotive stations and ask for “Richard’s Folly” they take you here. Down to the place I used to call home. Never had I known anything more nor had I wanted more than what was given to me. Honestly, until about 12 I didn’t think much outside our place in this world. The idea that a man could live any different, the idea of these great large machines, trailing on into the great plains beyond us, creating a bridge between ourselves and the men of the East was laughable. If you were to see us from where the birds flew, you’d find no difference between us and any tribe stranded on an island. That was the existence our fore-fathers paved on to our paths before us, and it would be only the mind of a fool to question otherwise. I would guess the fool would come for us all eventually, and I seemed to be the only one to take his gesture to heart.

‍ ‍ When I was still there, life had us in routine. You woke up, tended to not only your stock but also the count of any wanderers, passerby or neighbors, as rude or ornery as they may have been. You came inside, ate your share and quickly darted down the road to pick up anything your father may have needed at the local general store. Was always a treat, seeing familiar faces down there once in a while. This one time in particular I remember seeing this one girl. Normally I would not indulge describing her as I would find it pointless but by God she was by far the prettiest thing that ever came by this lonesome town. My words could never do justice towards her. Never did I go up to her nor did I ask around, was one of my biggest regrets for the rest of my years. Pa had a mighty bad case of chucking and wheezing, so she was possibly the last thing on my mind at the time. When I returned only to see she had vanished, I was saddened an awful bit, but another part of me was accepting of this. Cause like many things at that old town, the best things never stayed, only wandering around or past us.

‍ ‍During the steadfast summer of 1818, I reckon that it was the first sign of something. That something was holding together the strained relationship that was me and Pa. The — (The page at this point was scribbled on and torn beyond salvage, the journal continues on pages later.) — and that was likely the last friend in that I had in that old place. That was my final push, the tipping point in my canoe which flung me downstream into the great expanse East. -(Author Unknown)

This was a most fascinating journal. It was a few weeks ago when after a lengthy goodbye process, I turned my back on everything I once knew and rode a horse into the West. Attempting to explain to my family that a well-educated college graduate was forsaking everything in order to fulfill some vague purpose not entirely grasped by the man on the journey himself was nothing short of a trial. After my first week on the road I had stumbled upon this quaint bar. Wandering vagrants not much unlike myself filled the corners and brought a lively attitude to the surrounding air. When I had stumbled into this saloon as it were, the difference in specimens was short of astounding. At my home town, a gathering of people driven to drink had commonalities betwixt one another. At the far end were those who looked striking to my uncle, a clean-shaved man pressed up in a suit with slick back hair and a small briefcase. At the lower end were those my peers would rather not associate with entirely, the kind of client-el who were most common in the saloon I found myself in. Although I say that, the fact that it was a mixing of these to ends of a drinking spectrum was incredible. Never before had the though crossed my mind that these two could share the same space together. And in the middle of this spectrum I found the most interesting one to date, Lewis Connel.

Lewis Connel was truly a sight to behold, he straddled the line between the inner complexities of the local town drunk with the outer complementaries of the upper class. He was a slimmer man with gray streaks protruding the sides of his head. Those green eyes could easily pierce through a man’s soul if he though it necessary. When I sat down he took a swig from the hardened glass below him, the whiskey glowed and shone even in the early hours of the evening. When he spoke it came through soft as a whisper, but with enough power behind it to silence the chatter around.

Evenin, stranger, what brings you here?

Good evening sir, you see, I come from..

I can tell where your from son, what I wanna know is where you want to go.

By what do you mean?”

I mean, you could turn back and return to whatever high end establishment for stuck up wealths you come from. Or you could keep going, really make something of yourself out here.

Which do I chose?

That’s for you to decide, I can’t make you, only guide.

I pondered for a moment. If what he was saying was true, then the first actual help acclimating to this new world I intend to explore was right in front of me. But in doing so, I would be forsaking everything I had ever known and despite my statement previously, I didn’t feel so definitive until he brought the decision to me. In the end I chose something I have not regretted since…

I’ll keep going.

End of Prologue.