King St. John's Jim

Wet, Cold, Biting: harsh reality. Maybe why I’m writing on exactly the opposite. This is a fictional backstory for something out of the old west. Situations, motivations and facts have been made up (ha, ha, that’s fiction.) But I think it will make a good bit of fun to reach the end. And even then, the facts don’t fit, that only adds to the fun theanalreally have with this kind of fiction!

The Colonel gazed from the lookout tower. He had sent the scout three weeks ago, and was hoping for a speedy return.

An early return would likely mean the operation could proceed. Now was the right time. Delay would simply mean another year at this assignment. The great confrontations might be delayed, but they would happen nevertheless. The Colonel and his wife simply wanted to be assigned to a more civilized location.

Another two weeks passed, and the Colonel began to have concerns for the scout rather than the mission. If the enemy was any farther away, the mission would have to slip to next year: The large force needed to engage the enemy would not have proper supply and the logistics just wouldn’t work. “Too long, so long.” the Colonel muttered to himself about the missed opportunity for early re-assignment.

But now the Colonel was thinking more about the scout. Hard to replace: not many savvy enough for this wilderness. He may have to mount a party to go out and follow the trail markers left by the scout. The Colonel’s wife would beveryupset, but that’s duty. With this scout’s reputation, he could not trust any of his men with this assignment. Besides, the Colonel and the scout were the only ones who could interpret their secret trail markers. He would have to lead the party himself.

The young scout was resourceful. Trapping food for survival. Evasion tactics. Local knowledge from the wisest old guard scouts and mentors. Even what bugs might be edible — especially with a whiskey chaser.

The signs to continue were gone — too old, erased by the latest sandstorms. Now it involved a slow search of canyons aided by only by intuition.

Three days into the search: a spooked horse, followed by a broken leg.

Enough to screw up the scouts whole day.

The only option? Dig in and wait. The military gears turn slowly, but there would be a search party, and it would likely arrive in about 10 days the scout figured. That much time? “I got enough whiskey for that long and can wait with my leg in a splint. If it takes longer, I’ll want a drink so bad, I’ll just crawl out. Only about 50 miles or so.”

The rescue party actually arrived in less than a week: The Colonel included. He had to be there to insure her safety, as he knew he would. The young scout’s behavior was outrageous, even for a man. She was considered a filthy whore by most, but she waged a battle disrespect and defiance that was as unique as her gifts as a scout.

Passions in those days were fueled bylustorrighteousness, just as today. The scout polarized people in a way which was entirely unlike her true nature.

Only the Colonel saw her as an essential part of the team and a lady: a woman, and accorded her all the West Point Respect that the military would require he show a General’s wife.

Their unique relationship may go down in history.Or as a fantasy of Old West Mythos, in the true nature of those great exaggerators of the past.