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Show I Reflections, May E Chapter 1 name is Dan Storm, and was only 16 years old when met the Ute warrior. It was in the fall of 1839, and was heading south along the Green River. The old trapper had been traveling with had been killed by some renegade prospectors. Later my horse and supplies were stolen by the Blackfeet. The old trapper and had been looking for Ike, an escaped slave who had come up the Missouri River with me, but unable to find him, supposed he was dead, too. Ill tell more about that later. was going south more in an effort to get away from the Blackfeet than for any other reason. In the back of my mind, I was toying with the idea of following the river all the way up to the Pacific Ocean where there were civilized Spanish settlements. Maybe there could find a new life for myself. certainly couldnt go back to Missouri. Every sheriff west of the Mississippi was itching to get hands on me. would rather die in this Rocky Mountain wilderness than give those Missourians the satisfaction of seeing me punished for what I had done. I'll tell more about that later, too. I realized there was a good chance that would die in the wilderness. In escaping the Blackfeet, I had left everything behind except my knife and clothing. a buckskin shirt, leggins and moccasins. The fall frosts had already turned the grasses gold, a beautiful contrast to the deep blue of the mountain sky. With winter coming, I had neither food nor the weapons needed to obtain food. I hadnt eaten anything but in almost three days, and had been walking most of the night, when came upon a fairly large beaver dam backing up the waters of one of the small tributary streams feeding into Henrys Fork. From the grassy hillside above the pond, I could see fat brook trout sunning themselves in the quiet I My I I I around up here might cave the ceiling in on my meat counter, he complained without much enthusiasm. sensed he was giving in and would let me make the seach. assured him that I would keep my weight on top of the to joists prevent a possible cave-in- . He handed me the flashlight and disappeared down the stairway. Systematically, I began working my way through the long dusty rows. There were more books than manuscripts, books that the company had been unable to sell. Some of the manuscripts were in envelopes, some were wrapped with string, and some were loose in disarray, with missing pages. couldnt help but podner all the work that had gone into these lost manuscripts, the dreams and aspirations of dead writers collecting dust in the attic of a delicatessen. the of Dan Storm finds nearly a dead end in his serach for the n I family journals. He has a wild idea I about where to locate the journals as the story continues. "A few more questions, I said, my voice sounding more earnest than intended for it to sound. Tony didnt say anything, but gave me an annoyed look knew as he waited for my question. my hunch as a long shot, and probably I I , another dead end, but then again, maybe I was on to something. What kind of insulation do you have I in your ceiling?" "I dont have any, I dont want any, and if you are mixed up with that salesman. . He pointed to the door, indicating that thats the direc- red-haire- d tion I ought to be headed. assured him had no intention to sell him anything, especially not insulation. But if Tony didnt have any insulation, I was very curious to know why his January heating bill was only $18, when Bill next door paid over $80 in January. I explained that since Tony or his father hadn't insulated the building, it had probably been done by Sears and Chadwick. And certainly a struggling publishing house wouldnt purchase insulation when there were plenty of unsalable books and manuscripts around items considered the solid construction of the ceiling, certainly able to support the weight of books and manuscripts. Tony shook his head in disbelief, but he still couldnt tell me how the building was insulated. He finally agreed to take me up to the attic for a quick inspection. We went into the back room and he led me up a creaky stairway after grabbing a flashlight from a window ledge. There were no electric lights above the heavy trap doors at the top of the stairway. The rafters and joists were rough sawed, which dated them back to a time before planed lumber was used in building construction. Between the dust, the joists was a soft accumulation of over 50 years, maybe I I gray-brow- -- I service-berrie- s I I I I As I explored the shallow head- waters, discovered a hole where fish could be trapped if the water surface could be lowered five or six inches. There were already a number of fish in the pool, waiting to be trapped. I waded back to the dam and located a narrow place, where succeeded in tearing away enough sticks and mud to increase the flow sufficiently to lower the water line enough to trap the fish. An hour later, was exhausted and soaked from chasing fish around that little pool, but I had three beautiful trout resting side by side in the grass. I I I Continues Next Week ging the dusty journals, trying to After showing them to the amazed Tony and his helpers, I placed a long distance call, collect, to Grandmother in American Fork. At first she thought I was kidding, but when I described the journals as bound in green leather with black lettering, and tied up with yellow I string, she finally believed was telling the truth, and she began to cry. I pro- I mised to hurry home MOTHERS SPECIAL! e FREE Mushroom or Zucchini Appetizer For Mom! as quickly as contained sufficient depth, intensity and historical significance to be valuable reading to most anyone. After reaching that conclusion, and using the journals as my guide, put together the following book which, by the way, is based only on the contents of the first three volumes. Hopefully I will be able to publish the contents of the other journals at a later date. I . DAY mo Bring the whole family and enjoy exquisite pleasure at an affordable price possible. I During the next several months, devoured the journals, realizing that even though they were of overwhelming significance to family members, they also I I d comprehend the significance of my find, but eventually I worked my way back to the stairway with the journals clenched tightly under my arm. At the foot of the stairs there was a wash basin with a cold water tap. Quickly I washed my face, hands, arms and neck, and wiped off the journals with a damp rag. longer. I hard-boun- I ( I n Tony aimed the light down as brushed away the dust between the two nearest joists. The dust was light and fluffy, but a few inches down my fingers brushed against a solid object. It enwas thick brown magazine-siza it removed and stiff, velope. opened yellow manuscript. The title page read as follows: The Abolishing of Slavery and the Resulting Economic Disaster, by Nathan Sanders III, 1860. carefully slid the manuscript back into the envelope. Tony didnt say anything. I've got to look for my great grandfather's journals. Can use your light?" "The extra weight of you walking About halfway down the second row, found nine volumes tied firmly together with a piece of twine. They were heavy, maybe five or six pounds. I brushed off the dust, exposing the smooth green leather underneath. Printed clearly on the front cover of the first volume were the words, Daniel Storm, Number 1." Quickly I pulled the bundle close to my chest as if I were afraid someone would take it away from me. Tears welled up in my eyes and began streaming down my dusty cheeks, leaving streaks of brown mud. My chest ached with the joy of finding a priceless treasure. I don't know how long sat there hugI I I backwaters, or swimming lazily among a forest of partly submerged and sharply pointed stumps where beavers had gnawed down a grove of young trees like a forest of sharpened pencils pointing skyward out of the water. My mouth watered at the thought of one or more of those fish roasting on a stick over an open fire. didn't have any hooks, but maybe could figure out a way to trap or spear some of them. From above, most of the pond appeared to be shallow enough for wading. On the opposite side of the dam there was a thick growth of willow and young cottonwood trees, providing an excellent hiding place. I hadnt seen any sign of Blackfeet for several days, so I believed they were not on my trail. This would be a good place to rest, make some weapons, and hopefully gather some food. The icy mountain water felt refreshing on my weary feet as waded into the pond. I had lashed my knife to a willow staff and had what appeared to be an effective weapon. Unfortunately, the fish wouldn't hold still long enough for me to spear them. was weak from lack of nourishment and soon abandoned the spear, deciding that must figure out a better way to catch the fish. I I I Page 5 I I As the prologue continues, 10, 1984, Make Your Reservations Early MOILE ItalianAmerican Entrees, Seafood, Steaks, Pasta, Pizza Combo Plates 41I COUNTRY CLUB STANSBURY PARK 882-612- 7 |