Free Morning in Nicodemus by Ellen Gray Massey

bush and nuts weighted down the hickory, walnut, and pecan trees. 
    Â Â  “And, of course, acorns for squirrels to get fat on. There was flint to make arrowheads and trees to build lodges. Everything anyone would need without traveling far.”
    Â Â  “Is it still like that?”
    Â Â  “In a way, but like what is happening here, the game is almost gone and people live in every valley. Many winters ago my people had to leave. We return now only on short trapping trips.”
    Â Â  After a few minutes he added, “The old men tell lots of stories from the time we lived there.”
    Â Â  “Tell me some,” Virgil said.
    Â Â  “Most of the stories deal with the land, the springs, trees, streams, and either good and bad people.”
    Â Â  When Virgil indicated he was interested, Hunter continued, “One I like tells how one night a big spring gushed up out of the ground. They say it is the eye of the Sacred One, the Earth, who is weeping because our people had grown fat and lazy. They were wasting the land. They were dirty and disorderly, were killing game they didn’t need, and warring on their kinsmen.”
    Â Â  “I like that story, too,” Virgil said.
    Â Â  “One of the older warriors who joins us sometimes on our hunts tells lots of stories about that region. He grew up just west of there, went to a Yankee school, and was a Union scout in that area during the War Between the States. His name is Walking Owl. My favorite that he tells, and one I also like to tell is about Spanish gold.”
    Â Â  “Tell me.” 
    Â Â  Hunter grinned at Virgil. “All I have to do is mention ‘gold’ and everyone, red, black, or white, wants to hear it.”
    Â Â  “So do I,” Virgil said.
    Â Â  As they jogged along the banks of the Solomon River, Hunter thought for a moment before beginning, “I’ll tell it like Walking Owl does.” 
    Â Â  He composed himself before he began. “Many, many winters ago when the Osages wintered in the hilly land of the Ozarks and spent the summers hunting the buffalo on the great plains, some Spaniards were taking the gold they found in the Colorado mountains by mule train across the plains to the Mississippi River. From there it was shipped down to Louisiana and then to Spain. To get to the big river they traveled through our hunting lands that spread for many, many days’ journey all the way from the mountains to the big river.
    Â Â  “Now at that time, gold didn’t mean anything to my people except for some trinket for decoration. The tale goes that my ancestors trailed them because they wanted their mules. They caught up with the Spaniards and killed them all somewhere on their journey. But before they were captured, the Spaniards hid the gold in some cave or rocky formation along one of the many rivers they followed or crossed. The gold was never found, though many men have hunted for it over the years.”
    Â Â  “I’ll bet they did. I’d have looked myself. Finding Spanish gold would ease our problems and bring my parents here.” Virgil laughed. “Could that have been on a river in Kansas?”
    â€œProbably not.” Hunter grinned.
    Â Â  “No caves or good hiding places?”
    Â Â  “Unless they hid it behind a clump of bunch grass,” Hunter said laughing. “Everyone reacts like you did. The first thing they think of when they hear the story is that they might find the gold themselves.”
    Â Â  “Along a river, you said?”
    Â Â  “Yes, so the story goes.” Hunter grinned. “And there are hundreds of rivers the Spaniards had to cross on their trip.”
    Â Â  “And thousands of hiding places.”
    Â Â  The tall young men ran on. Thinking about Hunter’s story and wishing it really was this area where the Spaniards hid the gold,