Family History
I sat in the No. 10 Saloon in Deadwood looking at the album I had brought with me. Grandma had passed quietly a few weeks before and I had decided to use a bit of the money she had left me to see the grave of the man I was named after.
The saloon was quiet except for when someone would come through to see where Wild Bill was killed. Even though it seemed when I walked around earlier history was to be found everywhere in this small town, everyone wanted to see where Wild Bill was shot or where he was buried. For me though it was like finding family that had been lost. As I turned the page of the album there he was staring out at me.
He looked so young compared to the pictures of him that were down stairs in the room that had once been the saloon. He'd changed so much in the years following the Express that I was surprised that my family had been able to recognize their friend in the later years. Though, according to Grandma they had.
I looked at the next picture and there they were Mama, Poppa, and Wild Bill. Grandma had told me how much they had cared for each other and made a family of themselves.
I sighed as I rose to leave the saloon and make my way back to my hotel. I had been here for a week and learned all I could about the man I was named after. History is kind of funny though. It didn't tell me what Grandma had. It didn't tell me what she did about how much he loved his family or how hurt he was when they lost one. It didn't tell me that he hadn't started drinking until he received the news that Teaspoon Hunter had died. No, history doesn't tell you the little things.
I arrived back in my room and packed my bags. I figured I would pay my respects one last time before I left and then see a couple of more sights in the Black Hills before I returned home. I had inherited the ranch from Grandma and sizeable trust I didn't know about. Van, Grandma's foreman, said he would look after the ranch until my return. He said he knew I had things to see before I settled down at the ranch but that he knew I would be back. That all us McLeods always returned to the ranch sooner or later, usually sooner though.
I climbed behind the steering well of my Jeep and headed up to the cemetery to pay respects to the man that would have been my uncle one last time. As I did so I wondered about how his life and mine might have been different if he had talked to Mama Lou about that kiss and what could have been. Its kind of unsettling to think you could have been the grandchild of a gunfighter and gam…I could hear grandma's voice, "Mama would turn over in her grave if she heard you call him that."- And corrected myself…another man.
After paying my respects to him one last time I headed to see what the Black Hills had to offer on such a beautiful fall day. As I pulled out onto the highway I noticed how blue the sky was and fresh the air. It was the type of fall day you yearn for during the long endless heat of summer. The trees where changing from green to yellow, red and orange. The wind blew white fluffy clouds across the endless expanse of blue sky. There was a hint of wood smoke from somewhere in the air. UMMM…it was such a beautiful day.
I saw Mt Rushmore for the first time that day in all its glory. The avenue of flags welcomed me and I stopped to take many pictures. I took one of Wyoming's of course to display in my study at the ranch. One of Missouri, since that is where the Pony Express started and brought my family together. Finally one of Virginia's flag for Poppa Kid, since it had been his birthplace and he had fought for her during the War Between the States.
I stepped out from the flags and there it was this amazing sculpture it had taken years to make. It was truly awe inspiring and beautiful. I wondered down to the artist gallery and admired the work that was there. Beautiful sculptures from new artists. Then down to the museum and the history there.
It was so much to take in and I came away with some pride in my country that we had such a place to see and learn about some the great men that had shaped our country. After learning all I could from this place, I returned to my Jeep and headed on to my next stop.
It wasn't very far, and the weather was wonderful. It was the prefect day to be in a Jeep without the top. I spotted my destination while I was still a ways off. It was beautiful even from where I was. As I drew closer though it became even more wondrous than Mt Rushmore had been to me. I stopped as I drove through the gate to Crazy Horse Monument, sure that I would never get another shot like this, with the clear blue sky and the monument in the shot.
I drove up to the visitor's center found a parking place and made my way inside. I saw the video of the making of the monument and wondered around the museum. The amount of history in the museum made my head spin. It seemed all of the history of Native Americans was there. Pictures, bead work, dolls, toys, dishes, homes, everything, so much to learn, I could visit a hundred times and not learn it all.
I walked out on to the viewing deck and looked up at the unfinished monument in the distance. It was beautiful. A walk through another door told the story of the monument and where it stood in being finished. I was overcome by the fact I was here as history was being made. I heard a blast, and watched as another piece of the monument revealed it self.
I wondered through to the next part of the museum and saw the history of the artist and then on to another door that led to where local artist were plying their crafts. I watch as one man made a flute, a woman weaving, and another beading. As I walked on past other booths I couldn't help but stop and look at the items the people were making. It was all so beautiful.
I stopped at one table and was admiring the shields and dream catchers the artist had made. Wondering if the man my grandmother had called Buck would have ever made anything like these.
"Can I help you, Miss?" a voice asked.
I looked up and was taken aback for a moment. He stood in front of me. "Um…I'm just looking right now." I didn't know what to say but that sure sounded stupid.
"Ok, let me know if you need any help," he said with a smile as he returned to his work.
"Actually," I dug deep and found the nerve to ask, "Did you have an ancestor that rode for the Pony Express?"
He smiled that devastating smile at me again. "I believe that my great grandmother once told me that my great grandfather did. Why do you ask?"
"You won't believe this," boy did that sound as lame to him as it did to me; "I think our grandparents rode together. My grandmother recently passed and left me an album; you resemble one of the men in the photographs very much." Boy that was an understatement, he looked exactly like Buck.
"Um…You wouldn't happen to have it with you? I'd like to see the picture," was his reply. "By the way, I'm Hunter Cross."
I stared at him dumbfounded, Cross, it couldn't be. When I finally found my tongue I replied, "Yes, it's out in the Jeep. Um, I'm Jamie McCloud."
"McCloud, I've heard that name before. Hang on, let me close up and I'll be right with you."
I couldn't do anything. I just stood there and watched him close his booth. He didn't say much, only asked the woman in the next booth to keep an eye on things for him for a bit. She replied she would and we left the building. He didn't say much to me on the way to the Jeep except that his great-grandfather had been part Kiowa and asked me if I knew what nation this man had been from.
I told what little grandma had told me about the riders at the Sweetwater station. "The man you resemble was named Buck Cross. He was a good friend to my great-grandparents, Elmer and Louise McCloud."
"Grandmother mentioned a Kid and Lou McCloud but never an Elmer and Louise."
We'd reached the Jeep by then and I reached into my bag and pulled out the album. I started to hand it to him when he suggested we take a seat at one of the picnic table near the statue of the wild mustangs.
I handed him the album as we sat down. He thumbed through the pictures and stopping abruptly at one. He stared at it intensely. "Everyone always said I looked like my Grandfather but I never knew we looked so much alike. We didn't have very many pictures at home growing up. Do you know who this is next to him?"
"Grandma said that was Ike. She told me he and Buck were like brothers. He was mute and Buck had taught him Indian Sign. She said by the time he passed away everyone in the family could do it."
He turned a couple of more pages and looked at me intently. "You look a lot like your own grandparent," he said pointing to a picture of Mama Louise on her wedding day.
"I've been told I favor her," I smiled.
"She was very pretty. You look as much like her as I do my grandfather. Who is this little boy?" He pointed to the first picture of the group together.
"Mama Louise. Grandma said she disguised her self as a boy to ride for the express. She said everyone was surprised to find out Lou was actually Louise. She told me, Mama Louise loved them all very much and was sad when they couldn't find Buck after the Civil War. Did he have a good life?"
"Yes, as well as can be expected. We lost several family members at Wounded Knee and he rode with Sitting Bull at the Little Big Horn. He lived out his life on a Sioux Reservation here in South Dakota. He didn't talk much by the time I came along, not many of the elders did. Red Sun tried to tell me about his life but I was young and more interested in living my own life than listening to her stories. I missed much by not listening to her. What can you tell me about the family?" He asked. I could tell by his look he really regretted not listening to his grandmother's stories.
"Grandmother is the one I learned it all from. Mama was very old by the time I came along and Poppa had passed away long before. Let's see, there were seven riders at the Sweetwater Station, all were orphans I think. There was Jimmy - who I'm named after, Cody, Ike, Noah, your great-grandfather Buck, and my great-grandparents, Lou and Kid…"
"Kid, I always thought they were talking about a child," he said.
I laughed, "No, poppa didn't like being called Elmer for a long time; it had something to do with his father so he always went by Kid. Now Jimmy and Cody, you know of. Jimmy was none other that Wild Bill Hickok and of course…"
"Cody was Buffalo Bill. I'm sorry, the stories grandmother told are coming back as we talk. She said Buffalo Bill came by once and grandfather wouldn't go see him. He said he wouldn't know what to say to his old friend." He got a far away look in his eye as he remembered more of what his grandmother had told him. "Red Sun said that he had never recovered fully from the loss of his friend Ike. That Ike was closer to him than his brother Red Bear. I remember her saying that Noah was a black man and that he was also special because he understood about being an outsider in a white world. I seem to recall being told that I'm named after someone, can you tell me who it could be?"
I took the album and found the picture. There stood my grandfather's grandfather. "I believe this is the man you are named after. His name was Teaspoon Hunter. He was an ex-Texas Ranger and lawman. He ran the station and all the riders, according to grandma, looked to him as a father. He later became a marshal again after the war. My father loved him very much and I was surprised to learn that he was still getting around pretty well when my father was little. Said something about…"
"Onions and bear grease!" Hunter smiled at me and my heart beat faster in my chest. "He told them it was the secret to long life."
We both laughed and talked about the family history we were discovering as we sat there. It started getting late and an attendant stopped by and told us they were closing. I started to get up when he invited me to dinner. I hadn't made reservations at a hotel and explained this to him. He laughed saying that the bed and breakfast in town was open and he was sure that I could get a room there for the night. He even offered to escort me to it. I took him up on both the dinner offer and the escort offer.
The End…..for now…..