I lay dying, with an arrow through my heart. I was lying at the base of a large rock with the sun in my face where I had fallen. When I was hit, I rolled over the edge of the bank and down the ravine to where I lay against the sage brush, partially hidden, but enough in view that it would be easy for the Indians to see me. Each breath hurt and I could taste the blood coming from my lips. I knew that if I was not dead soon, I would be, because they were still there just above me in the bushes near the big rock. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply and with a slight quiver and final involuntary stiffening of my body, I lay still.
They came stealthily around the rock and down the ravine. One had an arrow fit to his bow, not knowing if his shot had been successful. As he gazed at my face he could see that I was already dead. He whopped loudly and taking me by the hair quickly removed my scalp. Standing over me and holding the scalp high in the air above his head his victory cry was heard echoing from the near hills.
I opened my eyes and got up, brushing the dirt from my faded blue jeans and worn plaid western shirt, my favorite one with the pearl snaps down the front, and said, “It’s my turn to be the Indian chief this time.” We laughed and climbed out of the ravine and back up the hill to Shakespeare again. This huge rock rose some 30 feet above the hill side and was a challenge for us to climb, but we could manage it.
We climbed to the top and the three of us, standing, looked out over the valley below. In our position on top of Shakespeare, the breeze gently cooled our sweaty bodies and we felt like we were on top of the world and indeed, we were. We could see the whole world from here.
Taking a deep breath we drank in the wonders of the view. The pink coral cliffs to the left and the green wooded hills that surrounded the rest of the small beautiful valley was a sight to behold.
Just below us some 300 yards lay the cool inviting waters of the town reservoir. Looking beyond the reservoir upon the small friendly town below, we could see the streets laid out in nine perfectly square blocks. We could see the houses and identify the homes of everyone of the one hundred and ten people living in our town.
There was our house, the first one on the main road into town, the one with the huge cottonwood tree in the middle of the yard and home of the highest tree house in the world. A block south was the general store, post office and home where two of our friends lived.
On the right, a bit past that, was the small two room school house where we spent our weekdays and had each year from the first grade to the sixth.
As we sat gazing over the valley and looked down at the reservoir the game of cowboy and Indian gave way to a desire for a cool swim in the reservoir. We climbed down the rock and made our way home to ask Mom’s permission.
Mom was in the garden looking at the vegetables and she looked hot. I thought of how much she liked to swim and determined that we would use it to our advantage. Trying to look hot and exhausted, we approached Mom and to ask is we could go swimming. Her answer was that we could, once the weeds were pulled from two rows of peas.
Even though it was not our favorite thing to do, we made a game of it by throwing the weeds at each other and breaking open an occasional pea pod for the sweet taste of the peas warmed in the sun. I even snacked on a few of the fresh green beans that were not quite ready for picking but were tender and juicy.
When we completed, we found our swim suites and let Mom know we were ready for the cool swim. That’s when we heard it, the sound of the sheep coming up the street. Swimming would have to wait. We rushed outside to see how close they were; not far. There must have been hundreds of them.
We sat on the brick wall in the front yard while waiting for them to arrive. As we watched we could see friends walking behind with men on horseback following the dogs that were barking and nipping the white woolly sheep’s heals to keep them moving and on course.
We joined our friends on the way up the street to the sheep corrals above town. Careful not to step in the wrong places, we ran with the dogs shouting and whistling at the sheep with the men. At the corral, we helped move the sheep into the narrow gates, slapping the soft woolly backs with our hands and shouting like we knew what we were doing. They were crowded so tight into the pens that we could walk across a waving sea of woolly backs from one side of the pens to the other.
When we grew tired of the sheep it was a short distance back home where we decided to spend some time in the upper limbs of the big cottonwood tree. High up in the limbs we listened to the rustling of the green leaves and could feel the gentle sway of the sturdy limbs as they moved back and forth in the gentle breeze. Lying on our backs on the small tree house platform we had built ourselves and looking up through the leaves at the blue sky, I could imagine we were sailing the high seas with the pirates of the Caribbean.
Just then Mom opened the front door and announced that it was supper time. We quickly climbed down the tree and ran to the house. Entering the door, we were met with the delightful aroma of cornbread and gravy with milk and honey, my favorite. We quickly washed our hands and faces and ran to the table. Even though it was our favorite meal we wanted to finish as quickly as possible so I could go back outside until dark.
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