There is nothing quite like hanging out around a campfire with friends. It was a warm autumn evening and we had prairie chicken and fish on the coals slowly bringing our dinner and eventual breakfast to fruition. We had potatoes, carrots, mushrooms and onions roasting as well. The food had all been cleaned & prepped and then wrapped in wild cabbage leaves; we then packed river clay around them and set them on the coals to cook. No need for aluminum foil here, Lady Gaia doth provide to those who know where to look.

The campfire was my usual oblong affair, allowing me to scrape coals away from the happy campfire flames for the slow steady need of the roasting food. To be truthful there were some strips of bison and venison snuck in there to cook also. I’ve never been much of a fish fan and there isn’t much to a prairie chicken once you get the feathers off of its carcass. Those prairie chickens were the dominant ground fowl in North America until the pheasant was introduced as a game bird in the late 18th century. But the parasitic pheasant would mark the end of the native North American ground fowl like the colorful and noisy ‘Prairie Boomer’. The pheasant was definitely an invasive species. Turkeys were around as well but they thrived more near human population centers than out here on the frontier where the coyote, wolf and big cat still hunted.

It was a nice autumn evening and the heat of the day was bleeding off slowly. The food was cooking and the beer had been chilled in the river for the better half of the afternoon. The Browne kids were full of cheer and telling everyone thrice how they had battled and defeated this or that fish, Dad Browne was suitably proud and amused by his offspring. Mrs. Browne didn’t say a word and any time she tried to rain on the kids' parade, Doc hushed her right up and went back to drinking beer and telling stories with Sven and me. Amos turned out to be a spectacular babysitter and the kids just adored him; of course, Brin was thrilled by the attention he got.

As soon as dinner was finished and the last story told, the kids were packed off to bed accompanied by the seemingly perennial party pooper currently known as Mrs. Browne. The bourbon came out which was enough to send Amos packing as well. It was just us three old fellas now; well us and a bottle. We didn’t hit it hard but we talked and told stories. I felt bad because I couldn’t tell them the real truth but I did tell them that I occasionally had visions in my dreams that repeated themselves. I blamed a vision and told them that vision showed me where coal was located near our new town.

That was the only bit I shared with them but it was enough to get Sven excited, if we had our own coal our profits would soar. He excitedly dug into his travel bag and pulled out a section of the Baton Rouge Gazette, he pointed out an ad offering steam engines to fit any need, it included a contact name and address. Well now, that offered up a plethora of opportunity for us and just that information itself deserved another pour for each of us and a hearty good night.

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Morning came gently even to us three drinkers. The relatively heavy meal combined with gentle consumption of inebriants left our bladders as the morning's only reminder of the liquid indulgence of the night before. This was to be our last full day travelling, we could probably make it before dark if we pushed it and the weather cooperated but that was no way to arrive home. It was definitely not the way to introduce people to their new home either.

So we actually stopped early for the day, leaving about two hours worth of travel for the next day. Clothes were washed and baths in a cold stream were taken. The Brownes camped with me again and the afternoon and evening were quiet, I’m not sure about anyone else but I slept well that night.

Extra time was taken that morning to insure everyone was rested and were well prepared to meet their new life. Amos and I had been fielding questions about Rulo the entire trip, eventually the answers simply became “you’ll see”. Mrs. Browne was allowed back on the steamboat that morning, my cruelty did not subscribe to that level of public humiliation. The story would get around regardless, small towns hold no secrets.

We docked at the pier just around noon and were greeted by the harbor crew who tied the boats up and stared at the paddlewheel. Brin on the other hand didn’t even wait for the gangplank, he was into the water and up the road before most of us registered the splash. That meant the greeting committee would be here soon, so I hurried everyone off of the boat. We had about five minutes to get our bearings before the crowd showed up.

Those five minutes were a life saver because the crowd that showed up was even more impressive than I had imagined it would be. But then again it was a break from the daily work even if only for a little while and who doesn’t enjoy that?

Barking dogs, yelling children and Capt. Timmons and the rest of his group literally drooling over every detail of the steamboat tied up at the pier. Very much the grand entrance.

Amos was basically melding with his young bride, so much so that I half expected to witness a fusion event that would twitch all of us away to an even stranger time line. Hey – stranger things had happened in my own recent history.

The strangest thing was the lack of personal attention for me. I shook the hands and said the proper words to all of my friends and acquaintances but saw nothing of Mouse, Michelle, Matilda or Sonya; damn saying it that way makes it sound like I had a harem. I really wanted to see Mouse and really would like to see my friends also.

Eventually Holder showed up and handed me Lunch’s reigns, so up into the saddle I went and off to find my wife and fellow travelers.