Paul drove his new four wheel machine out of Exeter by the Arkansas/Oklahoma border, through Cassville, towards Springfield and thence up to Rolla. These were scenes of various Civil War battles I had fought on table top war games, mostly losing as the CSA player. Paul has taken the part of a light horseman, Indian scout and farrier sergeant in reenactments of such battles. He informs me that General Joe Shelby’s epic raid up to the Kansas City and Jefferson City Union rail heads, was one of many, that Confederate columns raided regularly along the high plateau of the Ozarks for horses, weapons and uniforms.
“Yes, sir uniforms. In the reenactments, to be a Confederate trooper one needs only one piece of Confederate uniform, as the men’s needs were mostly supplied by taking what was needed from Union depots. After Shelby’s final victory at Brownsville/Matamoros, he went into Mexico as you know. On the way to help out the French, he sold a captured Union cannon to the rebels. The French did not take kindly to this. A captain of lancers and General Shelby nearly dueled, which Shelby would have lost, since he was all used up and lame in one arm by then. He would return to the states, participate in politics and find success in the railroad business. He did better than Forest after the war, whose exploits were similar. He lasted longer in civilian life.
“As you can see, these highlands are not as high or steep as the Allegenies. But it was important to stay to the high lands so not to be caught down in those hollers. River crossings were important, of course. Shelby would be hounded back to Arkansas by superior forces and often had to turn west and go through Kansas, such as the Flint Hills corridor we drove down from Montius. Thank you for working with me on the saber. We shall see if those Yankees might be dealt a hard turn!
“No sir, I no longer serve as an Indian scout. There are not enough of us to make a unit, so we are dispersed among the whites. Indians are losing their heritage, have had it beaten out of them, are no longer proud of the exploits of their warlike forefathers—it is a shame, really. Part of it, much of it, is the lack of meat in the diet. We went from eating all meat to mostly wheat.
“Yes, you can see, that before the interstate cut was made—for this is the exact route taken by Shelby—that, by the cut of the land, only two horses abreast, perhaps a wagon, might traverse here. Sometimes the damned Yankees would catch up to them—even such an enemy cannot not always be counted upon to be slow and pick up merely crumbs. Then the canon might have to be tossed in the river to keep the Yankees from getting it back. Some union men had spirit. My ancestor, Bingham, served in the Union forces. He notes the poor behavior of one general, in not safeguarding imprisoned women and children taken as hostages against Bloody Bill Anderson’s depredations—woman shields if you will—and that there death in his custody would live in infamy. The Union troops were generally ill served by their officers. McClellan, though, for all of his faults as a lack luster commander, did invent a saddle that was in U.S. service for a hundred years. I was just informed of this by one of my customers who is the foremost authority on the subject. He said that the McClellan saddle was a modification of an existing Texas saddle McClellan had used in about 1840, and that the design was German. There were many German homesteaders in Texas.
“I am fascinated with film production and would like to make a movie. Your book Ranger? will eventually be a movie. But it will probably be AI. You cannot get enough extras together to make a good movie. Indians don’t want to depict Indians of old. The government has driven—spiritually beaten—their heritage out of them. You have noted to me the same accent at powwows for all of the tribes. Indian film roles are largely influenced by Lakota. In Hollywood, Lakota among Indians are over represented, like Jеws among whites, a high proportion, a dominant majority. Lakota have the best English of all of the tribes, and are proud of it. Unfortunately, what is left of Indian culture is reservation culture. For instance, flat bread, is all the rage at these powwows. I recall in the 1990s, my father, who traveled everywhere and panned for gold in Alaska—telling me that the Navaho had some fry bread. It was generally unknown. Now, Indian fry bread and Navaho tacos are all the rage. The ingredients did not exist in previous times. Indians ate meat. On the Res they had wheat flower and no oven, so pan fried bread is the result, unleavened.”
The snow on the roads was substantial back in town where various cars had ditched. On the open highway, there were well-plowed stretched. It seemed about eight inches had fallen on Saturday. This was Monday. We viewed five tractor trailers that had flipped and skidded into the median. Paul commented, “I have a CDL, but not the considerations for hauling flammable liquids, which I never wanted. The people that are awarded CDLs in this country without even English language skills equal with observing posted signage, is really astonishing. As you travel you will do well to pay attention to the Somalis. They are everywhere. There are quite a few in Arkansas. I get along with them fine. They were brought in to work in meat plants that have since been shut down.
“Brill Yates and such want to get rid of all of this cattle. Missouri has more cattle than any state but Texas. And look, look at these water towers going up. These are for subdivisions. What are these people going to do for work? There are no jobs here as there is and most jobs are fake to begin with.
“Look at that! [18-wheeler flipped between a side road and highway on slope.] That man must have been an idiot to take that side road in this snow! We do not even have enough drivers to move the consumables. Look at that train, Cosco and China read the containers. You know Saint Louis no longer has shipping? It was an international port. Kansas City is still rated as an international port—is where this train is coming from with all of those cheap Chinese goods…”
Over an hour, winding through hills south west of Saint Louis to find T—B Wrights residence, we find ourselves in a snowy driveway of a large mansion, down hill from a less grandiose manse of white. I called T—B, “Bro, do you live in a mansion—I don’t want to get shot.”
“I am coming outside. I’m uphill—you are at the neighbor’s place.”
As Paul drove me up the driveway he mentioned deadpan, “”Well, sir, it does appear that your accommodations are improving.”
By the looks of this delicious Salvadorean breakfast served by one of the three beautiful women owned by Mister Wright, Paul was correct.
