Chapter 1
"Mingo, let's go!" Israel's impatient voice interrupted the conversation. His father looked down at his son's anxious face and frowned.
"Israel, what have I told you about interrupting people who are talkin'?"
The little blond boy hung his head and stubbed his booted toe against the ground. "I ain't supposed to do it, Pa."
Beside him Mingo looked down affectionately at the lowered head. "Israel, you aren't supposed to do it."
"I know, Mingo, but I'm tired o' waitin' on you! You said we'd go fishin' this mornin' and it's been mornin' for hours!"
The two men shared a smile at the boy's expense. Then Mingo bent and looked into Israel's frowning face. "If you are ready to go, then I'm ready too."
Israel bounded across the porch and leaped into the yard. He grabbed his fishing pole and leather pouch containing the lunch. He waved back at his father still standing on the porch beside their tall Cherokee friend. Mingo saluted Daniel, took his pole and rifle in his hand, swung his shot pouch and powder horn over his shoulder and followed the exuberant little boy.
The mid-March weather was warmer than normal and the migrating birds filled the trees with their songs. The moist ground exuded a fecund odor, filled with the promise of a bountiful season of nuts and berries. Mingo walked with his head high, the fragrances of spring filling his nostrils. Before him Israel skipped and bounced, his youthful spirit also filled with the promise of spring.
"Where are we goin', Mingo? Someplace special? You said you'd take me someplace special that I never been before. Where're we goin'?"
"We are going somewhere special, Israel. I found this place one day on my way to your cabin, and I thought to myself at the time that you'd really enjoy it too."
"How much farther is it? Way far away?"
"No son, about another mile."
"That's not far enough, Mingo. We'll be back home by dark. I wanted to stay out with you at night!"
"Well, I see no reason why we can't stay overnight. Your father knows where we are in the event he wants to have you back sooner."
Israel beamed a great smile at his friend and skipped another few steps. Overhead the morning sun warmed the surrounding forest and the trees released their spring fragrance. High in the branches they could hear the squirrels beginning their spring courting. A lone raccoon ambled across their path, his black-masked face pointed to the ground as he searched for grubs. The springtime borning infected both Mingo and Israel and they eagerly approached the clear, bubbling creek that wove its way through a beautiful grassy glen.
"What is this place, Mingo? I never been here before." Israel dropped his pole and leaned over the clear, cold water. His reflection waved in rippled distortion. Beneath the surface he could see tiny, tiny minnows darting from rock cave to rock cave.
"I don't know what anyone else calls it, but I call it Silver Moon Glen. I found it one night when the full moon was causing the grass to gleam a silvery white."
The little boy turned his blonde head to look at his friend. "Mingo, you sure do talk purty. I don't know nobody else that talks like you."
Mingo grinned at the information. "Is that something you consider positive or negative?"
"Huh?"
"Do you like the way that I speak or do you wish I would speak differently?"
"Huh?"
"Do you want me to talk like you do?"
"Oh. Well, sometimes," the little boy's face was screwed into concentration lines. "I like listenin' to you, but I don't always know what you mean."
"I see. Well then, my young friend, I will endeavor, I mean try, to talk as you do. "
"Like a ex-per-i-ment?"
Mingo's face split into a wide grin. "Yes, son, like an experiment."
Israel stood and unwound the line from his pole. "What're we goin' to use for bait?"
Mingo strode to the edge of the bank, slipped his knife from its leather sheath, leaned over the stream and cut into the moist bank. In only a few seconds he unearthed a fat grub. The gleaming white half-formed insect lay in his brown hand. He reached out for Israel's hook and secured the bait. Then the boy flung his line into midstream and sat down to wait. Mingo smiled to himself at the look of intense concentration on the little boy's freckled face.
He baited his own hook and leaped lightly across the stream to walk a dozen paces downstream where the widening creek created a tiny pond. He plopped his baited hook just before the eddy and let the current take the bait into the slower moving water. Seconds later he hefted a twenty-inch trout from the water. Israel watched him remove the fish and rebait his hook.
"Hey, Mingo, can I come down there too?"
"Don't you think there are any fish where you are, Israel?" Mingo teased.
"Yeah, there prob'bly are, but not as many as where you are. Can I come?"
"Of course. Pull in your line, stay on your side and put your bait where I did."
Israel scrambled to a position opposite Mingo. He tossed his line out too far and it drifted downstream past the eddy. "Israel, don't throw it out so far. Try again." Mingo's voice drifted on the early spring breeze.
Israel did as Mingo explained and in less than five minutes had landed a twelve-inch trout of his own. His face split into a wide grin, his missing teeth adding charm to his already charming freckles. Mingo grinned back. "Do you need help unhooking him?"
"No sir, Mingo. I can do it." Israel caught his tongue in his teeth and narrowed his eyes in concentration. Mingo carefully watched from across the stream. When Israel successfully freed his fish Mingo relaxed and rebaited his own hook. He dug into the bank and unearthed another grub for Israel. Leaning far out over the stream the tall Indian tossed the slimy grub to the boy. Israel rebaited and replaced his line in the water. The morning sunlight sparkled on the bubbles and the two sat and enjoyed the feel of the early spring day. Sighing in enjoyment, they removed their coats as the strong sunshine warmed them through. They ate the lunch that Rebecca had packed for them, fished, talked and dozed the day away.