The Friendship, the Book and the Whippoorwill

September 1820

Daniel Boone opened the door from his bedroom to the second story balcony and stood breathing in the moist fall air. He was currently residing with his youngest son, Nathaniel, or Nathan as he preferred to be called, outside the settlement in the Femme Osage Valley in the Missouri territory. His 85 year old body was stiff and ached with age, but he still enjoyed the smell and feel of the forest. He had spent the best years of his life there and it had never been far from his heart.

He moved slowly to sit in a nearby chair and closed his eyes as he listened to the woodland inhabitants preparing for the upcoming winter. Squirrels chattered and barked as they gathered and buried their cache of nuts and berries. Jays squawked their annoyance at what they considered an invasion into their territory. Deer treaded cautiously to the creek below, ever vigilant to the potential unseen threat.

As a gentle autumn rain began to fall, adding a soothing background cadence to the world around, Daniel allowed his mind to drift back to another time and place.

September 1780

It had been an unusually wet summer in Kentucky and fall seemed to be following suit. Tired of being cooped up inside his small cabin, Daniel was anxious to be back into the woods and on the hunt for the meat that would sustain his family through the winter.

"Your pack is ready," Rebecca Boone said, placing the leather pouch on the small table beside the front door next to his rifle and coonskin cap. "There are enough provisions for two weeks; hopefully that will do." The spunky redhead placed her hands on her hips waiting for her husband to take the bait.

"Now Becky," the tall, frontiersman seated at the kitchen table said with a wry smile "You know that sometimes these things take time. With all this wet weather it's hard to say where the game may be stayin'. They might be where we figure'em to be or not. It's hard to say."

She gave him a frustrated look and turned toward the fireplace to continue preparing breakfast.

Suddenly, a blond-headed young lad came bounding down the ladder from the upstairs loft where he would occasionally still sleep. When he was four rungs from the bottom, he jumped off and landed on his feet with a loud thud.

"Israel!" his startled mother scolded when she nearly dropped the bowl in hand.

"Sorry Ma," the youngster apologized.

"Pa, are you sure I can't come with you?"

The lad loped to his father's side and gave him a pleading look; intending to continue arguing his case. "I'm a lot bigger than last year, so if you get lots of kill, I can help you prepare and pack it back. Criminently, I'm almost a man."

Dan regarded his son for a moment and hid the smile that threatened to cross his face.

"Now, Israel," he said patiently. "We've been over this. Someone has to stay here and look after your Ma while I'm away. The way I figure it, since you are bigger this year, you are the one to take on that responsibility."

The toe-headed boy beamed with pride at his father's words of confidence.

"Yeah, I guess you're right Pa. Ma's just a wimmen and wimmen need lookin' after," he said with assured resoluteness and presumed worldly knowledge. He took his seat at the table and head held high at his apparent elevated position in the household.

On hearing the boy's statement Becky turned toward her husband, eyebrows raised, silently issuing the unspoken challenge. She knew that he was only trying to pacify their son and put an end to the relentless requests to accompany him on this trip, but she wondered what exactly he had been telling Israel.

Daniel winked and shot a reassuring smile toward his wife. She was one of the strongest and most independent women he had ever known. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and had done so on many, many occasions while he was gone, sometimes for weeks at a time.

Fortunately for the frontiersman, a knock on the door ended the mute conversation. Israel jumped up from his seat at the table and ran for the door, but Daniel grabbed him by the arm before he could reach the latch.

"Now hold on. If you're gonna be the man of the house, you have to be more careful. You can't just open the door without askin' who it is."

Israel frowned. "But Pa, you know who…"

When his father shot him a warning look, the youth nodded and moved to stand beside the closed door just as there was another soft knock.

"Who is it?" he asked in his most deep and commanding voice.

For a moment there was no reply.

"Israel?" the voice whispered from the other side, wariness and concern plain its tone. "It's Mingo. Is everything all right?"

Israel smiled broadly and opened the door to admit the tall Cherokee.

Before entering, the Indian's dark eyes slowly swept across the cabin looking for any sign of trouble. He ducked slightly so that the two tail feathers sticking from the holder at the back of his head would clear the door frame and then stepped in cautiously, his rifle at the ready.

He looked from Israel to Rebecca to Daniel.

Seeing the confusion on his friend's face, Daniel grinned.

"We were just practicin'" he explained. "Since Israel's almost a man and gonna be watchin' out for things while I'm gone, we thought it might be good to remember not to go openin' the door to just anybody without askin'."

Playful understanding showed in Mingo's eyes, but he kept his face serious. "Yes, well, always a prudent and sound policy," he said with a nod of approval. " Well done, Israel."

The boy tried to hide the smile as he accepted the native's praise.

Becky delighted at the interchange. Sometimes she found it difficult to be the only female in the cabin, but she understood the importance to her maturing son. He needed to prove to both his father and Mingo that he was indeed growing up.

"Well, if you 'men' are done 'practicing', please have a seat." Becky quipped as she placed a plate of warm biscuits on the table. "Breakfast is ready."

"You too, Mingo," she said, gesturing toward the empty chair when after a couple moments he made no move toward the table. It always surprised and saddened her to think that after all this time he still considered himself a guest in their home. In her mind, he had long ago become part of their family. Perhaps his hesitancy stemmed from his proper English rearing?

A huge smile came across the native's face as he moved to prop his rifle and pack next to Daniel's beside the front door and took a seat.

"Rebecca, I gratefully and most heartily accept your invitation. I can honestly say that I am not relishing the thought of your husband's concocted version of sustenance for these next few days," he said, a teasing sparkle shining in his eyes.

Daniel stopped with a forkful of biscuits and gravy halfway between his mouth and the plate. He narrowly eyed his friend.

"You know, you ain't exactly gonna win any bakin' contests yourself," he said defensively.

Mingo grinned broadly and raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

"Touché, mon ami. Fortunately, or perhaps I should say unfortunately, we will have plenty of time to hone our culinary skills on each other."

Twenty minutes later the two men pushed back from the table, content with full bellies.

"My complements to the cook, Mrs. Boone," Mingo said with a satisfied smile. "Your culinary ability rivals the very best in Europe."

Daniel echoed the sentiment. "Right fine meal, Becky. Should be enough to keep us until we set up camp tonight."

The red-haired beauty smiled and nodded her thanks. High praise for a simple frontier breakfast; one would have thought they were raving over a seven course meal.

The tall woodsman stood and stretched his arms high above his head. "We'd better be on our way if'n we're gonna make camp near Big Pine Ridge by tonight."

Daniel moved toward the door and pulled his shot pouch, powder horn and pack over his shoulder. "It's quite a way, but I think it's possible if we set a good pace," he said to his friend.

The Indian nodded in agreement and grabbed his own rifle, horn, pack and pouch to throw over his shoulder, but stopped suddenly. "Oh, I almost forgot. Israel, I have something for you."

The youngster was at his side in no time. He had always held Mingo in high regard and any gift from him was an object to be treasured.

Digging in his pack, Mingo pulled out a thick, hard bound book and handed it to his young friend. "My copy of Robinson Crusoe; given to me by a cherished friend while I was at Oxford. It's one of my personal favorites. Now, I'm giving it to you."

"Really?" Israel's eyes went wide with surprise. "You mean it?"

Mingo nodded. He knelt down his tall frame down to be closer to Israel's height, opened the front cover and showed the lad the inscription he had written there, below that of his long-ago schoolmate. "I've been waiting until you were old enough to fully appreciate the intricacy and complexity of what appears to be, at least superficially, a seemingly simple story of survival against extreme odds; but I think that now is the appropriate time. Read as much as suits you; I very much look foreword to discussing it in depth with you when I return from this hunting trip."

Despite his age, Israel threw his arms around his friend as he had since he was a small child and hugged him tightly. Mingo smiled the brightest of smiles and hugged him back.

When goodbyes were said and Daniel had kissed Rebecca, the two friends set out northeast toward Big Pine Ridge. Daniel had hired out a mule from the blacksmith in Boonesborough to carry the supplies, but more importantly to haul the anticipated meat. They walked quietly together, as they often did, breathing in the cool, damp aroma of the moist forest.

"So what do ya think Mingo?" Daniel asked after a couple of hours, finally ready to strike up a conversation.

Mingo smiled to himself. He was by now very familiar with most of Daniel's quirks and habits. "Think? About what in particular?"

Daniel let a small smirk cross his face. He knew Mingo well. "The game. You think they'll still be up high or do ya think they will have settled back down in the low ground?"

Mingo shrugged his shoulders; a pensive look on his face. "Difficult to say. It depends on how high the river has risen, how soft the banks are, how long the animals have been bedded down or sheltered in. Despite the rain, the buck deer have probably begun rutting."

As they walked, the native pulled a small stem of leaves from a low hanging maple branch and began plucking them apart one by one. Daniel instinctively knew that a private and personally held bit of Cherokee lore and tradition was coming next.

"My people believe that the deer's seasons are guided by the moon rather than the weather and the…" the native took a deep breath before he cautiously continued, "…the Creator uses the moon as a signal to the animals. If that is truly the case, the bucks will already be less cautious and thus easier track. It is too soon for bear to have put on much fat; also too soon for the elk to have moved down from the mountains."

"I have no objections to a fair bit of venison," Daniel said with a smile.

"The weather's not been too warm lately," the frontiersman continued. "So if'n it stays that way, I guess we can pack whatever we get in the first couple of days over to the salt lick and prepare it to store. If we do that every few of days, we should have plenty to get us started for winter."

Mingo slowly nodded in agreement to his plan.

Dan acknowledged his companion's acceptance to the arrangement, but knew Mingo was thinking about his own people's concerns. "When we're done, you can take the mule and pack half of the takin's back to your village."

The Cherokee turned to his friend and returned the smile; knowing that the woodsman had, more than likely, read the look of uneasiness in his eyes. It was an acceptable agreement, borne from years of affable amity. Despite the treaty, the natives and the settlers had occasionally been at odds. Sometimes, the friendship and brotherhood between Daniel and Mingo has been the only thing that had kept them from all out war.

Just as the sun was beginning to lower in the western sky, the duo reached the edge of Big Pine Ridge. Mingo tethered and fed the mule, while Daniel gathered firewood. The stone fire ring was established, water dipped from a nearby stream, and coffee set to brew. Dan pulled some dried jerky and corn meal from his pack to prepare the evening meal.

"No grief about the dinner tonight," Daniel warned Mingo before he could offer an opinion. "You had a good breakfast and there ain't much that can be done to make these fixin's any better."

Mingo raised both his eyebrows and hands in surrender, deciding it was in his best interest not to rile the woodsman on the first day. He accepted the plate of boiled jerky and fried corncakes with a conciliatory nod and smile.

Dinner eaten and the last of the coffee consumed, they each wrapped up in their blankets by the slow glowing fire. "Good first day," Daniel said as he settled into a comfortable spot, head on a fallen log and his long legs stretched out. "It's good to be back on the hunt."

"Indeed," his friend replied with a slow nod.

Daniel watched Mingo as he wrapped his blanket tighter around his shoulders and moved closer to the fire, warming himself against the encroaching chill.

"Ya know," he continued. "That was awful nice of you; given' Israel that book of yours."

Mingo smiled and glanced back towards the woodsman, a look of admiration in his eyes. "He's a fine young man, Daniel. You have raised him well."

The native began to repeatedly break and then toss small twigs and stems toward the fire. Daniel immediately recognized it as a sign of nervous anxiety that his friend would, from time to time, exhibit. He waited, giving Mingo time to gather his thoughts and the courage to say what was on his mind.

"I think, over time, we have formed a bond, Israel and me," Mingo said quietly. "In many ways, I suppose he reminds me of myself at his age."

He was silent for quite sometime before he continued. "As a young boy, I loved being in the forest by myself; listening to the sounds, reading the tracks, stalking the game. But I had another love as well… reading. I was the only one in my village, beside my father, who could read."

Mingo went mute; his eyes staring deeply into the fire, lost in his own thoughts.

Daniel waited patiently, knowing that eventually his friend would probably have more to say; as long as he didn't interrupt. After all this time the Cherokee was still something of an enigma. Although he knew the routine, he really didn't fully understand the hows and whys of Mingo's thought process.

After a couple of moments the native spoke slowly, his mind years away from the present. "I was fascinated by all the different worlds and people that could be found on the pages. For quite some time, when I first arrived in England, the characters in those books were my only friends…."

Mingo drew in a sharp breath and tensed, realizing suddenly, and too late, that he had vocalized a very private thought out loud. He closed his eyes bracing himself for Daniel's sarcastic or teasing retort. Once, a very long time ago, he had said almost that very thing to the children of one of his father's friends. They had laughed at him, made fun of and tormented him, and called him foolish every time they had seen him. They had also made it a priority to tell their schoolmate's about Lord Dunmore's most peculiar charge. He knew now that youngsters could be very cruel, especially to those apparently different from themselves, but the wounding had been deep at a time when he had been very vulnerable.

The woodsman shifted against the log that was his pillow and smiled. "I'm glad you're sharin' that with Israel. The way I figure it, a body can't ever have too many friends that they can turn to."

The Cherokee looked over his shoulder, catching and holding Daniel's eyes. As he saw only complete acceptance of the person he was, he returned the smile and nodded his thanks. He pushed back to the other end of the log that Daniel was reclining against and closed his eyes in contentment.

After a few minutes of companionable quiet, tiredness began to over take them both.

"Night Mingo," Daniel said drowsily as he pulled the blanket up to his chin.

"Sleep well, Daniel," his friend replied.

The morning air felt cool and damp to Daniel as he opened his eyes. Sitting up, he stretched his arms high over his head to limber up his stiff muscles. He noticed a few pieces of wood had been piled next to the small fire, but the coffee pot and Mingo were both missing. Leaning forward, he carefully stirred the fire and waited for his friend to return.

A few minutes later the Indian strode back into camp. He nodded to Daniel and handed him the pot of water. "The river is higher than it was last evening. It must still be raining in the upper elevations."

The frontiersman frowned with a heavy sigh. "Well, let's hope it's quit by the time we get there. I think we'll head up the ridge first and see what we can flush out. That'll give the low ground some time to dry a mite."

The Cherokee scanned the horizon. There were dark clouds hanging above the tall rises in front of them. His frown and sigh matched his companion's. Hunting in the rain was always more difficult; the powder always managed to get damp and the animals were more inclined to seek shelter. On the other hand, the powerful pull of nature's need for procreation may have the bucks actively searching for potential mates.

Mingo sat next to Daniel and gratefully accepted the cup of coffee that Daniel handed to him; the steaming liquid helping to ward off some of the early morning chill.

"I've been puttin' some thought into where we should start laying out traps later this fall," Daniel said as he sipped on his coffee. "Some trappers that came through Boonesborough this summer said there were lots of beaver in the river ponds out on the Green River. Course, I also heard that fox and mink were ample up in the Ohio. That's getting' right up in Shawnee and Iroquois country, not to mention the river pirates, but we've managed to dodg'em all before."

Daniel smirked and sent a sideways glance to the man next to him, expecting Mingo to remind him that some of their previous encounters with folks like Joe Snag and Mister Quaife had not been without peril. However, the Cherokee remained mute, silently staring toward the ridge.

"You see somethin' up there?" he asked, trying to follow Mingo's line of sight. When his companion still didn't respond, Daniel waved his hand in front of the Indian's face.

Mingo blinked rapidly, coming back to himself. "Forgive me. You were saying?"

Daniel narrowed his eyes at his friend's odd demeanor. "Somethin' botherin' you?"

Mingo shook his head and looked down at the ground. "No," he said quickly with the short laugh that he used to cover his embarrassment, despite the fact that a blush colored his cheeks. Then he shrugged. "I don't know. Just a feeling. I can't explain it."

Daniel grinned; he had dealt with these 'feelings' before. "Maybe it's just your Cherokee heritage sneakin' up on you again," he offered, hoping to dispel his friend's grim mood.

Mingo looked up and into Daniel's eyes, wondering if the big man was making fun of him. He only saw genuine good will. "Perhaps," he replied with a chuckle. Then giving the woodsman a friendly slap on the shoulder, he said. "We had best be on our way if we hope to accomplish anything today."

Within half an hour, the campsite was packed and the mule loaded. It took another hour to find a place to safely ford the swollen river and reach the trailhead at the base of the hills. As they started hiking up the steep incline to the summit a steady rain began to fall.

They were both panting heavily by the time they reached the top of the ridge. The rain had made the ground somewhat slippery and it had taken extra effort to maintain their footing. The excess rain that summer had also made the shrubs that lined the trail considerably more bushy.

"That seemed more difficult than I remember," Mingo said wiping both sweat and rain from his brow.

"Well, it has been a year and there's a lot more growth. Maybe you're a little outta practice," Daniel teased.

Mingo grabbed the bait, just as Daniel suspected he would. "Well, I don't recall it being so easy for you either."

"Well, I wasn't aware that you were talkin' about me," Daniel replied with a smile. He held up his water pouch and handed it to the Cherokee as a peace offering before the conversation turned bristly. Sometimes his friend was too serious.

Mingo rolled his eyes and took a long drink before handing back the pouch. "If I remember correctly, this trail follows the ridgeline for several miles. That will provide a good vantage in multiple directions."

The frontiersman nodded. "Lead the way," he said grabbing the mule's lead. 'I'll be right behind ya."

It happened so quickly, yet Daniel saw it all as if in slow motion. He heard Mingo yell his name and forcefully push him backwards. The power behind the shove momentarily knocked the wind from his lungs and when he could finally sit up he realized Mingo was gone. Where his friend had previously been standing there was now a large gap in the hillside from a landslide.

Daniel crawled to the edge of the ridge and looked down; the rock strewn river bank lay at least a hundred feet below. His eyes frantically searched the area until his saw the Cherokee sprawled among the rock and debris. "Mingo!" he hollered, hoping to revive the obviously unconscious man. He saw no movement as a result of his beckoning and so began looking for a way down to the river.

It took nearly twenty minutes to reach the bottom. Daniel fell and rolled the last few feet, landing hard on the rocks below. He bear crawled to where Mingo lay and shook the Indian's shoulder, loudly calling his name.

"Mingo!" he yelled, desperately shaking his friend's sender frame.

When the native still didn't respond, he laid a hand on his man's chest and leaned in to put his ear close. There was no answer, no movement, no sound.

Daniel swallowed hard and pitched his head back in anguish. From the awkward position of his friend's body and the vacant stare from his open eyes, he knew that Mingo was dead.

The woodsman sat back on the hard ground; his heart refusing to accept what his mind knew to be true. He felt in vain for a pulse or any sign of life, no matter how small. After a few minutes, he resolutely surrendered. He had seen dead men before, even friends, but this was somehow different. There was no battle raging around them, no dire straits to overcome; this was an accident, a simple act of nature.

Daniel's first response was to curse God for the senselessness of it all, but he quickly took it back and prayed for his friend's mortal soul. He gently closed Mingo's eyes and carefully moved his body to a more natural position. After about half an hour, he knew that he needed to push past the grief and figure out a way to get his friend home. He had briefly considered a Christian burial on the river's edge, but had just as quickly dismissed the idea. Mingo had long ago rejected the Anglican upbringing of his youth.

Scrambling and clawing back up the hillside, he found the mule patiently waiting for him on the trail. It took almost an hour before he found a route that the mule could traverse and with great sorrow he loaded his friend's lifeless body on the animal's back. He had decided to head straight for Chota, not stopping until her reached the Cherokee settlement.

He had traveled through the night, guided by the fire from his torch and finally reached the Indian village just as the sun was rising in the eastern sky. Daniel was exhausted and near collapse when the sentinels came to meet him. The two young braves grabbed him on either side and supported him to Chief Mawpana's lodge.

At the sound of people approaching, the Chief exited is lodge. He stared at the woodsman with confusion and then a wave of sadness crossed his face when he saw a warrior leading the mule with Mingo's lifeless body into camp. He ordered the braves to help Daniel into his lodge.

"Boone, what has happened?" Mawpana asked. With sorrow filling his heart, Daniel told him of the hunting trip and the events on Big Pine Ridge.

"The last thing he ever did was to save me," Daniel said in conclusion.

Mawpana nodded slowly. "Then he died bravely and with honor."

"Yes," Daniel agreed. "I owe him my life."

Daniel woke slowly to the sound of the steady beat of drums. He rubbed his eyes, trying to figure out where he was. Then he remembered; his friend was dead.

Looking around, he surmised that he was in Mawpana's lodge. How long he had been there he did not know. He stood slowly and pushed aside the bearskin that covered the entrance. It was already dark.

The fire burned bright in the center of a large stone ring. The drummers sat close, pounding out a slow, steady rhythm. The elders and council sat to the side vocalizing an alien chant. Squaws wailed in grief. Braves and warriors marched in a solemn circle around the fire carrying the covered body of his friend on a pallet. Daniel sat where he was, entranced and overwhelmed in the moment.

Several hours later, in unison the tribe moved to the burial grounds. Mingo's body was carefully placed on a scaffold close to that of his mother. Provisions needed for the journey to the next life were placed below. After the mournful Cherokee song of death was sung, all sat quietly in vigil.

In the morning, when the sun rose over the mountain peaks, the tribe silently returned to the village. A meal was being prepared for those closest to the deceased to be served in the Chief's lodge. Daniel stood to the side, not sure where he belonged. Mawpana took him by the arm and led him inside.

He sat close to the fire, its glow warming him from the night's chill. He was tired and exhausted from grief. Part of him wished it were all over. Yet, a part of his heart wished that it would never end. An end meant forever and always. There was no coming back from that.

As he sat, quietly staring into the fire, the elder woman Ohshanee came to sit beside him. She read the sorrow in his eyes and took his hand in hers. She spoke softly to him in the tongue of the Cherokee. "The Tall Mountain was a good friend to Caramingo, a brother. This is good. He needed such a friend."

He turned his mournful gaze toward her and she smiled.

"I held him in my hands when he first breathed life," she continued. "He was a beautiful boy. Handsome on the outside; with shining eyes that let you see into the depths of his very old soul. When he was very young he was bubbly like the stream and as bright as the sun; but as he grew older, he began to understand that he was different. His brother, Taramingo, tormented and teased him in front of the other boys because of his white father. Cara accepted and endured his brother's words and always tried to prove himself worthy in the eyes of his clan. He also tried to please his father when his was here. At that time he was divided; you could see the conflict within him. He could at times be fun-loving and mischievous –a bright smile on his face, full of laughter. Other times, he was sad and solemn, as if the whole world weighed upon him."

Ohshanee read the distress in Daniel's eyes and grasped his hand more tightly, urging him to continue listening to her story. As she held his eyes, she began to speak again.

"In the end, Caramingo was his mother's child. She was a free spirit and took life as it was granted by the Creator. He learned from her and found a way to push the darkness away. Until Talota's spirit left this land."

The older woman's eyes filled with sadness, but she continued. "After, the white father took him across the great water. Cara was gone many, many moons. I thought I would see him no more. When he came back to us, now a man, he was not as I knew him. His soul had been wounded. He hurt from deep within and hid it from all. But I could see. Even among his people, he did not feel that he belonged. He was now lost between two worlds."

Daniel closed his eyes, not sure that he wanted to hear any more of her words. Ohshanee saw his distress and patted his hand in comfort and solidarity.

"But you, Tall Mountain, helped to steady him; like the strong roots of a great oak. You helped him to live as both Cherokee and white man. But more, you showed him that not all in this world is dark and that he was not the cause of all that is bad. You put your faith and trust in him. You welcomed him in as one of your own. You accepted him for who and what he was. You helped him to again find joy, and a purpose.

She gently smiled at Daniel. "Worry not, grieve not, brother of Caramingo; his spirit is at peace."

When the meal was finished, Daniel said his goodbyes and prepared to leave the village for his home Boonesborough. He thought about returning to the burial grounds first, but changed his mind; there was nothing there for him now. As he walked away, slowly leading the mule westward, he saw Mingo's lodge being lit on fire. His physical presence would be no more, but he would be remembered to generations to come.

September 1820

Daniel sighed deeply against a long ago hurt as he continued to remember.

Although all were profoundly saddened by Mingo's death, Israel had taken it the hardest. In many way, Daniel suspected, the boy felt as if his friend had deserted him; accident or not. For weeks, he refused to even look at the book Mingo had given to him.

Then one day, probably close to six months later, he found his son sitting 'Indian style' close to the fireplace hearth reading Robinson Crusoe.

After that, his son had read the book over and over. The novel became one of Israel's most cherished possessions. When Israel became a very young man, he chose to fight side by side with his father at the end of the Revolutionary War and the book was always in his pack.

When Israel was killed in the battle of the Blue Licks, the book was returned to his father as part of the soldier's personal affects. That very book now sat in a prominent place on a shelf in Nathan's library; a silent tribute to both to his brother Israel and the man who had given it to him.

Daniel was brought back to the present by his son at his side. "Father," Nathan admonished, placing a hand on his shoulder, "It's become dark and the air is chilled. You should come inside." The elder woodsman reassuringly patted his son's hand. "I'll be there in just a bit."

After a couple more minutes he rose from his chair and stared into the darken forest. He shook his head in disbelief. Had Mingo really been gone for forty years?

As he turned to go inside, in the distance he heard a lone whippoorwill call into the night. Daniel smiled and returned the bird's call. "I hear you my friend. I hear you."