Author's Note:

This story started when I was thinking to myself: What if J.R.R. Tolkien were American instead of British? We all know that Tolkien's work was heavily influenced by the history, folklore, and languages of Europe, particularly the British Isles and Scandinavia. It stands to reason that if Tolkien were American, he would be influenced by American history and folklore—in particular, the Western.

The Old West is the Golden Age of U.S. history that has been elevated to legendary status more than any other. It's a period of history that shaped U.S. culture in ways that are seen to this day. The genre of the Western novel did not really begin, however, until this period of history was already over. Western novels and movies, therefore, do not so much reflect real life and events as they do what we imagine those events and people were like. They show us the legend, not the reality. Which, when you think about it, is kinda what Tolkien did with Middle Earth.

So what if The Hobbit were a Western? This is essentially what I wanted to write, and will post here for your entertainment. I will be following the plot of Tolkien's original book, but I will still be including certain elements from the movies. This story will be written as a Western, but Westerns are not the only type of stories that are important in American folklore. I'm also throwing in a lot of elements of tall tales. I even plan to include some elements from Native American and African American folklore as well.

If, after reading this expanded summary, this sounds like something you'd find interesting, dear reader, read on…

Now everyone in the town of Hillton would tell you that the Bowens were what one would call respectable folk. They'd lived in the area for as far back as anybody could recollect. They said howdy to their neighbors and went to church most every Sunday. Of course, it didn't hurt either that they were mostly well to do in their finances and fairly generous with their spending. Never got into anything on the shady side of the law or went off on a journey without so much as a goodbye to their friends. In fact, they never had themselves any strange adventures or did anything unexpected at all; you always knew what they'd say their stance was without even having to bother asking them about their politics.

However, there is, as they say, one in every family. One that draws the curiosity and speculation of the neighborhood and causes the other relatives to shake their heads and sigh at family reunions. And however respectable the Bowens were, they were not immune to the law of nature that would eventually grant them a black sheep.

This, my friends, is the tale of how a Bowen had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbors' respect, but he gained—well, I reckon you'll see whether he gained anything in the end.

Out of all the beautiful spots in all the broad expanses of the Great Plains west of the River, of which there were many in those days, the Flint Hills was probably the most beautiful of them all. It was green, rolling hills and tall-grass prairie as far as the eye could see, broken here and again by tree-lined streams. There it was possible to hear nothing but the rustle of wind through the grass and sweet birdsong, shocked into silence for a minute by the cry of a hunting hawk, before breaking out again as though no danger existed. If your delight was in watching the sun go down in the evening and come up in the morning with the sky a sea of rich, fiery color, and to see every star the heavens contained in between, you need go no further than the Flint Hills. It was a downright peaceful place. It was country that made you feel small in the wide world, but not insignificant.

Billy Bowen was a man who had seen his share of prairie sunsets. There was a high, flat-topped hill just north of Hillton that was perfect for viewing them from. Billy was fond of taking a little exercise now and then, and a walk out of town for a good view of the twilight just about did the trick.

Some days as Billy gazed out at the darkening sky, he would wonder what was out yonder beyond that horizon, and he would occasionally even feel a yearning to go see it for himself. However, those moments were few and always short-lived, as Billy would give himself a bit of a shake and tell himself that he was being a fool; the only thing over those hills was trouble, and a heap of it too, like as not. They called it the Wild West for a reason, after all.

But today was not one of those days. No, today Billy was perfectly content to sit on his porch and have a good smoke and watch the people pass by in the street, tipping his hat to the ladies and nodding to the men. He had just finished what he considered a hard day's work as a clerk down at the general store, and was quite ready to put up his feet for a bit in the comfort of his own home.

Speaking of which, Billy's home was comfortable indeed. It was undoubtedly the finest in the town, with many large glass windows, several comfortable bedrooms, and a beautifully furnished parlor and dining room. The front porch was near large enough by itself to hold a party on. The house had one strange feature though: the door was perfectly round. Billy's ma had insisted on it—no one understood quite why, including Billy's pa. He had always put it down to one of those flighty fancies that sometimes took her.

Some folks may have thought that the house on the whole was too grand for a small town like Hillton, but it really wasn't all that ostentatious—not like some of the mansions that could be seen in the big cities back East. Others said it was a sight too big for a young couple just starting out, but when he built it, Billy's pa had only been thinking of making his new wife comfortable.

See, Billy's ma was the daughter of a wealthy plantation owner down South. Bella Took was her name, and she was a real Southern belle, the kind you don't see much of anymore. As beautiful and graceful as the Spanish moss that covered the trees of her childhood home, she had the manners and breeding to match. She knew just how to put up her long, auburn hair so that a few wisps always escaped, just for her to brush them back while talking to young men with a coy look up through her lashes and a soft smile.

However, her blood was known to sing with the thrill of adventure and the experience of new things from time to time, as was common among her folks. Though she certainly never went on any adventures after she married into the Bowen family. She met Billy's father while she was visiting some of her relatives in the city of St. Louis. Billy's pa was there on business, but once he saw Bella all thoughts of that went plumb out of his head. It was a whirlwind courtship, but Billy's pa was smitten, and Bella was the fiery type who made up her mind quick and rarely saw a reason to change it once she had. They were married not long after, and Billy's pa built her that fine home in Hillton (partly with her money), where they lived to the end of their days.

Bella had passed on when Billy was still a boy, and since his pa had gone to meet his Maker a few years ago, Billy had the place all to himself and enjoyed the life of a moderately wealthy bachelor. That isn't to say the house was always empty; on the contrary, Billy loved having visitors and kept a well-stocked larder in case anyone should drop by.

Since Bella had inherited a deal of money from her father and the Bowen side of the family wasn't exactly poor either, it wasn't urgent that Billy work to earn his living, but he had a job anyway. Clerking at Smith's General Store gave him an excuse to get out of the house and gave him something to do. He enjoyed chatting with the customers and every now and again treating the kids to a stick of peppermint candy just to see their faces light up. He didn't even mind organizing the displays or doing the books, as he was naturally an orderly sort of fellow.

Today had been a pretty busy one though, so Billy figured he was more than justified in lounging on his porch rather than fixing the stuck window in the parlor, which is what he had originally intended to do after work. He was rather enjoying his cigar and was just thinking of maybe leaning back and sliding his hat forward over his eyes and taking a little nap. There were fewer people out in the street this late in the afternoon to watch—in fact, there was now only one.

This gent was ambling up the street at a leisurely pace, as though he were just out for walk, which Billy found odd because he was sure the man wasn't from around here. He certainly didn't live in Hillton, anyway. There weren't any black men who lived in Hillton, let alone any as strange-looking as this one. He looked to be in his sixties, with a lined, thin face and a long, white beard, but his age did not appear to slow him down any. He was very tall and lean and walked with a long stride. His clothes were those of a traveler. His long, gray great coat was weathered, his boots were dusty, and he wore the largest ten-gallon hat Billy had ever seen. A strange sort of necklace was around his neck; it looked to Billy like a pendant in the shape of a circle divided into four equal parts, with each part a different color. And unless he was very much mistaken, there were feathers and bones and other things he couldn't identify also hanging from the necklace. The final curiosity about this man's strange getup was the walking stick he was leaning on, which was carved with elaborate symbols that Billy couldn't quite make out from a distance.

He wouldn't have long to wait to see them clearer though, because the man was getting closer with every long stride he took. Billy found himself watching him approach, as he was the only thing worth watching in the street anyhow. He wondered what the strange man's purpose could be in a small town like Hillton, and what he was doing in a residential area. If he was just passing through, why not stay on the main street where the hostel and the tavern were?

So imagine Billy's surprise when the stranger came to a stop right in front of his own home and looked up at the door with a sort of thoughtful expression on his thin, bearded face. Billy was shocked for only a few seconds however before he remembered his manners. He nodded to gentleman now standing before him and said, "Good afternoon, sir!" He had decided that the reason the man had stopped to stare was because of the round door, which was something of an architectural phenomenon that you don't see every day.

The man blinked and looked 'round at Billy, sitting on the porch with his cigar. He smiled, the lines around his mouth and eyes deepening. "What do you mean, young man? Do you wish me a good aftahnoon, or do you mean it is a good aftahnoon whedah I like it or not? Is it dat you feel good dis aftahnoon? Or maybe you mean dat it is an aftahnoon to be good on?" His words were slow and had a distinctly foreign cadence, a lilting rhythm almost like chanting.

Billy was rather taken aback by the stranger's response, but he decided to play along and answered, "All of them at once. And also a good afternoon to have a smoke outside and enjoy the fresh air. Come sit down and have a cigar—these are almighty good ones that I got here. The best use of an afternoon like this one is to waste it." Billy chuckled and took another pull from his cigar.

The stranger raised his bushy white eyebrows. "Well, dat is very kind of you, suh, but Ah don't have time to sit around and blow smoke. Ah'm looking foh someone to share in a sort of adventure dat Ah'm putting togedah, but it is very difficult to find anyone up foh it in dese parts."

"Well I should say so! Folks around here are quiet, simple people. We've got no use for hare-brained adventures and running off half-cocked into the wild. No sense risking life and limb on some wild goose chase. We don't meddle in other people's affairs, and all we ask is that they not meddle in ours." With that, Billy took out the newspaper that he had brought back with him from the store and shook it out, pretending to read it. He had decided that he didn't much care for this queer man and his talk of adventures, and hoped that if he ignored him he would go away.

Unfortunately for Billy, the stranger didn't seem in any hurry to move on. He leaned on his walking stick and stared at Billy with that same introspective look with which he had regarded the round door earlier. As I'm sure you can imagine, it made Billy feel downright uncomfortable, and rather put out. Finally he'd had enough and looked back up from his paper with a forced smile. "Well, have a good afternoon. I doubt you'll find anyone for your adventure hereabouts. You might try across the River or in St. Louis. There's all kinds of folks there that are more liable to go roving." Then Billy went back to his paper to signal that the conversation was over.

The stranger, however, was having none of it. "Well now, you sahtainly use 'good aftahnoon' to mean many tings. Now Ah believe dat you ah trying to get rid of me, and it won't be a good aftahnoon until Ah leave."

"Oh, no sir, of course not! But I'm afraid I don't know your name…?"

The stranger seemed much aggrieved at this and straightened up, frowning a bit. "Oh! Ah'm so sorry to heah dat, suh, foh me Ah knew you when first Ah set eyes on you, Mistah William Bowen! And Ah do hope dat you ah familiah wit my name, though perhaps you don't know dat Ah belong to it. Ah'm Gabriel Pilgrim, and Gabe means me! To tink dat Ah should have lived to be good-aftahnooned by Bella Took's own boy, just as though Ah was selling beads on de street!"

Gabriel! Why of course Billy had heard of him, and if you had heard even a portion of the tales Billy had heard of this man, you would indeed understand why he leapt out of his chair in astonishment. "Gabriel!" he said as the newspaper fluttered forgotten to the floor. "Not the Gabriel my ma used to tell me tales about when I was a boy? Why, she told such stories that I'm not sure I believe them at all. I can scarcely credit that you made a firework that burst in the shape of the flag at my grandpa's Independence Day barbeque more than thirty years ago. My ma says you used to tell her the best stories, and after hearing them myself I have to admit they're really something. Gabriel! Well doesn't that just beat all!" He paused for a minute, suspicion showing in his hazel eyes as he remembered something else. "Of course, I've heard a few things about you from folks other than my ma. Seems that you have your fingers in lots of different pies, and you're responsible for a good many of these 'adventures' you speak of. Actually, I'd no idea that you were still— I beg your pardon, I didn't know that you were still in business." It hadn't seemed polite to Billy to say, 'That you were still alive,' so he backtracked before he could put his foot in his mouth.

Gabriel straightened up to his rather considerable height. He looked a bit indignant. "And where else should Ah be?" Billy flushed a bit and opened his mouth to say something conciliatory, but couldn't think of anything suitable. But Gabriel seemed to get over his pique pretty quickly. He continued, "Well. Ah'm glad at least dat you know someting about me, even if it is just de fireworks. Dere is hope foh you yet, young man. And foh de sake of your old grandfadah and poor Bella, Ah'll give you what you asked foh."

"I beg pardon, but I didn't ask for anything."

"Oh yes you did, and you just did it again! You asked mah pahdon, and Ah give it to you. In fact, Ah'll do you one bettah. Ah'll send you on dis adventure Ah'm arranging. It will be very amusing foh me and very good foh you. Pretty profitable too, if you live to see de end of it." He gave Billy a sly, crafty smile.

"Oh no. Nooooo no no no no. I'm not going on any 'adventures,' thank you very much. I'm quite comfortable right where I am. But I'd be happy to host you for dinner some evening. Any day you like! Why not tomorrow? Come tomorrow! I'm going to go inside now—I think it looks like rain. Have a good…one!" Billy realized that he was babbling and he had almost bid the man a good afternoon for the third time as he beat a hasty retreat, but he couldn't help himself. This Gabriel person was making him nervous, what with his bizarre way of talking and threatening him with adventures. Billy shut the door as quickly as would be considered polite, and as such didn't see the amused, self-satisfied smile on the face of his unusual visitor.

Once inside, Billy fetched a bottle of bourbon and poured himself a measure to calm his nerves, all the while berating himself. What on God's green earth had he invited Gabriel to dinner for? Well, there was nothing for it now. If he came, he came, and Billy would have to make do.

As he sat in his armchair and sipped at his drink, his mind returned to the stories his ma had told him when he was a boy. A lot of them were about this mysterious person, Gabriel, and most of the rest of them she claimed he had told her when she was young. His favorite one was always the one about the eagle. He must've asked her to tell that one at least half a dozen times a month…

"What story do you want to hear tonight, sugar?"

"Gabriel and the Eagle!"

"But sweetie, you must've heard that story at least a hundred times by now. I just told it to you again two nights ago."

"But it's my favorite!" Billy grinned up at his ma, who just raised her eyebrows.

"Really? I never coulda guessed." The teasing tone in her voice made Billy giggle. "How about this time you tell the story to me, hmm kiddo?"

"No, you hafta do it! It's better when you tell it. Pleeeeeease?"

Billy's ma sighed dramatically, but Billy could tell she didn't really mind that much. "I suppose I can do it. Again."

"Yessss!"

Billy's ma gracefully seated herself on the bed, and Billy snuggled right up to her side. She put one soft arm around him and started the tale. Billy let her voice soothe him—he always could relax to the sound of his ma's lilting Southern vowels.

"Some years back, Gabriel, the old gray pilgrim, was a-wandering in the great mountain range in the West. He had been there many times before, but the amazing thing about these mountains was that you always found something new and different each time you traveled through them. Something interesting was bound to happen, Gabriel knew, and he was on the lookout for it because you see, interesting does not always mean something nice and safe.

"Sure enough, it wasn't long before Gabriel heard the sound of a gunshot echoing across the mountainside. Then he heard the most dreadful shriek coming from above him. He looked up and saw something big and black fall from the sky, coming to rest in the valley just beyond the slope he was traveling. Gabriel listened close, but he heard nothing more.

"The circumstances were strange enough that Gabriel felt he had to investigate. He made his way over the slope into the valley, in the direction of the spot he judged the thing had fallen. When he reached the place, he couldn't see any sign of it.

"Gabriel pressed on. He searched for hours and went much further down the valley than he thought he was likely to find the thing. But he found no trace, so as the sun was setting, he set up camp and laid down to get some sleep—"

"Wait a minute!"

"What is it, baby?"

"You're not telling it right!"

Billy's ma raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean, sweetie pie?"

Billy's little face was creased in a frown, lips pouting. "That's not the way the story goes. He's supposed to see the footprints first."

Billy could have sworn his ma was fighting down a smile. "Oh, of course, the footprints. How could I have forgotten? It's a good thing I have you here to remind me." She bent to kiss the top of his head.

"Keep going," Billy urged.

"Alright, where was I?" Billy huffed in impatience and his ma smiled. "Right, the footprints. Well, after searching the valley for hours, Gabriel finally came upon some mighty unusual tracks.

"These tracks were bigger than his hand, with three toes pointing forward, and one pointing back. All four of them ended in a great talon longer than Gabriel's fingers. And one of them, the left one, was red with blood.

"Gabriel knew that this must be a dangerous creature, so as he followed the tracks he was cautious and went along quiet-like. He crept through the trees, following that bloody, four-toed trail, until he came to the entrance of a cave."

Billy's ma lowered her voice as she continued. "Now this cave was very dark, especially with night coming on, but the tracks went right inside. As Gabriel stepped into the cave, he felt a chill pass over him—it was very cold in there. And he was sure he could hear something moving, there in the darkness. It was enough to make the gooseflesh stand out on any man. But Gabriel was brave, so he continued into the cave, and when he could see nothing but black all around him, he struck a match.

"What that match illuminated, Gabriel did not as yet know. All he could see at first was a mass of black feathers and one enormous, brilliant, yellow eye glaring right at him."

Billy, despite having heard this story more times than he could count, gasped and covered his mouth with his hands. He missed his ma's brief smile.

"And that's when the creature charged Gabriel with an ear-shattering screech, knocking him onto his back! Gabriel dropped the match, and everything was dark once again. He got up, but he was pushed back by a wall of wind and feathers. The creature was so strong that it pushed Gabriel right out of the cave!

"And then it was gone. Gabriel was lying on his back outside the cave, but the creature had returned to the darkness. Gabriel raised his hand to his face to wipe the sweat from his brow, and that's when he noticed it was covered in blood. It wasn't his blood—Gabriel wasn't injured—so he reasoned it must belong to the creature. The poor beast must be hurt and trying to defend itself when Gabriel had surprised it in the cave.

"Gabriel was never one to dilly dally when deciding a course of action, and once he had decided, he wasted no time going about it. He made a torch of a pine bough and lit it with another match, then entered the cave once again.

"It wasn't long before he caught sight of the creature, and with the increased light from the torch, he was now able to make out what it was.

"It was an eagle! And not just any eagle, but the biggest bald eagle Gabriel had ever seen in his life. Why, it stood even taller than Gabriel—it barely fit in that cave at all. For a minute, Gabriel just stood in awe of this enormous bird. Gabriel stared at the eagle—and the eagle stared back.

"Finally, Gabriel saw that the giant eagle was holding his left wing at a strange angle, and blood had soaked the feathers. He propped the torch up against the wall and took out a piece of jerky, then began to move forward ever so slowly. He made soothing sounds in his throat and was careful to make no sudden movements. The eagle never took his eyes off Gabriel for a second, fixing him with that unblinking stare every step he took until Gabriel was right next to him.

"Gabriel held out the jerky for the eagle. The eagle made no move. Then, slowly, the great bird lowered its razor sharp beak and took the jerky from Gabriel's hand. Gabriel backed away to where his torch and pack lay, filled a bowl with water, and got another piece of jerky. He approached the eagle again, just as slowly as before, and let it take the meat from him and drink from the bowl.

"As the eagle drank, Gabriel reached up and softly stroked the white feathers on the eagle's head. The beast jerked under his hand, but did not move away.

"And so, little by little, Gabriel gained the eagle's trust until he could touch the injured wing. It had been shot with buckshot, but the bone was intact. Gabriel was a skilled healer, but he had never treated an eagle before. He did the best he could with bandaging the wing, but he wondered if the great eagle would ever fly again.

"Gabriel stayed with the eagle in the cave for two weeks, until one day he woke up and the great bird was gone. Gabriel ran out of the cave, but there was no sign of the eagle, not even tracks.

"Then Gabriel heard a distant screech that he thought he recognized, as though from far away. He looked up and saw a dark silhouette against the bright morning sky. The eagle's call sounded again, and then the great bird soared away over the mountain.

"Gabriel watched him until he was out of sight, then turned around, gathered his things from the cave, and set out once again on his journey through the mountains. He never forgot the great bald eagle, though it would be many years before he saw him again."

"Tell me about the next time Gabriel met the eagle!"

"Oh no, sugar britches. It's high time you got some shuteye. That'll be a story for another time."

"Awwww!"

"Hush now, or the bedbugs will hear and know where to find you. You don't want that, now do you?"

Billy shook his head and scooted under the blankets. His ma stood and tucked him in, but before she could kiss him good night, Billy had one more question.

"Ma? What did the eagle's feathers feel like?"

Billy's ma sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Billy's hair. "Gabriel didn't speak of it often—in fact, he only brought it up once. He said it was the most amazing feeling, touching that eagle. It was both relaxing and a thrill at the same time. His beak and talons could easily have killed Gabriel, but he didn't use them except to eat what Gabriel brought him. They were at each other's mercy in that way. The feathers were so fine and soft close to the eagle's skin, then they grew stronger and harder, but still light. Even just touching that great bird, he could imagine what it must be like to be flying, free. Every time he touched the eagle, he prayed that it would fly again, and that he would see it."

"I guess he did, then."

"He did more than see the eagle fly. He flew himself."

"Tell me!"

Billy's ma kissed his forehead and stood up. "Another time, my darling. Save it for another time."