The Outlaw Prophet: III

Chapter III

April 4th, 1859

I stood there for five minutes, staring out over the prairie, trying to make sense of the whole thing. I'd put my right hand on a stack of Bibles and swear I spent a good eight hours listening to the entire story from a man who claims to have been walking the earth since Jesus was last here, but my human mind still couldn’t reconcile it. I got on my horse and began heading downhill to move eastward.

As I rode, the vastness of the plains stretched out before me, a boundless sea of grass under an endless sky. Samuel had a head start, no doubt about it, but I figured I'd catch up to him soon enough. The plains were massive, and it would take at least 3-4 weeks to cross with nothing but you, your horse, and the open sky. I hoped the weather would stay clear because being caught out here in a storm was no kind of fun. Moreover, I hoped to steer clear of Indians and bandits as well, because they weren’t any kind of fun either.

By the second day, I figured would have caught up to him, but I saw nothing ahead of me but miles and miles of open prairie. I thought perhaps I should extend my daily trek a little further and longer on the next day, to cut down the distance between us as I didn’t seem to be gaining any ground on Samuel. Either he was traveling at a gallop all day or had some other means of moving that I didn't understand. My food was scarce again, but I was able to wrangle up a corn snake and a rabbit. Skinned them, cooked, and ate the rabbit later that night, but will let the snake meat dry out into jerky. A nasty squall was forming up behind me and looked to overtake me, but it never came. It seemed to move more southeast than east, and thankfully, I didn't have to travel in soaked clothes.

I pressed on, my mind wrestling with the weight of Samuel's words. I used the evenings to read over my notes and clarify anything I couldn't make out from my scrabble. Thinking back to the conversation, and amazingly, was able to recollect the details I had forgotten to write down. I began replaying all the first-hand accounts he told me. The way he told the stories wasn't like he had heard or read about them, but how he had lived them. He described the whole trial there with Jesus and how badly beaten He had been when He was brought before Pilate. He almost pitied Him.

Yet, he said, the moment he shoved Him, and Jesus responded to him about being here till He returns, Samuel hauntingly described that look in His eyes. Samuel said His eyes pierced through him like an arrow through a heart, down to his very soul and he nearly collapsed at the weight of that encounter. For a split second, he said, he knew that this Man was really God in the flesh. Reflecting on that encounter, he wondered how the Pharisees and the rest of the Sanhedrin could put Him under trial for false charges. He wondered how any of those men could strike Jesus with those eyes. He wondered how the Roman soldiers who were beating Him, could do so. One look from Jesus leveled him, and yet these men were lying about Him to His face, spitting on him, hitting Him with their fists, and later, hitting Him with far more devastating weapons of cruelty.

I couldn't even imagine a scene like that, or what I would be doing at that moment. Would I have been one of Jesus' followers? Would I have been one of the Roman soldiers or a member of the Sanhedrin accusing and hitting Jesus? Or would I have just been some nameless face in the crowd mocking him before moving on with my normal day?

It was clear to Samuel that his mission was divine, no question and the path he had walked was fraught with peril. He told me of the various enemies he began to accumulate in each age and empire he moved amongst. From various Roman bureaucrats to certain barbarian warlords, to more than a few Moslem caliphs, far eastern emperors and, as of late, these Latter Day Saints as they call themselves. They had even put a bounty on his head, claiming he blasphemed their esteemed prophet, the late Joseph Smith in some altercation back east. He didn't go into what happened specifically, but clearly, they did not like him and thought he should be silenced forever.

I got moving out early on that third morning. The problem with all of Samuel's stories, was I have an active imagination, and I would imagine myself there with him. The next thing I knew, I'd have been riding for several hours lost in these daydreams, not paying attention to my surroundings. While traveling on the plains can be exceedingly monotonous, they can also be every bit as dangerous as in the forest. Twice I had to hide in ravines so as not to be seen by some passing Indian hunting parties. Thankfully I had awakened from my daydreaming to see them from a distance before they saw me. I couldn’t tell which tribes they were from, but given I was in Kansas-territory, I figured either Cheyenne or Pawnee. I dared not to get much closer, so I waited until they moved on. I figured Mr. Blackwood didn’t have that same problem, although, he did tell me about one such run-in with some natives back West.

He had been talking about riding through the Montanna territory some years back and how some Crow warriors had set upon him. He fought off several but continued riding out into an open area, and saw more Crow ahead of him trying to cut his escape off. He said his horse Jake turned to cross the stream and as they did, the water splashing up behind them turned into crows and flew at the riders chasing him. After that, the Indians quit chasing him and his mythos amongst the natives grew and they began avoiding him at all costs. However, in the here and now, I would do my best to avoid any buffalo herds since they attracted the natives and I would be an easy target to add to their scalp collection.

The nights began to grow a little warmer and I came across the first real evidence of Mr. Blackwood's journey east; the remains of a still-smoldering campfire. Granted, it was just a campfire, but it looked, by the human traces, to be of a single man and a horse. I hadn't passed anyone moving West, so it had to be Mr. Blackwood's. Or at least I strongly hoped as such.

Another day of open prairie. The terrain was changing, as he began to notice the rolling hills were replacing the pancake flat prairies further west. I was thinking back to the last thing he told me about, which was the man whom he sought out in Illinois. A man named Abraham Lincoln. At the time, I had no idea who he was, but now, he is apparently, the leading candidate for the new Republican party, which is the ‘anti-slavery’ party. He also told me our nation was heading for a terrible time of blood and violence and that the nation would never be the same. I wasn’t sure what to think about all that, but in the ensuing months since our last encounter, and given the increasing political polarization of the nation, I’m beginning to sense the gravitas of Samuel's message he carried.

But with each step my horse took, I knew I was drawing closer to this enigmatic man. I also felt the pull of destiny, a force guiding me toward a reckoning that would change the course of history forever. The journey was long, the dangers real, but I knew I had to see it through. Samuel Blackfoot's tale was one of redemption and ruin, a testament to the power of faith and the unyielding will of the divine. And as the sun set on the horizon, I rode on, like him, a lone rider in a vast wilderness, carrying with me the weight of his prophetic warning and the hope of a nation.