Jerimiah's Gold

Chapter 11

"Follow the buzzards, and they shall follow you. Rejoice with the wolves, and they might rejoice with you."

The riddle replayed itself relentlessly in my head as I tried to decipher it. The snow never let up, still, I searched for a dry patch of soil. No signs of civilization made itself present. No remnants of mankind etched its way on the land. The prints that trailed behind us, being Wiona's hooves, were the only true signs of life.

It was beautiful, really. The vast emptiness of undisturbed snow. I was lucky enough to spot a rabbit burrowing just beyond my path. I knew I was close to Michigan, and thus close to my destination. The final landmark, the final piece of this mysterious treasure. The most simple part was the travel. The real struggle came from uncovering the many myths and legends of Jerimiah as a person. Was he an ex slave who escaped his captors and masters, or was he a Native American who was violently murdered by white men? If one were to venture furthermore into the legends, they'd make you believe he wasn't a man, but an entity of sorts. A placeholder of the truth, for the truth is too obscure to comprehend.

Mankind has always needed their shortcuts or their legends to either falsify or mend the truth into a story. Dime novels and pennydreadfuls are stories of these caliber that are first to come to mind. How dreadfully ironic, to raise children on morals given by a false story, or by an exaggerated example of a single man.

Tis the American dream, I suppose. To try to become something you wanted, only to end up being what the powers that be warp your soul into. We don't become better people as time progresses, we only become more of ourselves as our lives go on. This was lectured to me by no other than Deak. A man of few intellect, yet a man so poised within his own life experiences, that same wisdom was able to set itself upon the surface of his rugged exterior. What made a man wise, exactly? The experiences of his own path? Or newfound information by another man?

I am dangerously fatigued, I realized. The snow had let up only a bit, so perhaps I'll set up a small encampment to rest for a while. The wind howled and whipped my hair to my face. The riddle on a continuous loop in my head. Was I to look for any signs of vultures? Or was I too find a specific pack of wolves? Whatever the case, I know for certain that I have to find a waterfall of sorts.

I rode for twenty more miles before the snow stopped its pursuit. Sluggishly, and with much lethargy, I dismounted Wiona. I retrieved a small spade from one of my saddlebags and began to carve a fire ring in the snow until the topsoil exposed itself. I then retrieved three, relatively large, pieces of plywood and set them up in a teepee formation. I used a small amount of oil from the lamp I kept tethered to Wiona's reigns, and lit the wood ablaze. The flame kicked up a lot higher than I expected, forcing me to back up and cautiously expand my fire ring. I found a medium sized boulder just off the path and rolled it towards my campfire. The rock was damp - obviously - but I didn't mind as I took a seat and embraced the warmth of the fire.

It felt as if my bones were thawing; my body shivered uncontrollably and strands of my hair were matted to my face. Exhaustion was soon to kick in. The dampness of the rock spread across the rear of my jeans, making my backside tender from the cold. The fire helped tremendously in halting my shivering body. I did not plan to set a tent, but only to rest a moment. Wiona stepped closer to the vicinity of the fire ring, smart girl - she was warming herself. The thin pieces of wood cracked and broke under the flames, dispersing embers into the air.

The bitterness of the cold stung my throat as I inhaled. My fingers still felt as if they were thawing. They likely were by all means. I hugged myself for warmth, and before I knew it, I had drifted to sleep - sat upon a damp rock.