Vision: at the Menger

Panic suddenly overwhelmed Gregg.  The Indians were not headed for the stage coach - they were headed directly for him.  But how could that be?  He wasn’t really there.  Or was he?

The two warriors approaching on horseback were now close enough he could see their eyes were beaded down right on him.  He was now sweating, from the heat of the day, but more from realizing he was actually in middle of this horrible ordeal.  The brave with the raised hatchet in hand above his head, and the other with bow and arrow both about to be launched in his direction.  He looked to where Jim should be standing and saw nothing but wide open prairie grass.  He turned to where the car was parked, but it wasn’t there either.  Just more wide open prairie lands.  He had nowhere to go.  He then turned back in the direction of the two warriors now almost up on him.

The one in the lead was holding the hatchet and ready to let it fly.  Gregg thought about running to the stage coach for safety, but it was too late.  The warrior let the hatchet fly.  The weapon was right on its’ mark and headed straight for his head.  Gregg raised his hands to cover his head and let out a death chilling yell.  In doing so he took his hand off the Historic Marker.  He stood there with his eyes closed.

“Gregg!  Gregg you all right?  What’s a matter? Did you see something?”