Dear Ana

November 8, 2010
Dear Ana,


Hesettle was telling me about his early life when we finally met on the trail leading to St. Louis. He said how he had left Louisiana to become a buffalo hunter in Texas. Then went down in Fort Sumner, New Mexico, after the slaughter of buffaloes became unprofitable, where he married Apolinaria Gutierrez. They had nine children.

Its July Nineteenth eighteen seventy eight in the spring, its been a days battle. I don’t like the Humid weather and I can tell Hesettles kids don’t either, Apolinaria died last summer of an illness unknown. Billy the Kid is one of many outlaws still loose and running around all wild Hesettle says, he seems to tell me and sister Laura alot of stories, its comforting being able to take our minds off the hand at task. He Also says his cousin knew Billy the Kid, saying they were friends. Neither had much in common, except both were experts with guns. I wonder if Hesettle is also an expert, that would be comforting to know sense we are suppose to cross Indian lands soon.

Its Midnight on the car and I am due to sleep but cannot because Iv’e been to worried abut you, my friend. I have been focussing on the sound of the oxen’s feet patterns, but i grew bored. The darkness is lightly lit by the moon shine. Its fall and we are more than half way to california for sure. The days are short and have a warm cool air to ‘em. Hesettle goes bufflo hunting every few weeks. So we have enough food for now and for winter.

On December Sixteenth eighteen seventy eight,

Something tragic has happened. Hesettle was shot at by an intoxicated man, he probably thought Hesettle was another man, or possibly he was mad that we crossed range with him. I can still see it in my mind. One shot rang out, followed by another,and Hesettle fell to the ground, mortally wounded. The first bullet smashed into the back of Hesettle's skull, the second hit him in the stomach while he was on the ground. He died without uttering a word. He was fifty-seven years old.

Cat turned, his youngest daughter, eleven years old, to see the shooter astride his horse, a smoking .forty-five caliber revolver in his hand. He dismounted and handed the revolver to a second man, and the two men rode off on their horses. It stared snowing right then. Cat screamed and fell to her knees, and wept. The other eight children wept also, but not as loudly, or maybe I was to shocked and my mind tried to block out the moment. I still don’t know. The snow started seeping through my clothing and i fell. It was cold. I find time just now to write this letter to you. As I am now in California and happily living with nine children and my new husband William, and one of my own children on the way. Laura is fine, or as I can tell from her letters. She’s also got a husband Clid, and already has one baby girl and another on the way.



Love your long lost friend,



Mrs. William Garth





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16aagagnon said...
Jan. 10, 2011 at 6:21 pm
Ahh.. haha i didnt mean to put "1980s" up there on the authors note thinnyy.. :P i ment to put 1890s :D
 
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