He had taken a walk that morning that took him going north out of town on main steet. It felt good to stretch his legs and breathe in the cool morning air. Walking was good for his hip. It was perfectly clear and the sun was just breaking the horizon. Fireball followed close behind. No doubt she was hoping for another Little Debbi cream pie. He had tied her reins up so that she didn't stumble on them. There wasn't much left of Antler. In its heyday the census tallied more than 300 people who called Antler home. Now, by his observation, he thought that less than 30 had lived here. Most of the structures that he passed had been severely damaged. The northeast quarter of the town had completely burned and a blackened scorched area extended quite some distance into the grass fields to the east of town. Faint smoke wafted up into the sky from the still smouldering debris. The only living things that he saw were crows and turkey buzzards. They were carrion birds and just doing what they were genetically programmed to do, he thought, even as repulsive as it was. He had walked maybe a little more than a mile north and came to the creek that the town was named after. He noticed on the north side of the creek what appeared to be a small overgrown graveyard. He walked through the tall grass and fallen tree limbs and began to examine the headstones. One was the headstone of Jane Sieffert. She died in 1886. Engraved on the face of the granite stone were these words.

" In death's cold arms she's sleeping

A tender parent, a companion dear

In love she lived, In peace she died,

Her life was asked but was denied"

There were a few more headstones scattered throughout the small graveyard. He slowly walked between them and took a few moments to read all of them. He wondered what these people's lives must have been like in this barren land so long ago. What brought them here? How did they manage to survive? What challenges did they face? What were their hopes? He mused that the answers were the same for most all people; a desire for a measure of independence, a longing for freedom, an appreciation for truth and the satisfaction of a hard days work and security for their family. Something brought them here to toil on this desolate prairie. Were they immigrants escaping oppression from their native home? What were their religious beliefs? Were they just young and the adventurous sort? He could only invent the answers as those who really knew were now simply dust below his feet.

He stood there a few moments more looking off to the north and east. From where he stood he could almost throw a stone into Canada. There was a cool breeze blowing through the prairie grass and he could hear the water rippling in the creek. Other than that it was serenely quiet. Fireball had sidled up behind him and was nosing him in the shoulder. "I should have named you the "Big Belgian Mooch" he smiled. He unwrapped the other Little Debbi and gave her half. A string of bubbly saliva dripped from her lips as she slurped down the sweet treat. He took a bite from his and gave what was left to her also. "You're about the only friend that I've got right now old girl" he whispered as he scratched behind her ears. They made their way out of the tall grass to the road that went south into town. He thought how good an ice cold beer would taste.

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It was about 9:30 when they walked back into town. He had decided that he would search for a few more supplies before they started their journey. He thought that he could find what he needed with one more visit to the "Cabin Bar". He was tired from the walk. He made his way to the cooler, cracked open one of the warm Pabst and set it on the polished bar. Then he poured himself a double shot of Jim Beam bourbon from its bottle that perched on the glass shelf along the wall. He smiled thinking that he was racking up quite a bar tab at the "Cabin". He figured that it would take them ten days to get to Charbonneau. He was sure that he could scavenge through empty homesteads along the way to find something to eat. During the nights he could find shelter in abandoned houses or barns and could get Fireball inside if the weather turned bad. He had seen a nice wool blanket in the house that he had slept in the night before. He would take that with him as this time of year the weather could turn cold very quickly. When he had finished his drink he walked back into the kitchen area. From a cooler he took a package of vacuumed sealed Boar's Head pepperoni and four plastic bottles of Acrtic Chiller water. On one of the shelfs he found a box of Christie's saltine crackers. He thought that with the other things that he had found that it would be enough to last him for three or four days. On his way out he took one more warm Pabst from the cooler. The sun was shining into the open east end of the building now. He could hear the tinkling of Fireball's bells as she nibbled grass around the corner. He put the pepperoni and crackers inside the feed sack and hung it from a hitching rail that ran in front of the bar. He felt it was the strangest thing but standing there he thought that he could smell the unmistakable aroma of fresh coffee and frying bacon. He sauntered over to the house where he had slept and retrieved the wool blanket. He walked back and draped that also over the hitching rail. He decided to stroll across the square to the I.O.O.F building. It was a simple two story brick structure. A dilapidated wooden landing and steps hung off the front. All the windows had been boarded up and the plywood that was used had weathered and delaminated. A shed roof addition clad with corregated metal had been constructed along the south side. He was certain that as he walked closer to the building that the familiar smell of frying bacon became more noticeable. As he peered around the back corner of the building he was surprised to see a small fire in a fire ring that had been fashioned out of a piece of metal culvert. Over the fire was a grate with metal legs and on it were a cast iron frying pan full of sputtering greasy bacon and a blue enameled coffee pot. On a short wooden stool there were two plastic plates with a few biscuits and a couple large brown eggs setting on them. An old grey bearded man sat in a worn lawn chair with tattered green and yellow nylon webbing and had as yet to notice him. He was wearing a pair of dark brown corduroy pants a bright yellow long sleeved shirt and a baggy denim jacket that looked two sizes too big for his frail frame. Perched on his head cocked at a jaunty angle was a black felt stovepipe hat. Pinned on the side of the hat was a large monarch butterfly. He was puffing a cloud of white smoke from a corn cob pipe between his teeth and was reaching over to stir the bubbling bacon with a kitchen fork when he glanced his way. "Well hello there sonny" he said with a twinkle.. "I've been expecting you for breakfast. How do you like your egg"?

..to be continued.