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neither surprised nor sad.
    Ed looked at the boy, who had lowered his rifle, but still glowered back at him. “You mind if I get down off my horse?” he asked them both.
    “I ’spect that’d be awright,” the man said.
    Ed looped the lead to the mule around his saddle horn, and swung down off his gelding. He removed his hat and whacked it across his pants leg. “I guess I met your boy Henry here, but don’t believe I caught your name,” he said to the man. He extended his hand.
    “I’m Ned Starr,” the man took Ed’s shake. “But Henry here ain’t my boy; he’s my cousin. If you’d like to come along, we’d be happy to share our supper if you don’t mind eating venison and taters.”
    “Nothing I’d like better right now, Ned. Much obliged.”
    * * *
    It turned out Ed guessed right about his chances of hooking up with some of the Starr Clan. Because Ned Starr not only fed him supper, but allowed Ed to stay the night. Ned and his wife, Nola, had two young girls and an infant son, so the cramped quarters in the cabin forced Ed to bunk in the barn with the animals, and young Henry.
    Henry took off after a couple of days. Ed stayed on. He helped Ned around the small farm, and eventually built his own cabin, buying a five acre piece of land on the Illinois River. Ned and he became fast friends, and helped start the small settlement the Cherokee population named Tsalagi. Later, when the settlement became a town, and Indian Territory became the State of Oklahoma, the U.S. Postal Service put up a sign over the door of the new post office, which read, “Tsalagee, Oklahoma.” The corrupted spelling of the English phonetic spelling of the Cherokee word by a postal bureaucrat became the town’s official name.
    Although Ed didn’t have a lot of fond memories of his mother, she did teach him a trade which helped him prosper—horse thievery and cattle rustling. But he only used the skills when the cash flow from his small distillery business ran low, or when he got bored.
    The truth is, he stole horses and cattle more for sport than lack of money. A ready market always existed for his moonshine whiskey. He didn’t go looking for a lavish lifestyle. That would only help those looking for him, find him. He always felt people were looking for him; different tribal police, and injured parties of one sort or another. Despite his avowed innocence in his mother’s murder, his paranoia still kept him believing marshals from Fort Smith prowled the woods for him.
    Because of this, he never used any of Belle’s loot. He feared that if he spent any of the gold or silver coins the fires of suspicion about him would flare up and lead bounty hunters right to him. He always thought he had a price on his head, even though no tangible evidence existed to support it. In fact, he became so obsessed with this fear, that he decided the best thing to do was hide his inheritance where no one would ever find it.
    One night, while feeding the fire under his still, waiting for the next batch to cook, he heard a blood-chilling yowl from somewhere back in the hills. Henry felt sure no bear or wolf or cat made the sound. It made him reach for his rifle and hold it close while he threw a couple more logs onto the fire. He’d heard that haunting call on several other occasions during his stays at his still, as well as the native stories about its maker.
    He’d asked Ned about the legends, did he believe in them, had he seen the creature of the legends. Ned got real quiet then, and refused to speak of it, only to say Ed should leave it be. Ed even suggested they go hunting for the creature, but Ned had become agitated and angry. He stood and shouted Cherokee words at him, words Ed didn’t understand; then looking him squarely in the eye Ned said, “This is not an animal to hunt!” He sat back down, and looked off into the woods. He told Ed never to speak of it again.
    Once, when he was out in the woods alone, he sat down to rest by the