Honeysuckle

                On June 14 1880, Jerry Huston robbed the in Carson City bank for three days he eluded the posse. The posse stopped at the California border.  Evading and outrunning the posse for the tree days physically and mentally exhausting and accomplished mostly by luck.  He continued riding hard after crossing border checking making sure, they weren’t pursuing.  It was the eighteen when he stopped to rest his horse planning to camp by the stream where grass abundant. He would spend a couple of days here resting before continuing the long trek across California to San Francisco. The first town or settlement he came he would purchase a pack animal and supplies.

                The rabbit shot earlier cooked on spit the grease falling in the flames made a pleasant sizzling sound; the aroma enticing having not eaten anything but jerky for three days. While the rabbit cooked, he counted the money from the robbery.  There was twenty one hundred dollars in paper money, another three hundred in gold and silver. Twenty-four hundred dollars would provide a nice stake in San Francisco. The money would provide a new beginning.  This was his first crime and he didn’t intend to follow the life style. The authorities and people of Carson City didn’t appreciate his withdrawal.  He fled the city dodging bullets and screaming threats from the citizens.  They organized a posse pursued him relentlessly. 

                There were no regrets, the bank foreclosed on his ranch four months ago.  It wasn’t much of a ranch only a section with a one-room cabin.  He loved the place, if given tie he would have made it work. The damn bank didn’t see it, demanded payment he couldn’t make and foreclosed.

          The setting sun brought the night sounds.  The insects and night birds where happily singing.  He sense not heard something or someone circling the camp. He drew the Colt Peace Maker, standing and scanning the camps perimeter. Watching closely the approximate distant where the sound originated. Seeing nothing, he turned the rabbit before walking to the hobbled grazing horse. He smelled the faith odor of what he thought was honeysuckle for the first time.  He found nothing and continued sniffing the pungent aroma of Honeysuckle.  He thought paranoia from the long pursuit had peaked, his imagination and created the familiar smell of honeysuckle. It faded away after a few seconds, dismissed as nostalgia from his childhood in Oklahoma.  Returning to camp putting more wood on the fire checks the rabbit it was cooking nicely. 

                His stomach was growling as the aroma enticed.  The jackrabbit would provide his supper and his noon meal tomorrow.  Perhaps he would do some fishing tomorrow.  He would spend most of the morning backtracking on foot making sure the posse hadn’t crossed the border and tracking him. He didn’t think it possible but going to prison or hanged for bank robbery wasn’t appealing.  The rabbit tasted good after wrapping the remaining meat.  He checked the horse once more, washed in the stream. The water cold but relaxing tomorrow afternoon in the heat of the day be would bathe and wash his clothes.  

                The strange feelings of something or somebody watching returned without warning drawing the Colt and he turns a full circle seeing nothing.  His eyes stop on the horse lazily grazing the animal hadn’t sensed the sensation he felt.  Those strange feelings continued he walked the perimeter found nothing that didn’t belong before returning to the camp. Once back at the camp the odor of honeysuckle once again penetrated the night air. The honeysuckle odor was stronger this time and lasted longer. He thought about Oklahoma and the smelling the honeysuckle in the spring an earlier summer.  When the window to the upstairs bedroom opened letting in the night air. He was exhausted sleep came quickly and lasted uninterrupted until the sunrise.

                He walked the perimeter checking for tracks not visible at night.  His curiosity about the sensation of a present and odor of honeysuckle remained. He found only small animal tracks one would expect to find in California.  Leading the horse to the steam to drink once finished he backtracked to the top of hill found a place and scanned the back trail carefully watching for dust plums seeing none. His thought turned to the strange feeling of last night unable to dismiss those as paranoia or nerves from stress.  There wasn’t any logical explanation, the sounds, the strange feeling, and the odor of honeysuckle.  He estimated the time eleven by the sun when returning to the camp checked the horse and ate the rest of the jackrabbit.  Once he finished he walked to the stream undressed washed his clothes hanging them on the bushes to dry before bathing.  The water warn and relaxing.  His Colt and Winchester close by.  The strange feelings sensed last night not forgotten.  The firearms were for self-preservation in the savage west.

                Setting on the bank naked enjoying the solitude thinking about San Francisco and starting over.  Grabbing the Colt and spinning around having heard something sounding like somebody walking behind him.  Where the noise had come there was nothing but vacate space.  The horse watched him briefly before returning to the tender grass.  He turned in a complete circle seeing nothing suspiciously scanning the entire area seeing nothing.

                 He dressed quickly and searched the area where he thought someone heard walking.  The ground scanned carefully there weren’t any human or animal tracks the stones and pebbles didn’t appear disturbed.  Another full circle made carefully checking for anything suspicious found nothing. Standing silently, thinking about the situation deciding the stress of robbing the bank and running from the posse caused the strange phenomena. 

                It was time to try his luck at fishing not wanting to eat the remaining jerky for supper.  Taking a deep breath the odor of honeysuckle penetrated the warn air.  The tantalizing aroma recognized instantly.  The fragrant aroma of honeysuckle grew stronger.  During the search, no honeysuckle bushes seen.  The aromas came from every direction simultaneously intensified and decreased repeatedly.  Finally, the honeysuckle aroma disappeared as mysterious as it appeared. 

                Looking west, something moved toward his position it was a shadowy dark figure.  Squinting and shading his eyes improving vision.  The figure mysteriously disappear the honeysuckle aroma returned stronger and more pungent.  It originated from behind him drawing the Colt and whirling around nothing present.  He turned around looking west again as the honeysuckle aroma intensified.  The shadowy figure reappeared moving faster now.  It was a man dressed in black moving with purpose the sweet fragrant of honeysuckle intensified.  Squinting and shading his eyes the figure shimmered like a heat mirage. It was an illusion but it didn’t explain the honeysuckle aroma.  He blinked trying to make the shadowy figure disappear.   It continued coming walking in a straight line with purpose.  At three hundred yards distant, he decided the image not a mirage or hallucination.  The shadowy figure turned stopped and pointed west toward San Francisco.  The Winchester made ready if needed. It didn’t appear the man in black armed, unusual in this savage land.

                His gaze remained on the dark figure pointing west the honeysuckle aroma intensified briefly and disappeared the figure remained standing and pointing. The honeysuckle smell returned more intense it seemed to appear from all directions engulfing him circling his rigid body.  He continued watching the man and enjoying the sweet aroma and the childhood memories, it brought.  The odor lessened and then intensified as the man stood pointing west.

                The odor disappeared suddenly he started retching as honeysuckle odor replaced by the strong putrid smell of decaying flesh.  His eyes remained focused on the man in black pointing west the odor of rotting flesh circulated around him engulfing.  It was nearly unbearable.  It lessened briefly and then intensified he holds his nose with thumb and forefinger to keep from retching.  The pointing figure continued pointing as the odor continued engulfing and overpowering him.  He blinked his eyes as the figure turned and pointed at him briefly 

                His mind jumped to the conclusion the figure was warning him about pending danger in San Francisco. His mind offered no explanation about the honeysuckle and putrid odor of rotting flesh.  The shimmering of the man in black intensified and the then unbelievably the figure dissolved falling to the ground. The odor of rotting flesh disappeared not replaced by the aroma of the honeysuckle.  He walked the short distant to where the man in black had stood pointing west toward San Francisco.  What he saw unbelievable?  On the ground was a small pile of black ashes, bending down using a twig; he stirred the ashes.  There was faith odor of honeysuckle and putrid smell of rotting flesh mixed together.  He jerked away nearly falling backwards stood and scanned the area and sniffed several times.  He smelt or saw nothing.

                The remainder of that day he spent fishing, resting, and thinking about the strange phenomenon of the dissolving man in black and the two distinctive odors.  The shadowy figure or odors hadn’t return.  Tomorrow he would continue the journey to San Francisco.  He dismissed the phenomena as being a warning and stress and paranoia.  There was a new beginning waiting in San Francisco he would continue as planned.

                Five days later, arriving in Sacramento leading the pack mule acquired four days earlier. There were no other phenomena the previous five days.  He would spent the night in Sacramento and continue to San Francisco the next morning.  It would be nice sleeping in a bed instead of on the hard cold ground. After having dinner he returned to the hotel exhausted opening the door hit by the pungent odor of honeysuckle.  He pushed the door open instinctively drawing the Colt before entering.  Setting in the single chair was the shimmering man in black smiling.  He pointed the Colt at the man who didn’t seem to notice. The expression remain blank the honeysuckle aroma intensified he waited for the change to rotten flesh. It didn’t, the honeysuckle aroma lessened disappeared. His eyes and the Colt remained fixed on the smiling man in black.  Without warning, the figure pointed at him before disappearing.  This time nothing remained of the man in black.  The odor of rotten flesh briefly penetrated the hotel room.  It not replaced by the smell of honeysuckle.

                 He closed the door sat on the bed staring at the chair where the smiling man in black had set.  His thoughts about the previous meeting of the man in black five days ago and this meeting swirled around inside his mind.  There were no logical explanations for the strange phenomena occurring on separate occasion.  He perceived the appearance of the man in black not a warning.  He however had no explanation for the appearance.  He dismissed it as stupid superstition went to bed and slept soundly the entire night without interruptions.

                Rested after a good night sleep he ate breakfast and picked up his horse, pack animal, and after shopping for supplies continued his journey.  Stopping at the outskirts of Sacramento at the cross roads looking west.  He turned north, rode away and didn’t stop until he reached Oregon.  Years later, he thought about the mysterious man in black and strange appearance of the odors often.  He never regretted not going to San Francisco having become a successful rancher near Salem Oregon.  The man in black never appeared again. That first spring he planted honeysuckles outside the house. Now in the spring and earlier summer, he leaves the window open to smell the honeysuckle at night.  The sweet aroma of the honeysuckle, remind him of a simpler time during his happy childhood in Oklahoma.