Wailing Squaw

                                                       Wailing Squaw

           When Jimmy and Travis first heard the noise, they didn’t know what to think. They weren’t sure what it even sounded like, because they had never heard anything like it before. They just knew it was loud and scary.  Both boys lay in their tent quivering in their sleeping bags and wondering what to do. 

           The two twelve year olds always wanted to go camping by themselves, and they finally convinced their parents to let them make this trip. It wasn’t a long trip, just a few hundred feet behind Jimmy’s parent’s house close to Wellford Spring. Their parents felt this would be a safe distance for them to be on a camping trip by themselves. If something did go wrong, help was close.

           The problem now was that neither of the boys wanted to get out of the tent to go for help or see what was making such a horrible noise. They were both too scared. First, the noise sounded like it was some distance away and then it would sound like it was flying over their tent, swooping down low enough to make the tent flaps move back and forth. Then they would hear something that sounded like someone hitting the water in the spring with a flat board. After about fifteen minutes, all the noises stopped. Even the silence was scary.

           "You want’a go see what’s going on?" Jimmy asked.

           "Not….Not really," Travis stammered out.

           "So what are we gonna do?"

           "I don’t… don’t know, but nothing has come in here after us, yet!"

           Then they heard another noise. "Now what?" Jimmy asked.

           "Don’t …don’t know, but I see a light coming over to our left." Both boys watched a light coming towards them. It was strong enough to show through the canvas tent. They both let out a sigh of relief when they heard Jimmy’s Dad.

           "Jimmy. Travis. You guys ok?"

           Both boys scrambled from the tent. "Yeah, Dad, we’ve fine." He paused. "Well, sort of fine."

           "What the heck was all that noise?" Mr. Jacobs asked.

           "We were too scared to go outside and look, so we have no idea."

           "Well, it was sure strange. I’ve never heard anything like that since we moved here. Come one, you guys, let’s go back to the house. We’ll come back after your gear in the morning." Neither of the boys wanted to argue about that idea.

           When they did return in the morning, nothing looked disturbed or out of place. Their tent, sleeping bags, and the rest of their gear were all where they had left it. There were no marks on the ground or even places that looked like leaves had been disturbed to show someone had been out there. The boys collected their things and headed back to the house, glad to have Mr. Jacobs there to watch over them.

           Two days later, Mr. Jacobs went into town to pick up a part for his tractor. Miles Lightfoot ran the tractor supply house in the town of Textron. Mr. Jacobs knew Miles was an Osage Indian whose ancestors had spent many years in that area. "Miles, I’ve got a story to tell you. I know you have been around these parts for many years. Maybe you can give me some answers."

           "Well, I’ll give it a try." Mr. Jacobs relayed the story of what had happened two nights ago. 

           "And where did all this take place?" Miles asked him.

           "Right behind my house, by Wellford Spring."

           "My people call that spring Wailing Squaw Spring. Wellford Spring was a name given by the white settlers who came into this area. Legend has it that one of our women was shot there by a band of deserters after the Civil War. She was at the spring giving her children a bath. The men shot all three of them and left them for dead, but she did not die. She played dead so they would leave. Her children, however, were killed. Even though she was wounded, she scooped out graves with her bare hands to bury the children. When my people did find her there, she refused to leave. She stayed to guard her children’s graves and died there several years later."

           "Is she buried there, too?"

           "Yes, my people found her body and buried her there so her sprit could protect her children. But it is said that her soul never rested. She is always on guard over her babies."

           "So how come we’ve never heard her before?"

           Miles smiled. "Just a guess, but no one probably ever pitched a tent on the graves of her children before."