That Indian and His Revolver
The early morning sun glistens from the snow covered fields of Stone Arabia. It is late February of the 14th year of our new century. The writer of this narrative has a decision to make. Does the reader realize that with advancing age even reasonable simple decisions are more difficult to make or adhere to for that matter? What is the decision facing me? Does this old bird emerge from his warm bed where he is engrossed in a story by Bret Harte of the Californian Gold Rush days or roll out to put his pen to paper to write of a happening from his own life many years ago. The decision is made. I’ll write the story that has been in the back of this old mind for some time. Just how many of the pages of yesterday I will have to leaf through to reach a beginning is not certain. Let’s try 75 years. My parents, grandpa Garlock and I were living in grandpa’s house along the creek at Marshville, NY some four miles south of Canajoharie. This writer was emerging as a collector even back then....