There was an old man I knew, from the foot hills in Arkansas.
Many thought he was a little strange, me, I loved his stories.
He would tell of events that happened long ago, as if he had been there with a first hand account.
He was much too young to have either been living then, much less to have been at the site of the story.
Jess, was his name and he was married to my aunt Cynthy, they loved fishing and popcorn.
One morning while I was visiting, Jess invited me fishing, I was delighted and excited, Jess very seldom took anyone fishing with him, so I really felt special.
While fishing, Jess started telling me of an event that had happened in 1883. He said he didn't know how all of this happened but he knew it did.
A Wells Fargo line, was traveling from St.Louis to Little Rock, when it was pulled over by a group of bandits. There were only three passengers on board at the time, a young man returning home from a trip, a gambler that had lost all of his money in St.Louis, and a man from Scotland that seemed really out of sorts, probably drunk, as he had been sipping on something the whole trip.
Jess went on to tell me that it was really strange in so far as the stage driver was so calm, and none of the passengers were all that put out. They all remained so calm, as if they all knew that it was going to happen, that is except for the young man that was returning home to Little Rock.
He became very nervous and scared, he was so young, maybe in his early twenties.
The bandits asked for the strong box, without hesitation the driver threw it down. That strong box held gold coins, that were to go to a bank in Little Rock. Jess wasn't sure of the amount because none of the people had mentioned anything about it.
The bandits, turned the horse loose, took the weapons, loaded the strong box and rode away.
This incident had been bothering my uncle Jess for some time, he told me. Why were all the people so calm, except that youngun, why didn't the bandits shoot all the witnesses. He just couldn't make no sense outta it he said.
Strangest thing though of all, was, I see where they go to hide the strong box, where they bury it and all.
I see all the bandits gettin shot up by the posse that tracks em down and all, but no one goes to get that strong box, and well, it's just buried there by that ole oak tree only bout three feet in the ground.
Jess, went on, I know exactly where that place is, the ole oak tree, right there by Mahoneys' crossing, six feet from the creek, that ole strong box still sittin there.
Jess was acting really strange while he was telling the story, like he was in a different place, like the whole thing was happening right now, right in front of him, and this was spring time in 1953, one hundred and thirty years later. I was a little concerned about his mental state, and a little fearful.
I became curious, and decided to investigate, just to see if anything like this really happened.
I found out that a Wells Fargo stage coach had indeed been robbed at that time, and nothing was ever recovered.
The only problem was that it had occurred near Greers' landing, not Mahoney's crossing, which was ten miles further south down the river.
I visited, Mahoneys' crossing, I found an old dilapidated bridge, with a huge oak tree, six feet from the bank of the river, I got cold chills that ran down my spine.
I just knew that my uncle Jess had been here before.
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