Indian Creek Trail  LbNA # 19788

OwnerLarry739      
Placed DateDec 29 2005
CountyJohnson
LocationOverland Park, KS
Boxes12
Found Byajkrat
Last UpdateNov 8 2009

Clues

INDIAN CREEK TRAIL LETTERBOXES

There is a sign saying "Welcome to Olathe" along a hard black trail at the border of Olathe and Overland Park, Kansas near Pflumm just north of 127th Street where Indian Creek crosses under the road. To start this story you must first find the ARROW. To find the ARROW start at the sign that says Welcome to Olathe. From that sign head towards the setting sun until you find a flat place with a picture of a blue bird. Continue on across the rusty bridge. Look for a label on the bridge that says Wheeler and 01 823. From that point look to the southern hillside and mark off 30 paces to the tallest old tree. The Arrow is deep in the belly of this old sentinel on the south side. Watch for critters, thorns, and plants that itch. No telling what other perils lurk nearby. It is here at the ARROW that our story begins.

Many, many moons ago when the buffalo and elk walked along this creek, the Black Bob Indian band lived here. It was here that a strong young Indian brave was shot in the side with a poison arrow by a marauding band of Crow Indians. He dragged himself up through the weeds and under this tree to rest. There he fell into a long slumber and he slept for over 100 years, until one day a badger was digging in this very spot and pulled the poison arrow from his side. A few days ago in a cold rain he awakened from his long sleep and looked about him at this changed and wondrous land. At first he did not know where he was, but he had a dim memory of this land and the waters down below. It was a foggy morning and the sun was just starting to rise.

He heard a signal TOM TOM beating in the distance towards where the sun was rising on this cool morning and decided to go towards it hoping to find his people. So down the hill he walked towards the flowing waters.

Near the water he came to a hard black path that crossed a rusty bridge and went further past a log with strange markings and a bird he knew. He kept going under the gray bridge towards the rising sun. He did not take the fork, but continued on towards the TOM TOM sound. Up ahead he could see another iron bridge, but he stopped at the tree next to the path with four equal sized trunks reaching for the sky. He stood with his back against the four trunks on their north side and looked across the path at the leaning tree. What he was seeking was hidden there in a holy place in the leaning tree. The other sounds he heard from this spot back the way he came were the sounds of iron horses rising for the day. Those sounds smothered the sound of the TOM TOM until he could hear it no more.

Leaving the Tom Tom in its holy place, the brave continued along the black path towards the rising sun. He did not veer to the south at the fork. He continued to follow the waters. He crossed the iron bridge and saw a sign with strange markings with nearby newly planted trees. He continued on until he passed a lone pine. He then came to a lone cedar tree with a nice shape. Beyond this spot as many steps as a family of six has toes and fingers was a huge old white tree with many healed wounds. Its roots had raised cracks in the black path. The old white tree was here when his people were the only ones who lived in this land. This was a lookout tree from which he could see friends or enemies approach. It is from this very tree that he had seen the Crow Indians and ran to alert his people to their evil plan. The brave remembered that when he had climbed the tree he had left his new moccasins made by his mother in a hole in the tree. He needed them now to continue his journey. It was a tree still made for climbing, but there was no need for him to climb the tree to find the hiding spot for his MOCCASINS. They rested above in a holy spot that he could almost reach with some help.

After putting on his Moccasins he continued on his journey. The sun was up higher and he decided to sit for a spell on the iron Sunflower. After his rest he continued on until he came to a yellow post with a strange marking that looks like two straight trees and a boulder. This was a symbol his elders had taught him as a child, but he could not remember what it meant. Perhaps he will remember later. He then crossed another iron bridge and the path ahead made a sharp turn back towards the rising sun. Instead of turning he went straight and found a familiar hollow log lying on the ground. Within this log was his CANOE. Logs like these were used to make Canoes long ago. Unfortunately the years had rotted out the bottom of his canoe so he continued on foot along the trail.

On down the stream he ignored the fork in the path that led up the hill. The path ahead wound around as he walked along and eventually he came to a clearing where there were two great walls made of oddly shaped identical stones off in the distance. One of the walls had two hollow niches near the top. The Indian brave remembered that an Eagle used to nest in that cliff long ago and so he walked up towards the wall. As the fog cleared he stopped dead in his tracks as he saw something that startled him. There were great forts with shiny faces built atop the cliff. And there were pale skinned people inside the forts walking around and staring out at him through the shiny walls. As he backed away from the cliff he tripped on a stump with a rock in the middle. Under the rock was an EAGLE FEATHER. He took the feather and backed slowly down the hill back to the hard path.

He continued along the path many steps until he saw a leaning tree right next to the path. He sat on the path and leaned back against the tree looking at the eagle feather. He was so engrossed in looking at the feather that he did not notice the two people who walked right by him until they were suddenly upon him. They were a pale skinned man and woman with strange multi-colored clothes. They had strange moccasins and funny looking coverings on their ears. They ignored him as they walked by at a fast pace heading back the way he had come. He looked at his buckskin clothes that were worn and barely covered his body and his long black hair. He decided to continue his journey and see if he could find some of the things he needed to protect himself from these strange people in the hiding spots where he had left them long ago.

Not far ahead he saw an old abandoned structure high in a tree and walked over to investigate. He remembered this place. He walked 46 foot falls in a direction halfway between the rising sun and the north star. There he found two fallen logs. Inside the log with the knarled roots he found his WARCLUB. With this weapon he would be safe from the strangers.

Continuing along the hard path he saw a limbless pole of a tree where the woodpeckers dwell. As he continued on the path he noticed it looked like it headed straight at a big tree. As he got nearer he saw it went around the tree. He passed a fallen giant and a rocky slope. Just beyond the rocks he saw two fallen trees with a stump between them. This was the old council ring where his people used to gather to talk among themselves. He remembered this spot. Hidden inside one of these logs was his BOW. Now he could hunt. He had carried the arrow with him and knew he could make more if need be. After a brief rest in the council ring he returned to the hard path and continued his journey.

After some time he saw another iron bridge. Before he reached the bridge he noticed a deer trail with many DEER TRACKS leading up the hill. He decided to follow the trail and hunt a deer with his bow and arrow. A deer would give him food and skins for new garments. He was only now noticing how hungry he was. So up the hill he went. Near the top of the hill he found a baby fawn deer nestled in the crotch of a knarled root. It was not much of a meal and would make no more than a loin cloth to wear so he left it alone to grow up and he returned down the hill.

He crossed the iron bridge and took the fork towards the right. He passed a clearing on the right and saw a row of pine trees ahead. He stopped at the small tributary for a drink of water and tried to stave off his hunger. He noticed a little further along that the creek came very close to the path and he could see fish in the water below. Fish are good to eat and he knew he could catch them if he could find the fish hooks and leather line he had hidden nearby. On up the trail not too far past the pines were three cedar trees. In the furthest tallest one he found a FISH HOOK and line. After digging some worms from the soft ground he returned to the creek and caught two nice fish.

Now he needed his knife to clean the fish so he could eat them. He remembered he had hidden a knife not far ahead in a large crater left when a flaming rock fell from the sky. He walked ahead quickly and crossed another tributary lined with rocks. He passed many tee pees of the pale skinned people. They surely must be as many as there are stars in the sky to build such great wigwams. He was startled when a pale skinned girl walked by with two oddly colored and sized wolves on ropes. He was even more startled by the two pale skinned men who almost ran him down on their two wheeled ponies. Surely this had become a strange land. He eventually passed two green boxes on his left and saw the crater up ahead on his right. In the middle of the crater was a lone small tree. He found his KNIFE under the rocky rubble at the base of this tree. The knife had been fashioned by his grandfather from a piece of the flaming iron rock that fell from the sky. Now he could clean his fish, but he needed flint to start a fire to cook them.

The Indian brave remembered the words of his elders that a storehouse of flint arrowheads was cached in a spot near where the waters part. So he headed back to the hard path to continue to that point. Along the way he noticed there was much strange refuge left by the pale skinned ones. It fouled the land. He picked up what he could and carried it with him up to the path. He found a green basket to put most of it in but a larger green container was around the squared stone wall where the larger pieces would go.

He crossed a small hill where there was an iron sunflower and just beyond he found another yellow pole with strange writing. This looked like one tree and two boulders. The path was forked here and he looked over towards the waters and saw a grove of trees. It looked like the location that his elders told him about. He walked over to the trees and tried to remember. Was it one tree and two boulders? Or was it two trees and one boulder? He looked and looked and finally in the third place he looked he found two trees growing close together with a small gray boulder at their base. He removed the rock and under it was the cache of ARROWHEADS.

Here he made his fire by striking his knife and flint and cooked his fish. He watched the kingfishers and great blue herons hunting for their dinners where the waters converged. He had found a spot where he could rest and was feeling sleepy with a full belly. He was starting to drift off to sleep when he was startled by a loud noise coming from far away in the direction of the rising sun. It sounded like a question. He decided to investigate and walked towards the gray bridge where the trail led. This bridge had many noisy iron horses passing over it at great speed. As he rounded the bend on the path the call of the question became louder and he could see the path went under the bridge. He answered back, "It is me, son of my fathers and heir to this land." He started to trot towards the bridge as the calls came louder and more frequently ... Questions… questions… questions. Finally, under the bridge he saw the great inquisitor. It was the HARBINGER of Death, the great horned owl, perched on the dirt up near the center of the bridge in front of some strange green marks. He had been lamenting the passing of the Black Bob band from this land. "Whooooooo" is that brave who still walks this land? The brave sat under the bridge and gave the question his full attention. His eyes were wet. It is just me old HARBINGER, the last of the Black Bob band.