Good times all around

On his own, Meriweather Lewis picked up a kid named George Shannon in Pittsburg already, among the first of the crew he and Clark chose for company to the other side of the continent. "Pup Shannon," they sometimes called him because he was the only one of the bunch still wet behind the years--just 18 years old. 

Lewis told Clark that he'd take this kid named Shannon, along with an older guy named Colter, on a trip up the river to St. Louis. Lewis laid out the deal: Colter and Shannon, he told Clark, were "taken on trial, conditionally only, though I think they will answer tolerably well." 

For the record, they did, even the kid.

On August 26th, 1804, a Sunday morning, the corps, right here in the neighborhood, set off for another day, leaving Drouillard and Shannon behind to find a couple of lost horses. They'd catch up eventually. Wasn't the first time a couple of men were  left behind for some job that needed to be done--in this case, find the blame horses. 

Drouillard came back. Alone. No Shannon. 

The diaries emit no panic. One of the Corps' qualifications was the ability to handle oneself in the wilderness they'd be in. Even though he was just a kid, George  Shannon had gained the trust of the others. Only ten days had passed since Moses Reed had deserted. When Drouillard had found Reed and brought him back to camp, Reed got himself spanked. . .well, whipped. After all, not only had he deserted, he'd grabbed a rifle and gear that wasn't his. 

But when Pup Shannon turned up missing, there appears to have been no anger. What kept the men awake at night was fear--what if the kid fell into the hands of angry Indians? what it a some she-bear tore him up? what if? what if?--

When the Corps pulled up just a bit west of what is today the Santee, Nebraska, they were relieved to find signs of both Pup and the old trapper Drouillard--signs, but not them. It was just a matter of finding him--that he was lost was obvious, but my word it was a big world out there.

Head out to Crofton, Nebraska, sometime, then take Hwy 12 west for 13 miles and take a right at the Lindy corner. Go ahead and drive into the old town. There's not much of it, but there is a healthy looking Lutheran Church and a handsome supper club that, just out front, features the story of Pup Shannon who spent some time he didn't mean to right there--or at least down towards the woods along the river.

The hills were almost certainly all grass back then, a world you could spot a lost man a mile away. But cottonwoods line the river--maybe hard woods too, enough for cover anyway, enough for the kid to think that just in case there was any trouble hovering around, for a while at least he should/oughta' keep himself hidden.

And he did. On September 11, sixteen days later, they found the kid sitting on a river bank out ahead of the troops. Good times all around. He told the others he thought he was somewhere behind them, so tried to catch up. When he couldn't, he sat and waiting for some river traffic to give him a lift back to St. Louis. 

That tourist sign in front of the Lindy Country Club? Go ahead and read it for yourself.

Then take a left out of town. Take the gravel, a road that snakes through the well-shorn hills like the river once did before leaving you at the river's edge, right there in town. 

Pull off the street for a minute and sit there. Somewhere close the lost sheep got found. Pup, hungry but unscathed, was back in the fold. He passed the test. 

You can't help but smile. Good times all around.