New York was a wild place back then, and so was William's Tavern. See Willie and I had grown up near each other and often would get the other in or out of some sort of mischief. But the worst was the summer of 1628. It was common in those days to have the young men spend some time up in the hills to trap fur to make blankets and clothing and such, not to mention the meat and lard. I was a pretty good tracker for my age, but when it came to killing, nobody could best Willie Preston.
Anyway, 1628 Willie and I went up to the hills looking for deer or elk. About the third or fourth day we came across some massive tracks. I figured they had to be a bear since nothing else I knew of could leave tracks that big. Willie and I talked it over and decided that we could only spend 2 days on the bear before heading back for supplies. We were doing just fine until we were hit by a freak tropical storm. At the time we were sure that God himself was unleashing his full wrath down on us. It wasn't half an hour before we lost the trail as well as any sense of where we were.
After stumbling around for an hour, we came across a cave that could keep us from getting too much wetter. Willie started work on a fire while I surveyed our surroundings and started hunting for any clues as to where we were. It wasn't too long before I noticed the stench of death on my tongue. I tried getting Willie's attention, but it was too late.
A large flame erupted and doused the cave in a ball of yellow light, illuminating a massive, 24 foot bear, swiping his paw in full fury. Willie never did stand a chance. I got lucky. I never did tell his folks exactly how Willie died. I just couldn't bear it.
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