The Phantom Spring of Buffalo Gap

Buffalo Gap, South Dakota, is a little speck on the map just east of the town of Hot Springs, tucked between the Badlands and the Black Hills. It’s the kind of place most folks drive past without noticing the sign pointing to town. It’s on a dry piece of prairie, on the edge of the National Grasslands, with only the wind and the occasional coyote howl for company. Those who live out there know that. Some of us even know its deeper secrets, the kind you don’t talk about.

     One of those secrets caught up with us the week Nate Mielke was reported missing. He was 20 years old, a regular guy who loved rock hunting and wandering around the grasslands for Fairburn agates. When he didn’t come back after several days, folks got worried. It was out of character for him.

     My friend, Deputy Sheriff Mild Bill Hickok, yes, he’s a fourth-generation Hickok, though “Mild,” not “Wild”, and I went to Buffalo Gap, where the Rangers had set up a temporary command station. We brought a small two-person ATV, checked in with the Rangers and followed their search plan.

     Driving at 3 miles an hour through rugged prairie terrain gets old fast. You might as well walk beside the ATV, and we often did. We had just stopped to switch places when Bill froze. “Pete,” he said, sniffing the air, “do you smell that?”

     It was a hot, dry day. The sudden scent of green vegetation hit us like a fresh breeze. It smelled sweet, almost sickly sweet.

     “Yeah,” I said, “Let’s check it out.”

     We followed the smell down to the entrance of a hidden depression. We could smell the green grasses and wildflowers. If we hadn’t followed our noses, we’d have likely walked right by it without a second thought. That’s where we found him.

     An old man lay crumpled in the dirt, barely breathing. His skin hung loose and dry. Beneath it, his bones jutted out, brittle and frail. Blotches of purple and yellow bruises marred his arms and face. His breath was shallow, rattling with each exhale.

     “Help me,” he whispered.

     “Holy hell,” Bill said, dropping to his knees. “We need to get him some water now!”

     We gave him water, propped him up against the ATV, and shaded him with an umbrella. It took a little time, but eventually he spoke. His story was terrifying, yet oddly… enticing.

     “I found it,” he said. “The Fountain of Life. It’s real. I drank from it.”

     Bill and I exchanged a glance. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or run but to be honest, the idea of a Fountain of Life felt like an elation, not a curse.

     Nate continued. “It’s hidden… in a little hollow just down from here. The water is cool and sweet. I felt amazing, strong, fast. I could climb mountains without breaking a sweat.”

     His eyes grew distant, like he was back there again. “I drank more. My aches disappeared. My mind felt sharper than ever. It tasted like paradise.”

     “Leaning in close, I asked him. “What’s your name?”

     The old man struggled to breathe. “Nate Mielke…” His voice cracked like the dry, brittle sage brush leaves he was laying on.

     We stared at each other in stunned silence. Nate Mielke was 20 years old. The man in front of us looked like he was pushing 100.

     “But something changed.” I prompted. “You’ve… aged.”

     Nate shuddered. “It only worked while I was there. I left the spring only a little bit ago. I tried to go back, but it didn’t work anymore. I tried to leave but I’m aging more and more with every step. Help me! I don’t want to die here and become like them…”

     He clutched my sleeve, his eyes wide with terror. “The others still there, they’re mad… You’ll see them, they’ll be coming.”

     No sooner had he spoken than a chill swept over me. A low wind stirred the green grass. Then, suddenly, we weren’t alone.

     Shapes rose from the green grasses. Twisted forms with hollow eyes and faces which were locked in various stages of silent screams and vacant stares. They hovered at the edge of the hollow, shifting and writhing like menacing smoke.

     One of them, a man with deep-set eyes and a mouth twisted into a slanting grin, let out a broken laugh. “Welcome to paradise,” he whispered. “You can join us. Drink from the spring and you’ll live forever. Forever and ever and ever.”

     One of the ghosts in a cowboy hat was carrying a lantern, it yelled out, ‘There he is!’

     A woman ghost with wild eyes and tangled hair, shrieked at Bill. “You can’t leave now! Not anymore! Now you’re stuck with us!”

     Bill backed away, his face was ghostly pale. “Pete… you need to leave. Right now!”

     I couldn’t move. A young woman in a ragged dress stepped closer. Her eyes were wide and desperate, but her voice was soft and inviting.

     “It’s not so bad,” she cooed. “You’ll never grow old. No pain, no fear. Come and taste paradise, and you’ll feel better. Come with me… I’ll show you where it is.”

     She held out her hand, her eyes locked onto mine. For a split second, I believed her. I moved forward, drawn in by her words, her strange broken smile.

     “Pete!” Bill grabbed my arm, snapping me back to reality. “Don’t. That’s how they get you. Never trust a ghost with good manners. They’re always the worst ones.”

     The young woman’s face twisted into a snarl. “Coward!” she spat. “Everyone who drinks the water comes to the well.” While looking at Bill, she added, “Even if it takes them awhile!”

     Her words hung in the air. Bill’s face went blank.

     “Mild Bill?” I asked, suddenly unsure.

     He sighed, his eyes dark. “For the obvious reasons, I never told you… I am Wild Bill. Died in Deadwood, 1876. Some fool gambler poured this water on me, brought me back. But I wasn’t bound to the well, until now. All these years, I’ve been both looking for this place and trying to avoid it.”

     My mind reeled. Bill had always been my steady, no-nonsense friend. To hear him confess to something so impossible… I didn’t know what to say. I was in shock.

     I stared blankly at Nate, he was dead, now just thin skin and bones.

     Bill looked older, frailer, but strangely at peace, calm but grim. “Take Nate’s bones back to town. Leave mine here. Tell them what you need to, but don’t drink the water. Don’t take any of the water, and no matter what happens, don’t come back.”

     I was still speechless.

     Bill smiled faintly. “Somehow I know that I can’t move on unless I take my place. I can’t move on from here, not yet anyway.”

     Within an hour, Nate was only bones and my friend, Mild Bill Hickok was dead, his body also rapidly turning to dust.

     I gathered Nate’s remains and took them to the ranger station. They thought the bones were ancient and it was likely that no match would turn up. I’ll bet they’ll be surprised and come back asking questions.

     As for the Fountain of Life… I’ve never gone back. I gave the rangers false coordinates as to where the bones were found, and I’ve kept its location secret buried deep. But sometimes, no, often, late at night, I dream of it. I can almost feel the cool, sweet water on my tongue, I can almost feel it surging through my veins like liquid life.

     I imagine my aches disappearing, my strength returning. My mind argues with itself too much, torn between fear and desire.

     Some secrets are best left buried, but it’s hard to forget that I passed up my chance to taste the taste of paradise when it was only a few feet away.

     RIP Wild, and Mild, Bill Hickok

by Randy Peterson