Kidnapped on the High Planes: Dead End Kid Adventures, #2

By D.W. Powell

D.W. Patton has his hands full in this new adventure. His family moves to South Florida and D.W. becomes a part of the Woodscraft Nation. Through his newfound friendships and other 'Braves', he commits to taking on the challenge of funding his own summer trip with his pals. Traveling to New Mexico to hike through the mountains begins a journey of suspense and growth. Kidnapped on the High Planes will keep you spellbound as you trek the mountains of Rancho Whistling Pines – High Adventure Base Camp, Chimayo, New Mexico.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DP Kids Press
• Release date: Jul 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781957832036

Book preview

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Preface

Kidnapped on the High Plains came about through my imagination of a young man finding his inner strength to survive and thrive in a bad situation. It is about growing up and learning life’s lessons.

Kidnapped on The High Plains came about through my imagination of a young man finding his inner strength to survive and thrive in a bad situation. It is about growing up and learning life’s lessons.

Kidnapped on The High Plains came about through my imagination of a young man finding his inner strength to survive and thrive in a bad situation. It is about growing up and learning life’s lessons.

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Introduction

Something to do,

something to think about,

something to enjoy in the woods,

with a view always for character building,

for manhood, for womanhood,

not scholarship,

is the first aim of education.

WOODSCRAFT NATION

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Chapter One

BIG BOB PATTON is my dad. I am known as D.W. He is a big guy by anyone’s standards. Standing over six feet five inches tall and weighing in at 305 pounds, his arms are as big as most people’s thighs. He is an auto mechanic that can fix just about anything that has wheels and a motor.

I remember clearly how he came in through the back door of our house one afternoon with what he said was great news. He had accepted a new job in some small town in South Florida named Thiothlopopka-hatchee Creek, meaning the place where fish are eaten or Fish eating Creek, near Lake Okeechobee.

He said it would be a great opportunity for the whole family and I would be able to canoe and fish every day if I wished to. I asked if that meant it was a small hick town. I remember how he stood tall, looked at me with seriousness in his eyes and a puffed-out chest as he proudly stated he would be the new manager of six auto repair garages. Quite an accomplishment for a guy with only a high school diploma and an honorable discharge from the Army.

He went on to say that when the West Coast Garage company heard of his experience in the Army taking care of the vehicles on the front line that they had chosen him out of all the other applications. He continued saying that the six auto shops were within an hour’s drive from each other, in and around where we would be moving. He sounded happy, and who would want to rain on his parade?

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Dad’s job was in a town far away from where I had lived my whole life. He had always owned his own garage. I never figured he would do anything else. Didn’t he like owning his own garage?

He explained that moving meant more money, less time at work, and other people getting dirty. It meant coming home with clean hands, not smelling like grease, being able to be more involved with what the family was doing, and mostly a real two-week paid vacation made sense to him It also meant we would have to pack up everything we owned and leave behind our huge five-bedroom, three-car garage house with a back yard that butted up to a National Forest.

The forest. Where I was free to run and explore all day. A place where my friends were, where I was happy and comfortable at the school I went to. I knew everyone in town. And now we were packing to move to a town where I didn’t know anyone at all! I would be starting at a new high school in my sophomore year, 15 years old, and starting all over. I had no say in the decision or if I even wanted to move. Dad just said it would be best for the whole family, and I would have to make new friends.

I said to myself, Sure!

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The move was a lot harder than I ever imagined. First, with all the packing, we had to decide what would go, and what wouldn’t. Saying goodbye to all my friends was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.

Then, we endured the long trip from Largo to Fisheating Creak while I was crammed into the rear of the station wagon amid a myriad of boxes.

The maker of our old Chevy called it the third-row seating. There was little to no air conditioning and the sun through the large windows made the cramped space hot and sticky.

My two sisters and one brother had the middle seats, where they had some control over the air conditioner. They, at least, had windows they could open if they wanted to.

The trip down was one long, excruciating, boring day of being crammed into the back of the car. The bickering between my sisters became unbearable as they fought for control of who could speak and when. Once we finally stopped for lunch and to stretch our legs, we were in a small town with a name of Belle Glade.

Dad made a loop through town, pulling our trailer that was beyond stuffed. We must have looked like the Beverly Hillbillies as we parked, taking up three spaces, in front of the only place to eat in town. The Log Cabin Bar-B-Que.

Mom wasn’t pleased, and my sisters and brother turned up their noses. I, on the other hand, loved BBQ of any kind, shape, or smell. The inside of the restaurant was defiantly Old Florida with pictures on the wall of people fishing and hunting. The old log cabin was spotless. The server was friendly, fast, and efficient, as she expertly wrote our orders.

The BBQ was fantastic! Smoked mullet was new to me. It was served with cheese grits and a grape Ne-Hi. My sisters ordered BBQ chicken. They didn’t care for it, so I ate theirs, too.

When everyone had finished their meals, the best was still to be had. Self-serve ice cream with all the toppings. I wanted one more trip to the ice cream station when dad said, Potty up, load up, time to get back on the road.

It was back to the station wagon. Dad let me climb in the rear window so I wouldn’t have to crawl past my brother and sisters’ seats. My only view was the front of the trailer we were pulling with all our family’s stuff.

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When we arrived at our new place, in the middle of what my dad called a subdivision, it was hot, muggy, and ugly. The only trees were long-needle pines that shot straight up thirty feet or more. The shrubs, what the locals called palmetto bushes, had strange large leaves and stems with saw-like teeth that would cut you and draw blood if you touched them.

It was dark by the time we pulled into the driveway of what would be our new home. Dad backed the trailer in and we got out to see what our new home looked like. It looked small compared to what we had left behind. It was, though, brand spanking new.

All I wanted was to enjoy some air conditioning and find a place to sleep away from everyone else. Mom took the keys from dad and unlocked the front door of our brand-new house. Everyone was happy that the realtor had turned on the electricity, water, and, yes, the air conditioner. Dad said we were to only unpack what we would need for the night. Get what you need, and we will finish in the morning.

With that, he went out to block the wheels on the trailer and unhook it from the station wagon. I found my sleeping bag just inside the door of the trailer and went to crash on the floor of what I would call a shared bedroom with my older brother. The cool air and the quiet of everyone going to bed made my eyes close, and I soon drifted off to a restful sleep.

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The move had been traumatic for everyone, and getting settled into our new home was just as hard. It was a small three-bedroom house with only a one-car garage in a crowded neighborhood. Having only three bedrooms meant that my sisters now had to share a room and so did my brother and I.

The unpacking and settling in took a few days with dad leaving early every morning. So, guess who was elected? Me! I had to do all the things that he would have done if he had been there.

My brother did his best to be of help, but hand tools were more in my realm of know-how. My mom and sisters gave me my list of things to do each morning and physically point out what they wanted done. I would have to figure out how to make it happen, what tools, and what supplies I would need to get the job done. I had been turned into a 15-year-old Mr. Fix-It! I wouldn’t turn 16 until just before school was to start in a few short weeks.

My dad was determined that I would make new friends and he and my mom gave me my marching orders that I would be joining something called the Woodscraft Nation Organization in town. His friend at his new job said it would be a good way to meet people, find some friends and learn some new life skills I would need as a grown man. I had heard it was a group who loved the outdoor life and the skills that went with it. I had always loved and been a part of the outdoors, but I wasn’t too keen on following anyone or being in a group. I wanted to be my own man and do things my own way. I wondered how this was going to work out.

My older brother was preparing for his fourth year of college and taking time with a much younger brother wasn’t high on his priority list. Good grades came easy for him, and everyone liked him. School had too many rules and learning for me was doing, not just talking. He was there, when needed or asked, neat and clean or with a book in his hand. I had received the talent of working with my hands and fixing what needed fixed.

I took some time and looked into the Woodscraft Nation Tribe. It meant being outdoors, learning to cook over an open fire, learning the ways of the Native Peoples, sleeping under the stars, and learning to be self-sufficient. I was excited and put off all at the same time by what I would discover on this new adventure. I would soon learn it would be the best time of my life.

My big brother had located the nearest group in town, The Gator Band, part of the Miccosukee Tribe. Their meetings were held at the nearby Trinity Church on Tuesday evenings from 7 to 8:30 PM.

Mom made the decision that Dad would accompany me to my first meeting to ensure that I was properly settled into the new group.

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Chapter Two

THE NEXT WEEK Tuesday, rolled around and as usual, dad had to work late. There was more to supervising six auto shops than he had planned for. Big brother had something important at one of his college prep classes. Mom and my two sisters were working at their new jobs.

My expectations had rung true once again, as I would be attending my first meeting of the Miccosukee Tribe of the Woodscraft Nation by myself.

With my head hung low, counting my steps and not much hope of what Woodscraft Nation, the Tribe, and the Band would be like or if I would be accepted by the other boys, I headed off alone.

Trinity Church was just down the road around the corner from our house. It only took me about fifteen minutes to walk there. It was a beautiful evening and one of the first times I had been allowed out on my own to explore the neighborhood.

At our old house, I spent many hours in the woods alone, exploring and wandering. This was different. It was an even more rural, back woods, yet still close to the center of town.

The church was a huge white painted building with large columns at the entrance. I could see lighted basketball courts, a playground with lots of different things, a large grassy area to play soccer, a backstop for playing baseball and trees. Trees! Huge Live Oak trees! I had never seen such huge trees with trunks that it would take three grown men with arms stretched to reach around them. Who would have thought you could have trees that big in the middle of town? At the back of the grass and tree area sat a large log cabin with a sign on it that read ...

Woodscraft Nation Miccosukee Tribe—Gator Band Welcome! sign

As I walked alone through the wooded area to get to the large log cabin structure, the birds were singing their early evening songs. The sun was going down, and the moon was rising. It was peace and quiet  . . .  until I neared the cabin! Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by the cacophony of boy’s voices inside the cabin.

There on the ground in front of the cabin was a large concrete replica of an at