It had been a frustrating week at work for Alan, and even though he was late getting away from his desk, he found a small clearing in the gloaming dark to set up his camp tent. The shift from the daylight sounds of insects buzzing to the small noises of tiny animal footfalls helped clear his overstimulated mind.

For going a campfire, Alan opened a tin of pork and beans and ate before he climbed into his sleeping bag and drifted to dreamland. The sound of distant chanting woke him just after midnight, and he lay in his bag listening to odd voices, understanding none of the guttural words said.

Unable to get back to sleep, Alan left his tent to find where the chanting was coming from and what it was for. The full moon offered enough illumination that he found a trail heading in the direction he needed.

Through the thickness of the trees, he saw a glow about a hundred feet away. Alan drew as close as possible while maintaining in the shadows and unobserved.

He shuddered at seeing several dark figures dressed in long robes slowly moving in a circle around a large stone altar. Alan’s blood chilled as he watched a blindfolded young woman lay naked on her back and across the altar, a horned goat head resting on her abdomen, suddenly beheaded.

In a traumatic state of shock, Alan gasped and stood up, disclosing his hiding place amid the unlighted tree copse. The dark-robed figures continued to chant as another wielding a broad ax looked his way while the now-dead body’s arms raised and its hands gripped the goat’s horns.

His world suddenly went dark with a crash as he was struck on the back of the head and rendered semi-unconscious. He tried to lift himself off the damp ground but could only move his head a few painful inches.

As Alan’s eye’s cleared from the fog caused by the blow, he witnessed the naked body sit upright and place the goat’s head on its headless neck before climbing down from the altar as one. His pounding head dropped back into the dewy grass, and the last thing he remembered was the newly raised body with the appalling horned head walking by him, vanishing into the darkened woodline.

It was pouring a hard rain as Alan returned to himself, head throbbing and loosely clotted blood hanging from the open wound. It took him another half-hour to finally gain the strength to roll over and sit up.

He looked about and found nothing familiar from the hours before, not even the stone altar where the woman had once laid. He moved slowly to a nearby tree and leaned against it, half in and out of a sickly sleep until the middle of the day.

On his feet, he slowly tripped, stumbled, and crawled his way to his campground. It was nearly nighttime when he returned to his tent and sleeping bag.

Alan remained there through the night, half-sleeping, half-frightened from nightmare visions of the woman with the goat head entering his small tent. The following morning, feeling better but still in great pain, he slowly packed up and started down the trail with impaired energy to his car.

Surrounded by the noises of the forest, Alan heard what he thought was a woman’s mocking scream, followed by the continued bleating of a goat. By the time he reached the parking lot, he was gone mad.

Since November 2020, the election process in Nevada has been in peril.

Aside from the problems with voting machines hacks, ballot harvesting, “dirty” voter rolls, mysterious late-night stoppages and deliveries, unauthorized algorithms altering votes and companioned between Reno and Las Vegas, unsecured ballot boxes, and “Zuckerbucks,” and others, now we have Assembly Bill 525 (AB525,) an omnibus spending bill of nearly $60 million with direct ties to the Nevada state Democratic Party.

The taxpayer-provided dollars will “fund” several nonprofits, including $15 million to the Culinary Academy of Las Vegas;” $5.5 million for a nonprofit corporation formed to establish an art museum in Las Vegas; $4.5 million to the Community Health Alliance; $2 million to the Foundation for an Independent Tomorrow; $750,000 to the International Gaming Institute of the University of Nevada, Las Vegas; $1.2 million to the United Way of Northern Nevada; and $500,000 to the United Labor Agency, a nonprofit affiliated with the Nevada AFL-CIO and directed by members of organized labor and The United Way Foundation.

The United Way of Northern Nevada is exempt from providing a report or an accounting of expenses related to the allocation as lawmakers removed the auditing language during bill realignment. Finally, besides being executed behind closed doors, lawmakers had only around five minutes to review the bill before it went to a vote in the Assembly.

So AB525, in essence, pays for the personnel, training, and technology to obfuscate another Nevada election.

A quick note on the Nevada weather and our overall courtesy…

Springtimes annual snowfall from which so many derive the allergenic cold and that oft time is called cottonwood fluff has begun its natural sojourn to the nasal cavity of the unsuspecting and the expectant alike, proving the floating furball to be the only non-partisan seed in all of Nevada, save for the sage plant following a much-needed rain. So for politeness’ sake, offer up an honest, loud, and well-meant “God Bless you!” towards wherever the echoed shot of ah-choo might resound, for you could be its next sneezing-infested victim.

She and her friend, another woman, walked into Virginia City’s Priscilla Pennyworth’s Photo Shop ahead of me. I had listened to her talk, telling her friend how she saw the new Disney movie, The Little Mermaid, and how it didn’t advance the history of slavery, whitewashing the truth.

Instantly, I knew she was one of those “woke” people who could not learn, unlearn, or relearn, with whom arguing is a waste of breath. So staying silent, dropping off the newspapers I was delivering, and sitting down, I listened to Hell Betty give her spiel.

Flawless as usual, delivered with the confidence of one who has practiced her speech, aimed at customers for years. But then the woman saw a photograph on the wall of a woman dressed as an Indian squaw.

“You have Native American clothing?” she asked.

“Yes, we do,” Hell Betty answered.

“I’m out of here!” the woman practically screamed as she turned am marched out to the boardwalk, leaving her friend behind.

Instead of following the woman out of the shop, the friend said, “Guess it’ll only be me. Is there an extra charge for dressing up as an Indian squaw?”

“Nope,” Hell Betty said with her distinctive laugh. “Let’s do it.”

Looking back on my childhood as an adult, I find myself standing at the window of revelation, in this case, the beginning of the women’s liberation movement and its real purpose. While the idea of burning bras sounded exciting to a pubescent boy, the real reason behind it is nefarious.

Throughout the late sixties and even today, the message is that the movement exists to help women rise so they might have equal footing with men. However, after half a century of self-education, and awareness, it is not difficult to see that it has all been a ruse. The entire movement was nothing more than a case of societal manipulation.

With women going to work and receiving a paycheck, the deep state was able to collect more taxes than ever before. Then, with mothers going to work and children going to federally funded schools earlier, this allowed for more time to indoctrinate.

Women are still encouraged to metaphorically burn their bras only because the deep state wants control of society and craves more power.

Republican Nevada Gov. Joe Lombardo signed Senate Bill 406 (SB406) into law, making it a category E felony for “any person to use or threaten or attempt to use any force, intimidation, coercion, violence, restraint, or undue influence” ahead of 2024.

A Category E crime in Nevada includes criminal gang recruitment committed by an adult, a second offense of peeping with a camera or recorder, or a first or second offense of marijuana possession of more than one ounce.

The law also prohibits anyone from disseminating identifying or other sensitive information about an election worker without their consent. Lastly, provisions of the law also require the secretary of state, state treasurer, state controller, or attorney general from soliciting or accepting any political contributions during a legislative session or the 30 days before or after a session, putting the rest of the Nevada constitutional executives on the same footing as state lawmakers, the governor, and the lieutenant governor.

What the other provisions do to protect election workers and why the bill’s sponsors added them to SB406 remains to be seen. It is a sure bet that it will be nefarious when it comes to light.

It also strengthens the repression of free speech as desired by the Democratic-Communists, now freely operating in the halls of the Nevada State Legislature. Mark my words, for it will not be long before someone in the heat of passion hurts somebody’s feelings, violates this unconstitutional law finding themselves charged, convicted, and imprisoned for up to four years for sharing their opinion.

After all, words are violence to every good Democratic-Communist, don’t you know?

Waking at 4 a.m., Monday through Friday, necessitates I go to bed early, and since my best sleep time is before midnight, I try to get there before 7 p.m. Last night was no exception, and I was fast asleep shortly after my head hit the pillow.

Throughout the night, our dog Buddy will get up and go outside to do his business, then promptly return to flop beside me, usually on my left. He wakes me slightly, but I quickly return to sleep so it does not bother me.

Last night, we followed our usual routine. When Buddy returned from his bathroom break, I woke momentarily but was within seconds, if that long, back sleeping.

As I started towards REM, I had a peculiar feeling nagging at me. It felt like someone or something was watching me, and the idea finally forced me to open my eyes and look around the darkened room.

Sitting beside the bed to my right and looking intently at me was Buddy. I looked at him and thought what a good boy as I faded into unconsciousness again.

How long it took me to realize something was wrong, I do not know. But I became alarmed at knowing that since Buddy was looking at me and I was at him, what was behind me, on the left-hand side of my bed?

“What in the hell is in bed with me?” I wondered, feeling my heart rate spike.

Since I was lying on my right side, I gently reached back and felt a hairy something tucked into my back. Its chest wall rose and fell gently, indicating it was asleep, and trying not to panic, I slipped over the edge of my mattress and to the floor.

Cautiously, I stood up and flicked on my desk lamp. I breathed a sigh of relief to learn it was our neighbor, the Smith’s black lab, Ruger.

He had found our dog door, came in, and made hisself right at home. Rugar is a sweetheart of maybe a year.

With Rugar still asleep, I gathered my cell phone and dialed the Smiths, asking if they were missing their pup. They were and had just called my wife, who had turned her phone off for the night, to have us send him home, which laughingly I did.

Thank goodness it wasn’t a coyote pup or bear cub. At any rate, tonight, I will drop the cover on our outside dog door.

In the vast Nevada Territory, the influence of the Mormons left an indelible mark on the land. Seeking to create a state known as Deseret, the Mormons played a crucial role in shaping the region’s history.

During the mid-19th century, the Mormon Church’s headquarters in Salt Lake City, Utah, was a beacon of faith and determination. Led by Joseph Smith and later Brigham Young, the Mormons embarked on a westward expansion to escape religious persecution and establish their destiny on their terms.

In 1847, skilled Mormon scout Jefferson Hunt ventured along the Old Spanish Trail, which stretched from Salt Lake City to Alta California. Hunt discovered hidden pools, contradicting the belief that the desert offered little sustenance.

This revelation excited Brigham Young, who had envisioned a string of missions connecting Salt Lake City to the Pacific Coast. He imagined ships arriving, unloading precious converts who would journey overland to the Mormon capital.

Embracing Young’s vision, a group of 30 men under the leadership of William Billinghurst embarked on a challenging expedition. With 40 ox-drawn wagons and 15 cows, they traversed the rugged terrain and arrived at the refreshing pools Hunt had discovered. This route they blazed would later become known as the Mormon Trail, and the mission they established would grow into the vibrant city of Las Vegas.

The Mormons proved themselves industrious and resilient pioneers. While the federal government often looked the other way, they cultivated small farms, mined valuable resources, and established the first trade routes. They even succeeded in obtaining the first contract to carry the U.S. mail.

In their interactions with the local Paiute, the Mormons brought the first taste of the white man’s religions, even though some admitted that their efforts at conversion were motivated more by food than faith.

Thriving in their endeavors, the Mormons founded settlements throughout the territory. In the northern region, nestled south of Carson City, they established a permanent settlement called Mormon Station, later known as Genoa.

One observer, Robert Lyon, chronicled his experiences in a diary entry that shed light on the prosperity of Mormon Station. “I arrived at the station and lay resting for one day,” Lyon wrote. “I sold a good American horse to the man who kept the trading post for 30 pounds of flour and $15.00. There were two or three women at the place, and I understand they had settled there with the intention of remaining permanently.”

Lyon continued, “They had quite a band of fat cattle and cows which they had brought over from Salt Lake. Some of the fattest cows I have ever seen hung suspended from the limbs of a big pine tree. They retailed the beef to hungry emigrants for 75 cents a pound, and I have never tasted meat that was so sweet.”

Mormon Station boasted various establishments that catered to the needs of its inhabitants and passing travelers.

“There was one store where they kept for sale flour, beans, tea, coffee, sugar, shirts, etc.,” Lyon added. “There was also a grocery where they sold whiskey, bread, cigars, and tobacco.”

Mormon Station had firmly established itself as a thriving community.

Inspired by their faith and a shared vision, the Mormons convened in a Salt Lake convention on March 18, 1849, to create a territorial government. They aimed to establish a brand new state, Deseret.

The magnitude of their aspiration was awe-inspiring. Deseret encompassed the vast expanse of land that today comprises Utah, Nevada, Arizona, parts of Colorado, Oregon, Wyoming, and even sections of California. Despite the absence of records confirming consultation with the Mexican government, the Mormons viewed establishing a solid foothold in the West as vital to their cause.

Yet, the United States government harbored reservations about the Mormon bid for statehood. Conflicts had already arisen between Mormon leader Brigham Young and President James Buchanan.

When news of the proposed state of Deseret reached Washington, D.C., the U.S. Congress acted swiftly. They were unwilling to allow a religious group to assume control of so much of the North American continent.

Six months later, on September 9, Congress created the Utah Territory, which bordered California to the west, Oregon to the north, the Rockies to the east, and the 37th parallel to the south. The Mormons’ aspirations for statehood were all but dashed.

Fearing potential military repercussions, Brigham Young ordered his followers to return to Salt Lake City and prepare for armed confrontation. Reluctantly, the Mormon pioneers withdrew, leaving behind the fruits of their labor and sacrifice.

In the subsequent years, the discovery of silver and the intervention of President Abraham Lincoln led to the creation of the state of Nevada, carved out of the Utah Territory. The region’s population of around 2,000 residents finally attained a distinct identity.

At first, I thought the man walking up the driveway was McAvoy Layne.

“Mr. Layne,” I shouted as I stood, wondering why he was visiting me.

He guffawed more than laughed, “Gotta place for an old man to sit and visit a spell?”

“Sure,” I said, showing him the rocking chair I had been seated in.

Upon closer inspection, I could tell this was not the man I thought it was. He was much older than Layne, and the frown on my face must have told him I was questioning who he was.

“Sam Clemens, my good man,” he said.

“You do know that you’re dead, right.”

“Then a door knob.”

“Then how’s this possible?”

“You’re asleep, and I’m in your dream.”

“Do you want a couple shots of whiskey, while you’re resting?”

“No, thank you, it’s tea nowadays for me.”

“You sure? That doesn’t sound like the Sam Clemens I learned about.”

“Totally.”

Oh, I got it — a play on words ‘tea’ and ‘totally — a teetotaler.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“Only to the person that thinks.”

“But anyway, tea and whiskey and word puzzles isn’t why I want to chat with you.”

“Okay, why do you want to chat with me?”

“‘Cuz I’m here to relieve you of one of your concerns.”

“Which one? There’s many.”

“The one about the lion and the lamb.”

“You mean the wolf and the lamb, right?”

“Well, yes and no. You see, I struck a deal with the Lord to pen one more quaint, and I pointed out that He could use it to show who does and does not know the Gospel.”

“I’m not understanding.”

“You see, I was allowed to change the wording of Isaiah 11:6 for fun. And it’s been a hoot ‘cuz now we get to see whose been paying attention and who hasn’t.”

“So what does this have to do with me?”

“You’re trying to figure it out – and there’s no figuring needed. It’s all an elaborate joke, and God’s in on it.”

“I get it, now. He has under control, so I need to stop fretting over it.”

“Yup, it’s my best quaint yet, and you didn’t fall for it.”

“So, what am I supposed to do now?”

“Look for something else to worry about, naturally. I got that on High Authority.”

“Okay.”

“And now that I’m well rested, I best skiddattle. Things are happening in the Universe, and I don’t want to miss any of it,” Sam said. “Take care of Virginia.”

He stood, straightened his white suit, smiled at me, and returned to the sidewalk, where he disappeared around the corner.

The ghost town of Ramsey, eight miles northwest of Silver Springs in Lyon County, holds a secret that has teased treasure hunters and adventurers for decades.

According to local legend, a prospector returning from the goldfields of California had to bury $75,000 worth of gold coins and bars when his horse broke its leg. However, tragedy struck before he could retrieve his treasure, leaving the gold cache hidden.

The prospector decided to seek a fresh horse in Virginia City. Filled with excitement and brimming with newfound wealth, he couldn’t resist sharing his secret with a few individuals in town, boasting about the buried gold cache waiting for his return,

On his journey back to Ramsey, he fell victim to an ambush, losing his life and leaving behind the fortune. The exact circumstances and perpetrators of the ambush remain a mystery.

The lost gold cache is presumed to be still buried somewhere within or nearby Ramsey, off State Highway 50 and 95A in Lyon County.