Jim could hear the train blasting as the locomotive made its way down the tracks along the river towards the eastern plains of Colorado as he drank his morning coffee and looked out over the valley and foothills where first nation American Indian redskins once hunted, fished, camped, and roamed with no thought in their heads of the coming invasion of the white man bringing along with him his technology, culture, weapons, laws, and money. Jim's mother had just passed on to her reward the month before and he had freshly come in to quite a sum of money. His father was a doctor who with Jim's mother by his side had amassed quite a fotune in the small western town. His older brother and his younger brother had done the same, the former living in Colorado Springs about forty-five minutes to the north, and the latter living in Penrose about 15 miles due east. At 59 years of age Jim was not on his first rodeo. His lone nephew son of his younger brother could tell you som...