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A Death on the Prairie
- By Anne Van Tilburg
- Published 12/4/2007
- General Short Stories
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One weekend in June 1909, a priest took a 140 mile stagecoach-rail journey to Gillette, Wyoming, USA. He was the only priest on this prairie.
He sent word ahead to the Catholic settlers that Holy Mass would be offered on Sunday. Some of them had not seen a priest for such a long time that they had only a fond memory of the faith.
After Sunday Holy Mass, a man he had seen in Church, rode up leading a beautiful saddle horse: "Father," he called, "you can't get a train till late tonight. Would you like to take a ride with me in the hills?" "Splendid" the priest replied.
They were soon on the trackless prairie. They had gone about nine miles when they saw something white moving in the distance. Thinking it might be a signal from a cowboy, they rode hard in that direction. They were surprised when they came upon a woman, who might have been about thirty years of age, waving a white tablecloth.
"Father," she said without excitement, "I have been looking for a priest!" She was happy but not at all surprised that in that wilderness a priest had answered her signal. "My brother is dying," she said.
Not far from where she stood a tent was pitched. She led the way to it. As she held open the flap, the first thing that caught the priest's eye was the light gleaming from two candles on a small table. A crucifix stood between the candles, and a prayer book was opened at the litany of the dying.
A brother of about thirty-five was on a cot and looked very thin. Quickly the priest heard his confession and then anointed him. In those days every priest in the West carried the holy oils with him at all times.
As soon as the priest concluded the prayers for the dying, the man died. Afterwards, the woman told her story:
"I had no idea where we might find a priest around here; nobody told me you were having Holy Mass at Gillette today.
But all his life my brother prayed ever day for a priest at his death. This morning he and I prayed together for the last time. We said only three Hail Mary's. Then I went outside and started waving the tablecloth."
He sent word ahead to the Catholic settlers that Holy Mass would be offered on Sunday. Some of them had not seen a priest for such a long time that they had only a fond memory of the faith.
After Sunday Holy Mass, a man he had seen in Church, rode up leading a beautiful saddle horse: "Father," he called, "you can't get a train till late tonight. Would you like to take a ride with me in the hills?" "Splendid" the priest replied.
They were soon on the trackless prairie. They had gone about nine miles when they saw something white moving in the distance. Thinking it might be a signal from a cowboy, they rode hard in that direction. They were surprised when they came upon a woman, who might have been about thirty years of age, waving a white tablecloth.
"Father," she said without excitement, "I have been looking for a priest!" She was happy but not at all surprised that in that wilderness a priest had answered her signal. "My brother is dying," she said.
Not far from where she stood a tent was pitched. She led the way to it. As she held open the flap, the first thing that caught the priest's eye was the light gleaming from two candles on a small table. A crucifix stood between the candles, and a prayer book was opened at the litany of the dying.
A brother of about thirty-five was on a cot and looked very thin. Quickly the priest heard his confession and then anointed him. In those days every priest in the West carried the holy oils with him at all times.
As soon as the priest concluded the prayers for the dying, the man died. Afterwards, the woman told her story:
"I had no idea where we might find a priest around here; nobody told me you were having Holy Mass at Gillette today.
But all his life my brother prayed ever day for a priest at his death. This morning he and I prayed together for the last time. We said only three Hail Mary's. Then I went outside and started waving the tablecloth."
Source: Fr. L.Lovasik. S.V.D. Ave Maria magazine.