Also, there is confusion about the name of the stream spanned by the crooked bridge. Some call it the Grasshopper, and others refer to it as Walnut creek. It is neither. Lewis and Clark, explorers, named it the Grasshopper in 1804. It was changed to the Delaware in 1875 by an act of the Kansas legislature.
From that creek crossing, the trail followed the ridge to the old town of Powhattan in section 33, Powhattan township—the same section on which the East Powhattan school house is located, at the present intersection of U. S. 75 and the new graveled highway now running 11 miles straight east to Horton. The change station was on the northeast quarter, owned by Henry Gotchell, who had charge of the station, and also the post office.
My mother got her first letter written by relatives in Tennessee, at the Powhattan post office. Her cousin, Gaius Cullom, a school teacher, wrote: “Powhattan—why, that’s an Indian name! I am grieved to believe my dear cousin Martha is residing dangerously close to wild Indians. Be careful, my favorite, and don’t let those accursed aborigines get your scalp!” Alone for the day with her three small children in her country home, a year later, some such fears must have gripped my mother, when, on approach of a meandering band of blanketed Kickapoos, she hurriedly gathered up her brood and made a dash for the cornfield.
The old town of Powhattan—not to be confused with the present town of Powhattan farther over in Brown county—which was established 11 miles northeast when the Rock Island railway went through in 1886 — was in the center of the northwest quarter of section 33. There was a store, hotel, blacksmith shop, and numerous dwellings. Although regularly surveyed in town lots, nobody really owned the land on which the town was located at the time. It was held by “quatter’s rights,” in succession, by three men—Peter Shavey, Riley Woodman, and C. C. Grubb. It is now a cornfield, owned by Mrs. James Grubb.
From Powhattan, the line ran west across the Timber-lake and Cassity lands. The Timberlake land is now owned by Mrs. Cora Jenkins. The road then followed the ridge to Granada, passing from Brown county to Nemaha county at that point.
In 1860 the Powhattan change station was moved to a point three miles north. The change was made to take out a big curve and save mileage. The new station was called Kickapoo. It was on Indian land near the new mission on the west edge of the reservation. Noble H. Rising was in charge. Later, he was a merchant in Wetmore; as was also W. W. Letson, Express messenger.
Going back to the Grasshopper-Delaware crossing, the new line ran northwest to the mission, crossing Gregg’s creek—now Walnut creek—about midway. From the mission, the road crossed the Bill Garvin lands and went almost due west to Granada, crossing Gregg’s (Walnut) creek again downstream from the present bridge east of Granada. Joe Plankington recently found a cache of rough “diamonds” in a hollow at the base of a tree near this crossing. The “rocks” were supposedly hidden there by a returning traveler, back in the sixties—probably a prospector afraid to chance crossing the Kickapoo reservation, carrying his precious find.
NOTE—Since this article was printed in 1936, Joe Plankington tells me that one of the old Kickapoos—Pas-co-nan-te, father of John “Butler ” —told him the Indians were stalking the traveler and that he, Pas-co-nan-te, watched the wayfarer hide the rocks in that tree, many moons ago. And Joe said the old Indian accurately traced the way — on paper—tree by tree, from the Trail to the right tree.
And furthermore, Joe believes he has seen the scalp of the former possessor of his rocks—and at the same time had his own hair standing on end. Because of a slight favor by Joe, Pas-co-nan-te asked him if he would like to see a scalp, and at the same time told a young Indian whom Joe thinks was a grandson, to fetch one. When the scalp was laid down where Joe could get a good look at it, Pas-co-nan-te grabbed Joe by the “topknot” saying, “Maybe me show you how.” The knife the Indian held in his other hand cut Joe to the quick—but the blood froze in his veins, and not a drop was spilled. Then the old Indian said, “Me foolin.’ Me know better now.” The young Indian told Joe, later, that he was pretty sure the old Indians had killed the traveler.
Joe also says he sent one of the “diamonds” to a niece in Boise, Idaho, and that the cutter who dressed the stone—for $25—pronounced it a high-quality pigeon blood ruby.