From my father I had heard something about the people who had lived there, so as I rode I looked for landmarks. I tried to find the pole that spanned the Fremont River so people could walk from the north side of the village to the south to attend school and church. But the pole was not there.

In the years after Blue Valley was deserted, the river channel grew wide from flooding. By 1935 it would have taken many poles to span that crossing. On the day of my ride, the only standing evidence of a community was the old Abbott house on the north bank of the Fremont.

In 1935, before its destruction by vandals, the walls of the house still supported a roof. On stormy days, journeying cowpokes, sheepherders and freighters often sought shelter within.

But I had no desire to go inside; I was too afraid of ghosts. In fact my fear caused me to spur the old mare into a trot, which in turn caused me to realize how near to death she was. I let her resume her slow crawl.