Hog Eyes, The Little Horse Who Saved A Soul

by Shirley Morris ©2009

“I’m a hang dog sinner, Claire and you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I don’t have no aim or desire to be baptized. What I want a do before I die is see my horse. You take me to see Hog Eyes - then we’ll talk about it.”
Red Thompson, the former burly, 200 lb. rodeo cowboy and bulldogger, adjusted the small pillow beneath his head, pulled the thin blanket up and did his best to find a comfortable position in that miserable excuse of a bed on the second floor of County General Hospital in Forth Worth, Texas. He knew his wife, Claire would not be taking him out of that hospital to see Hog Eyes. Weighing 90 something pounds, blind and frail, he was well aware that he would not be going anywhere, ever again.Claire took Red’s hand between hers and with that pained, sympathetic, pleading voice Red dreaded because more times than naught, he would give in to it, said softly, “Oh my boy, I fear for your almighty soul.” She kissed his check and whispered, “I’ll be back to see you soon.”

The sound of her footsteps echoed distinctively in his ears as he followed them out the room, down the hall, until they were replaced with all the sounds associated with the green plaster walls and speckled linoleum floors of the hospital corridor. It’s been said when you lose one of your senses such as sight, your other senses become heightened and acute. Maybe that was why Red found the aroma of fresh roses, alcohol and oxygen so completely repugnant. Combined, that pungent odor reminded him of death and that was something he did not choose to think about.

He followed thoughts and past memories as they led him down roads lined with friends, love and glory in his minds eye. As his thoughts led him to the first time he had ever seen Claire, he focused keenly on the events of that time. It was 1927 and she was a trick rider working with Millers 101 Wild West. Red chuckled silently, remembering a time before the Grand Entry when the great rodeo cowgirl Tad Lucas told Claire, “You have to look the part of a cowgirl, Claire. Put your hat on! You can’t ride in the show without your hat.”

His smile broadened wider as he recalled her response. “Well, that’s fine but if I have to wear it, I’ll wear it like this.” Taking both hands, she pulled down the wide brim and cocked that great, black ten gallon hat just slightly over one eye. Red found such simple delight in her sass.

“She wore that hat like only she could wear it.” Red breathed in the smile it brought to his face; crooked, turned up at one end, lips slightly parted. It was the one he reserved for Claire, and Claire alone.
Red and Claire traveled the same show and rodeo circuit and had crossed paths for years before they married. While she was married to Bob Belcher, another rodeo cowboy, Red respectfully kept his distance. It was Belcher who taught Claire the art of bulldogging. When the two divorced in 1929, Red and the cowgirl started spending more time together and found they had much more in common than just a shared passion for bulldogging.

Claire was not a typical cowgirl. Born in Mansfield, MA February 4, 1902, she lived with her mother and father who soon divorced. Her mother decided she couldn’t or wouldn’t raise Claire alone. She was dropped off on her grandparents doorsteps who raised and adored her, giving her every privilege money could buy.

Claire attended the best schools including the New England Conservatory of Music where she became an accomplished concert pianist. Intelligent, athletic, possessing grace and social stature, the world was open to her and choices were as abundant as they would ever be for a woman born in that era. Years later when asked why she chose to be a rodeo cowgirl she replied, “I think people should do whatever it is that makes them happy. Being a rodeo cowgirl makes me happy and that is why I do it.”

Claire and Red Thompson competed and performed in the biggest and best rodeos of the day including the 1934 Tex Austin International Rodeo where they thrilled sold out crowds at Wembley Stadium in England. The English ladies and gentlemen didn’t understand the ways of the western cowboys and protests of animal abuse were reported throughout the country. The British humane society became involved and to help quiet the effects of bad publicity, all bulldogging events were canceled.
This was a terrible disappointment to Red whose only competition event was bulldogging, leaving him with nothing to do but cheer Claire on as she won the Ladies Saddle Bronc Riding contest and placed second in the Trick Riding event. Her performance was enough to win the title, “World Champion Overall Cowgirl” for 1934. It would take a big man to watch his wife come home a world champion when all you could do was watch the glory come down all around you with none for yourself. Red Thompson may have been short stock, but he was a big man.

One afternoon, Red found himself among the many Wembley spectators watching the Calf Roping event when one of the greatest rodeo cowboy’s of all time, Bob Crosby came out on a dusky bay pony named Hog Eyes. What that pint-sized horse lacked in stature, he more than made up for in speed. Somehow, he got tangled up with a broken fence and a stick was impaled clean through his neck. Bob didn’t know if Hog Eyes would survive but he did know he didn’t have time to care for him. There were still more events scheduled and Bob wanted some of that prize money. With nothing but time on his hands, Red took it upon himself to nurse the badly injured horse back to health. Claire and Red slept in the barn, doctoring Hog Eyes night after night. By the time the rodeo was over, it was clear Hog Eyes would live to rodeo another day. By then, Red had lost his heart to the little horse and with Claire’s help and some of her earnings, bought Hog Eyes from Bob Crosby and the three of them returned to the United States, one big happy family.

Red and Hog Eyes spent many hours training as a bulldogging team. Red would show Hog Eyes a trick, who, in return would then show Red how a real good horse would do it. Together, they won many competitions. Soon, many of the other cowboys were paying close attention to that little horse flashing across the arena. More than a few of those cowboys wanted to ride Hog Eyes for a chance at a championship. Red always obliged the cowboy’s requests and when they ended up in the money with Hog Eyes help, Red was paid a percentage of the winnings. Red believed that was Hog Eye’s way of saying “Thank you for saving my life.”
“Yeah,” he thought, “Life has a way of coming ‘round.” The old cowboy tried to punch some shape into the pillow to make it a little more tolerable for a few more minutes. Fumbling for a half filled glass of water on the metal tray beside his bed, he found and sipped a small bit from it.

It had been almost ten years since that steer turned and gored him at Burwell. He thought his badly gashed stomach was healed and went out to rodeo one more time. The old wound tore open and this time it was real bad. This time it would take Red Thompson all the way home. As the pain ripped through once more, he bit down hard and thought, it was sure a long, hard road to get there.

He could only find relief from the pain when he would lose himself in past memories of Claire. It was there he would find strength in her strength. Her courage, resolve and indestructible tenacity truly amazed him. He remembered those many nights spent in the barn nursing Hog Eyes. Claire would set her jaw, narrow her eyes and tell him, “Don’t worry, Red. This horse wouldn’t dare die on us.” He believed her.

He thought to himself, “If she wants somethin’ it better run ‘cause she’s a’gonna ear it down and git it.” Red Thompson had no idea of just how true that would turn out to be. If he did have notion of it, well, that would have made him smile as well.

The hospital lights were turned down and all visitors had obediently gone home. An occasional nurse would move from room to room to deliver medication and offer some comfort. Sleep finally fought a successful path through the pain and found the cowboy.

Still half asleep, Red thought he heard a familiar sound. Out of place, but a distinct, familiar sound. “Must be a dream.” The cowboy turned his head toward the sound and slowly opened his eyes. He listened hard. There it was again … ta-clip, ta-clop, ta-clip, ta-clop, in a perfect rhythm. He knew the sound and reasoned “It can not be - don’t belong!” The sound grew more distinct, close enough to almost touch … Red reached his hand out, desperate to find what was at the end of the sound as a sudden warm burst of heavy breath carressed his hand, hit his arm, raising each hair and finally rushed into his nose as he inhaled a sweet familiar aroma. He held his breath not wanting to turn loose of the moment as his useless eyes found new purpose and flooded with grateful tears. Patting the soft fur on the muzzle of the huge beast standing guard over him in bed, Red cried, “It’s you! My Hog Eyes, I’ve missed you so.”

Red also recognized the familiar scent of his woman who now was laughing quietly in delight, quite pleased with herself. “Claire! How did you do this?” Red whispered the words, realizing with no instruction they must be very quiet or some nurse or doctor, someone would come in and spoil one of the most splendid moments he had ever experienced in his life.

The cowboy felt the warmth and energy from Claire’s hands as they embraced his. “Red, you told me you wanted to see Hog Eyes so I went home and got him and I brought him up the service elevator. He was a good horse and stayed very quiet until there was no one in site and we slipped into your room.

It took a lot to impress Red Thompson and he was always amazed at how often Claire managed to impress him throughout the years. “Oh, Claire, how can I ever thank you? My horse, you brought me my little Hog Eyes. Now I can say goodbye to him.”

A serious tone replaced the brevity of the moment as Claire spoke, “Red, you told me you wanted to see Hog Eyes before we could speak of your Baptism. I want you to join me in heaven and you must be baptized for that to happen.” No doubt about it. Red had been eared down and stopped dead in his tracks. Exhausted, he closed his eyes and nodded in agreement. Claire kissed his lips softly and said goodnight. Red listened for the familiar rhythm of the dusky bay’s hooves on the linoleum until they dimmed in the distance forever.
The next morning Claire phoned Dr. J. Frank Norris and arranged a soul saving meeting between the preacher and her husband.
Dr. Norris was the flamboyant and controversial Preacher at the First Baptist Church of Fort Worth, TX. He was known for traveling back and forth across the stage holding the Bible in one hand and a newspaper in the other, crying wildly, bemoaning the fate of the American people as reported in the morning news. The Preacher embraced sensationalism, especially if he could use it as a method to save a soul.
Red Thompson had gathered himself and, as he would sometimes with Claire, set his jaw with all the strength he could muster and told the preacher he didn’t want to go to Heaven if it would not welcome his horse, Hog Eyes. Norris, recognizing the value gained in the baptism of the famous cowboy and his equally famous cowgirl wife could find no good reason the horse could not to accompany the cowboy to the promised land. And so, word of the baptism went out over the radio waves of KFQB, which stood for “Keep Folks Quoting the Bible” and coast to coast for an entire week before the glorious event would take place on November 26, 1944.
Red Thompson was too weak to walk into the church under his own power and had to be placed upon a stretcher and carried in by four men. Claire walked solemnly beside him. Everyone, including Red and Claire were dressed in white for the glorious occasion reflecting the energy and glory of the occasion on to the parishioners as they passed each row headed toward the deep Baptismal pool. Few of the great rodeo’s they had performed in saw any greater crowd than present at the church on that day. More than a thousand and they were literally hanging out the windows and stuck like glue to the side of the walls of the huge building. One of the young women sitting directly across from Dr. Norris exclaimed, “This is a holy moment” as the chorus sang “Shall We Gather At The River”
Red strained his neck and could see Norris standing ahead of him, arms outstretched with Bible in one hand and the other reaching for his soul. Claire was smiling down and he swore he could see angels wings coming from her pure white blouse. He looked around wildly but little Hog Eyes was not to be found.
The steps were too steep for the men to bring the stretcher down into the water and Red, feeling strength from the energy of the moment, willed himself to stand and walk, with Claire down the steps to salvation.
Dr. Norris welcomed the cowboy and cowgirl and started to speak, “Red Thompson, are you…” Before he could utter another sound Red, realizing his pony was not there screamed toward the door, “Hog Eyes! Where are you!”
Norris nodded toward the direction of two men standing by the great double doors and the doors were opened. Standing in the doorway bathed in golden sunlight was Hog Eyes. Wearing a new white bridle especially chosen for the occasion, he was led down through the congregation now all singing the chorus of “Amazing Grace”. As he reached the pool he saw his savior Red already in the water. Hog Eyes didn’t hesitate to descend the steep steps to be by his side. The little pony managed to submerge everything with the exception of his large rump into that pool.
Somehow, Dr. Norris managed to compose himself – after all, it isn’t everyday you find yourself performing a baptism with a horse as witness and in the pool alongside you!
Looking at Red, he finally asked the question that begged an answer for almighty salvation: “Jack Thompson, you now trust in the Lord Jesus Christ for your only salvation?”
And Red said “I do.” With that, Norris dipped Red backwards, submerging his entire body into the holy water.
Some would like to say Hog Eyes knew the precious meaning of this action, others say Hog Eyes was trying to save Red from drowning but whatever that little horse understood, he let out an ear piercing whinnie and plunged his huge, furry head beneath the water and as he resurfaced with Red shook his head wildly, saturating the amazed congregation with holy water.
Young parishioner, Louise Oldham exclaimed, “You could feel the glory from here to the moon!”
Claire concluded the historic event with her own salvation.
Red died a week later. Claire continued to love and care for little Hog Eyes until he died at the age of 39. Claire moved to Florida and died in 1971. Thanks to a man’s love for his pony, a women’s love for her man, the three of them can be found together somewhere behind those pearly gates where you can still hear a chorus singing softly, “Shall We Gather At The River”.

Prairie Rose Henderson, The True Story

The Snowstorm

The Story of Rosa Anna Gale 

A Rose Is A Rose, Is A Rose
by Shirley Morris 
©2009 All Rights Reserved

February, 1933. Snow was beginning to fall fast as Sheriff James Thompson drove up into the Green Mountains of Wyoming. Temperatures had been dropping and he wanted to get this business done before the mountain roads became impassible. The heavily rutted dirt road was now coated with snow as he made his way toward the ranch house. Stopping under the big Pine, he stepped down on the floor break and turned the motor off. Thompson opened the car door to a bone chilling wind and pelting snow to his forehead. Quickly placing his hat upon his head, he stood up and pulled the heavy woolen collar high on his neck, adjusting his belt and holster,  checking to make sure the cold, metal cuffs were in place on his belt.

            With wide, heavy stride, he stepped up to the wooden porch and knocked hard on the front door. Readying himself for whatever should come next, he cocked his head to the side and listened to the sounds of footsteps coming toward him from within the small house. Slowly, the door opened revealing the darkness of the room. A woman’s voice inquired softly from the other side of the door, “Sheriff?”

            “I need to speak with your husband, ma’am.” Sheriff Thompson spoke kindly and quietly to the woman. Fifty, Fifty five, no more than a spit of an old woman, she carried herself slightly hunched at the shoulders. Thompson recognized her face and deep brown eyes and recalled how they had appeared years ago on a much younger and athletic body .

            “She was really somethin’ then,” he thought to himself.

            As a young girl, Rosa met and fell in love with A.C. Clayton a young, good looking cowboy raised on the Kansas plains. A.C brought Rose to Wyoming from her home in Bristol, Ohio. The two of them married and were happy for a time. They had two children, May and Henry. Competing in the annual Frontier Days events was a family affair. A. C. won the cowboy’s saddle bronc event a couple of times. May and Henry both won their events. But Rosey was the real star. She entered the 1904 Cowgirls Relay Race with three borrowed horses and won in a thunderous blaze of glory narrowly beating out Joella Irwin. Two years later she participated in the very first official Cowgirls Saddle Bronc Event and took home the winners Gold Cup for her efforts. Hailed  a local hero for a time and known throughout the area as “Prairie Rose” Clayton, she had been among the first of many local girls who competed in the Frontier Days celebration.

            As a young woman, Rosey was a strong willed, adventurous spirit and some swear they can remember the time she demanded a ride on a bucker at the festival in 1901. She questioned the judges and told them “If you can’t produce a rule that forbids me to ride then you must let me have a spot in the contest!”

            The judges were hard pressed to come up with any ruling that would prohibit girls from riding with the boys in competition. They simply could not understand why in tarnation she would want to!

            Rosey pressed her point and legend has it  the judges let her ride. But nothing was recorded in the official results. In fact, nothing was ever reported in the local papers and the event was for the most part forgotten.

   A.C. and Rose weren’t carnies or shipped in by train from some wild west show in the east. They were hard workin’ local folk, come to town for some fun, escaping from the day to day sameness of the ranch, just showin’ how they do it on the ranch, just showin’ how they do it real.

            Somewhere along the line, the marriage unraveled and the two very unhappy participants had different versions of a failed and hard marriage. One version may be just as true and no truer than the other but the sad reality was simple; Rose became a divorced mother of two. She was left on her own and it was her duty and sole responsibility to support herself and her children. As any mamma bear would do, she resigned herself to go wherever and do whatever needed to be done to feed and clothe her children. Someone told  her about a job in Utah for a cook in a mining camp and without any further thought, she and the children were packed and on their way to a new future. It isn’t known how long she stayed but eventually, she found herself in California where  son Henry eventually became a plumber in Los Angeles.

            It was in California that Henry would find his wife, Anna Robbins from Ohio and Rosa would find and marry Charley. Life always seemed to find it’s way.           

            Sheriff Thompson found himself smiling, recalling those early days of the famed Frontier Days celebration. He wondered how she ever ended up with the likes of Charlie Coleman, a man who was no stranger to trouble or the inside of a jail cell.

            Thompson rushed quickly back into the present moment as Charley came to the door and stood behind Rose. Coleman had become a familiar figure in town. He had been trying without much luck or skill to make something of that small piece of dirt he and Rose had bought a couple years ago but it just wasn’t meant to be. Money ran out and he butchered another man’s property. Now he had to pay the price.

Thompson opened the screen door and took Coleman by the arm leading him away from any sanctuary the man may have found inside his home.

 “Charley, you’re under arrest for cattle rustling and butchering.” He glanced back into the doorway of the house toward Rose, now visibly shaken, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. Not really surprised, she silently accepted her husband’s fate.

She watched as the the cold cuffs clicked shut on her husbands’ wrists. Thompson led him down the steps, across the snow and into the backseat of the car.  Without protest, Colman adjusted his body and lowered his head shamefully offering a barely audible  explanation, “We were hungry, sheriff.”

Thompson glanced back at the woman standing on the porch, wrenching a dish towel between her shaking hands. Knowing there was nothing more he could do for her, he focused his eyes squarely on the road ahead and drove away.

Rose stood on the front porch crying as the car slid down the driveway and out of sight. She had been the one to talk Charley into trying his hand at ranching and move with her, back home to Wyoming. It hadn’t worked out well. Charley was not above expressing his displeasure with his fists and had let Rose know many times how unhappy he had become in Wyoming. Looking through her tears Rose allowed thoughts of freedom to enter her mind, in maybe a small way. She wondered how she could escape her husband's wrath if she somehow rekindled her courageous spirit and left this place. Her mind raced forward to a safe place with her son in California. Just as quickly as her spirit soared out of Wyoming, fear and guilt would bring it back and once again she would find comfort and familiarity in finding yet another reason to stay with the man. It simply never occurred  to her that Charley was who he was and there was nothing she could have done to change him.

Snow was falling heavy in a frenzied, sideways journey, rushing across the pasture and sticking to anything in its path. Mrs. Coleman knew there was little, precious time to bring her pony to safety and out she headed toward the barn for a halter. Grabbing the halter, she held it close to her body and disappeared into the cold, blinding whiteness.

Once back at the office, Sheriff Thompsons thoughts returned anxiously to the woman up on Green Mountain. His deputy had just returned to the office and was warming his hands above the fired up woodstove.

“I had to bring Charley Coleman off the mountain today but his wife is up there all alone. Would you pick up some supplies and take ‘em on up to her? I’m worried about her bein’ there all by herself. The snow’s getting’ real bad and she’s gettin’ up there in years.

Knowing the nearest supply store was several miles away from the folks who lived on the mountain the young deputy didn’t hesitate. He swaggered over to the coat rack by the door, grabbed his heavy green jacket, still wet and soggy, and headed back out into the storm.

The deputy loaded the car with several boxes of  food and supplies and drove back up the mountain to deliver the package to Rose Coleman. “Oh, man it’s a comin’ down now.” He took his hand and wiped the wet foggy mist away from the windshield.

Slipping up the driveway and skidding to a halt, he was surprised to find the house empty with no sign of the woman anywhere, inside or out. He cuped his hands around his mouth and called loudly,

“Rose! Mrs. Coleman!”

Squinting, he  attempted to focus through any small space in between the barrage of blinding white flakes. He looked desparately for the woman loosing hope with each passing moment. Finally, he acquiesced to the cruelty and power of the storm. 

The ride back to the office was devastatingly slow. Fearing the worst, he dreaded facing the sheriff with the bad news.

Thompson’s words boomed off the walls and echoed throughout the office as he heard his deputy’s report. “Damn it! I knew I shouldn’t have left her up there.”

 The next day Thompson and two additional men returned to the ramshackle ranch to look, once again for Rose Coleman. Time and again he would make the trek back up to the harsh, loneliness of the mountain country, now blanketed with deep snow, hoping in vain to find some trace of her.

Sadly, he would concede; Rose Coleman was forever lost somewhere on Green Mountain to the winter storms in the season of 1933.

Charles Coleman pleaded guilty to butchering cattle and spent more than one year in the state prison.

            Newspapers reported the missing woman as Prairie Rose Henderson. They reported  the world famous rodeo cowgirl was lost in a snowstorm and died in the Wyoming Mountains. They recounted her marriage to Charles Coleman and the report was carried by many national newspapers despite the protest by Henry Clayton, Rose Coleman’s son. In fact, the local paper even ran a story quoting Henry as saying, “It was not Prairie Rose Henderson,” but his mother, Rose Clayton-Coleman who died in that snowstorm. He went on to say “I’m sure the real Prairie Rose Henderson is quite surprised to be reading her own obituary. She is living in Burbank, California.”

            Still no one listened and the story of the death of the famous Prairie Rose Henderson persisted and gathered momentum. Fog Horn Clancy, the famous promoter and rodeo announcer picked up the story and wrote about it in his column in Hoofs and Horns.

            Oddly, no report or story can be found of the many friends or colleagues of Prairie Rose Henderson who were to offer condolences at a funeral or graveside service. Nor could any words of remembrance be found in any of the many papers that had covered her every move and action at the various shows and rodeo’s she performed in. Close friends Mabel Strickland, Florence Hughes, Bonnie Gray and  Lorena Trickey said nothing and nothing was ever reported about any grieving family members. There was never any kind of memorial or funeral service for the great Prairie Rose Henderson. No official obituary. No death certificate. No coroners report.  Not for the great Prairie Rose Henderson. A woman died in a terrible blizzard in 1933 and Prairie Rose Henderson ceased to exist.

            Seven years later a fire broke out in the Green Mountains on July 17, 1939. Charles Coleman was out of prison, putting his life back together and was one of the firefighters battling the blaze that day when a sheepherder named Martinez, also battling the flames ran toward him. “Coleman! Come over here quick, come now!”

            Charley could see the man was peering at something heaped beside a rock and he ran fast down the hill, kicking the hot, dry smoky dust into his eyes and sucking it deep into his lungs with every open mouthed breath he took.

            The sheepherder looked up and into Charlie’s eye’s as he rushed up, just within two feet of a small bit of half buried, crumpled blue material. Bones, barely recognizable as human could be seen within the torn trousers. His soul aching with the chilling certainty of what he was looking at, Charley couldn't take his eyes from the gruesome discovery. It was all that remained of Rosa Gale, daughter of Ezra Gale from Bristol, Ohio. A.C. Clayton’s first love, Henry and May’s mother and his wife. Charley looked over, just to the right of the body and recognized the leather remnants of what was a pony halter. It was the one Rose had grabbed from the barn that stormy morning seven years ago.

            “Ah, no. Oh, my Rosey.”  It was more guilt than sorrow that brought Charley to his knees as he wept beside her body.           

The bodily remains were formally identified as Anna Rosa Gale-Clayton-Coleman by Rose’s son, Henry and her brother, Elmer Gale in the official coroners report. Cause of death was listed as “exposure to the elements.”

 Unbelievably, amidst Henry's very vocal protests, as well as the coroners report, newspapers across the country continued to report the death of Prairie Rose Henderson. Bold headlines screamed, “Body Of Famous Rodeo Star Found.”

            Finally, the world was convinced with absolute certainty the fate of  Prairie Rose Henderson and Henry Clayton returned home to California to grieve his mother. Rumors spread that the skeletal remains of Prairie Rose Henderson were identified by a championship belt buckle she had won was still shackled to her body. Some say she had conquered her fear of storms and after her husband was arrested went out to look for her favorite pony to bring him to shelter. People would agree, “Yes, that does sound like the Prairie Rose. She did love those horses.” Once away from the house, she became disoriented and snow blind and perished for eternity.

It is curious that Prairie Rose Henderson had many friends but not one came forth, as friends do in these times, to remember her and maybe even shed a few tears as they said goodbye. No one came forward to claim the bones of Prairie Rose Henderson, World Champion Cowgirl and Bronco Rider, the Sweetheart of the Rodeo.

Rosey Claytons tragedy was forgotten in the apathy of time just as completely as if it had never happened, there on Green Mountain.

The legend of Prairie Rose Henderson lived on in newspapers, stories, books, all continuing throughout the years to report the hard end of the great cowgirl up on Green Mountain, in a Wyoming snow storm. Coast to coast news of her death shocked the fans who had watched her ride the pitching bronc’s, winning countless championships, dressed in her own remarkable creations of Mink, Maribou, ribbons, sequins, velvet and beads, always wearing her famously large Sombrero.

Knowing the true identity of the ill fated woman who died on Green Mountain, Rose Clayton-Coleman offers little comfort for, if it wasn’t Prairie Rose Henderson who died in that snow storm, what did happen to her? Why did she simply vanish, never to be seen or heard from again? 

The Lone Cowgirl says "Stay Tuned!"

If she didn't die in that snowstorm, what did happen to Prairie Rose Henderson? Why did she leave her great legacy behind in the west?