Episode 66: A Man Named Jones
Written By Karl White
They set out toward a horizon that refused to be still. Intrepid men following unmapped rivers and trails carved by the world. Each step carried them farther from the known, into a land of staggering beauty. Endless plains giving way to mountains that cut the sky, and valleys that held nothing but tranquility. The journey became less about discovery and more about endurance...History would later count the miles they crossed, but it could never fully measure how it changed them.
The journey west - © 2026 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC
At the dawn of the nineteenth century, a young nation turned its gaze westward, toward lands that stretched beyond any reliable map. Meriwether Lewis, a trusted military-man and frontiersman, and William Clark, another decorated officer, and skilled mapmaker, were chosen to lead an expedition born not of curiosity, but of necessity. Their mission, to cross the interior of North America from one edge to the other. And establish a presence in territories newly claimed but barely understood.
What would be required were men of stubborn will, because the expedition would test not only body, but the soul...asking each man what he was truly made of -- Tasked with finding such adventurers, Clark approached the best and brightest to enlist. A handful were eager for the mission, but most were not interested in such a long and dangerous trek. So Clark, a former Army Lieutenant, was forced to send out a blanket letter to any and all that served under his long command, asking former soldiers to join him in the exploration of the western territories. A desperate attempt to fill out what was still, at its core, a fragile operation.
Only a few responded to his pitch. Among them was Nathaniel Jones. Born in Amherst, Virginia in 1778, his father, Clinton, was a Revolutionary War hero, who served under George Washington, but died when Nathaniel was only three. Raised an only child by a domineering mother, Jones grew into a lonely and resentful boy, struggling with friendship and often mocked by other children.
In 1795, Nathaniel, who by that time, preferred going only by his last name, joined the Army where he briefly served under Clark, before the decorated officer resigned his commission. Receiving the signed letter, Jones mistook it as a personal correspondence and felt a fierce sense of pride and duty to answer the call.
Private Nathaniel Jones, 1795 - © 2026 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC
In 1804, Jones met up with the gathering party in the Illinois Territory at the confluence of the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers. Clark faked remembering the unremarkable man, flubbing his name and rank, barely masking the fact that this man had never mattered to him at all. But Jones, hungry for belonging, refused to see it. He chalked it up to the burden of command, the fog of memory...and told himself he had been chosen. And when spring arrived, the Corps of Discovery began their voyage across America.
The company set out, moving through landscapes that tested every ounce of their combined mettle. Everyone understood that the journey would transform them in one way or another...some just didn’t know how much.
But early in the expedition, Jones was seen by many as a liability. Lazy with details. Unable to follow even simple directions. Frequently called out for it, he clashed with those who criticized. His sharp tongue and sour tone rubbed others the wrong way. Behind his back, men would tease and demean him. To his face, the taunts grew sharper, more brazen. Soon, what began as mockery, hardened into a campaign among the enlisted, to break his spirit. The ridicule became so constant, so unrelenting, that even Lewis and Clark were forced to intervene, if only to keep the Corps from unraveling.
But Jones seemed to be less the victim and more the problem, as his cruelty went beyond his fellow travelers. He was overly antagonistic with the expeditions Native American interpreter, Sacagawea and a Shoshone guide named, Dyami, displaying a deep hatred for them both.
The outcast - © 2026 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC
While in the Dakota territories, and fed up with Jones’ attitude, Dyami was overheard speaking with two warriors from the Lakota Sioux, asking them to “kill” Jones. It wasn’t long after, as the group entered what is now Montana, Jones mysteriously disappeared. Official records show search parties were dispatched, finding no sign of him. Clark even wrote in a journal...
CLARK: “...We’ve been forced to make the difficult and heartbreaking decision to move on...”
Marking Jones as a casualty to the expanding Nation.
The truth was, while Jones’ disappearance was handled properly, it was less the anguish it was made out to be. Teams were sent to search for him, and Dyami was questioned about his remarks...though he denied having anything to do with the missing man. The total effort to locate Jones or attempt to figure out what happened, took less than an hour before the Corps decided to move on. Jones, being not well-liked, even among leadership, made it an easy choice. Official record listed his cause of death, simply as an “animal attack”, so no further explanation would be warranted...and with the common name, Jones, history would see him as just that, a common man, a dime a dozen, expendable for a greater good.
What happened to Jones remained an enigma, even to him. The night prior, while on watch duty, Jones had fallen asleep at his post. He awoke to the muted sounds of voices, then he was grabbed, and quietly dragged off into the woods. In the pale wash of moonlight, he saw what appeared to be a group of natives, led by a strange pair. Their tribe was not identifiable, though to him, they seemed more refined and civilized than any native he’d ever encountered. They spoke several different distinct languages back and forth, including English and French. What Jones could discern from their quick back-and-forth was they were kidnapping him with purpose, not as a ploy of fear or intimidation to the Corp of Discovery.
Kidnapped - © 2026 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC
What Jones didn’t know is he was in the company of some of the members of the Wolf Tribe. They brought him to a nearby cave, and held him for days. Why they kidnapped him wasn’t clear, but he suspected it was for ransom, and assumed there were ongoing negotiations with the Corps to get him back.
Then he overheard their low, reverent chatter, they were waiting for the full moon. And when it came, Jones was forced out into the night air, bound to a tree, and blindfolded.
The members of the tribe began performing some sort of ritual. Chanting, their words weaved together. But in the midst of whatever prayer they were reciting, Jones heard a change in the world around him...
Human voices broke into something else, snarls, growls, the sound of vicious creatures circling, communicating, closing in. His breath collapsed into panic, as he feared whatever monstrous beasts were surrounding him, intended to make a meal out of the soldier. Then, he noticed the bitter, metallic taste of blood splattering across his lips...
When all seemed doomed, the sounds of the creatures suddenly vanished. The forest went hollow again. Jones fought at his bindings until the rope tore skin, but he slipped out. In the dark he stumbled through the trees, frantic, searching for help. At first light, he found the trail back to camp, staggering into the clearing with a wordless relief. But the Corps of Discovery was already long gone.
Lost and alone in the wilderness - © 2026 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC
Alone in the expansive wilderness, Jones was scared…But as he followed their fading path, his mind wandered and fear gave way to fury. He knew he wasn't liked and that others mocked him. But as the truth settled in, that they’d left him behind, something rotten opened inside him. A dark resentment grew. He imagined them moving on without him, forgetting him, laughing at him...while he starved to death in the far reaches of nowhere. The hatred became a warmth in his chest.
For weeks he survived without much sustenance, dragging himself across terrain that didn’t care whether he lived or died. Deep within him, something else began to grow, a hunger he didn’t understand. A thirst that didn’t feel human. The curse the tribe had secretly passed to him was waking. And on a cold, rainy night, alone and mad as hell at the world, Nathaniel Jones was born a werewolf.
TO BE CONTINUED…